“I know. But trust me, it’s worth it. You’ve got this. Anyone would be lucky to get with you. We own this city, remember? Just don’t say that to her. Trust me, it doesn’t go down well. And don’t say friend zone again, it’s a pathetic, sexist concept.”
I mean, agreed.
“Thanks. My pep is officially rallied.”
“Good. But, hey, you’re being careful, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Given the scheme and everything, are you sure it’s a good idea to be hanging out with her?”
“Are you going to stop hanging out with girls?”
He chuckles. “Touché. Last thing, then I’ll go. This is going to be awkward, but, do you need condoms?”
He’s right.
It’s so incredibly awkward.
“I have some. Thanks, though.”
That’s actually true. When I turned fourteen Dad bought me a box and explained that he doesn’t expect me to need them, but he said I should use them if the situation ever came up. He’s given me a new box every year, usually around my birthday.
It feels like the one good bit of parenting he’s ever done.
“Cool,” he says. “Take some just in case, and if you get lucky, you better use one. I don’t care what she says, or how much you don’t want to, you use one, okay? Trust me, you don’t want the stress.”
“Noted.”
“And, hey,” he says, smiling proudly, “have a good time tonight, you little Romeo.”
I start blushing, and not just because of the condom talk.
Me, a Romeo? Since when?
But maybe it’s not so out of place.
Plus, I love this. Normally I’m the one who stays at home when Luke goes out.
“Thanks.”
For the first time, I wish I wasn’t lying to him.
* * *
Jason was right when he said the theme of the dance was bad.
It’s so bad: It’s disco themed.
Seriously.
I hate it so much.
I step inside and look around the room. Oh boy.
There are psychedelic floral prints everywhere, and the teachers are all dressed up accordingly. They’re so into it I’m slightly embarrassed for them. Even the young ones, who should know better, are dressed up. There’s a young male teacher standing by an archway of golden balloons. I’m guessing he’s a PE teacher, as he’s ripped. He’s wearing a massive curly wig, pink circular sunglasses, and a fake mustache.
He’s still hot, but yeesh.
A huge banner hangs on the far wall. It reads: PANIC!
I guess it’s a reference to the band. I don’t need the sign to tell me what to do, because the gym is packed.
There are so. Many. People.
And Jason is here.
I walk farther into the gym, looking for him. There’s very little room to move, and the air is already warm in a gross, stuffy way. A guy bumps into me, then glares at me, like it was my fault.
“Sorry,” I say, then I shut my mouth.
I have no idea why I apologized, it was totally his fault.
Stupid brain.
My plan of attack is to talk to Jason and get out of here ASAP. I mean, it’s a dance, filled with strangers. So, a horror show. It doesn’t matter that the golden lights around the place look kind of magical, or that everyone is dressed up so nice, and I think I look the best I ever have.
I don’t belong here.
There’s a stall by the door, where you can buy cans of soda or bags of chips for a dollar. I walk over to the stall and buy a Coke, mostly so I’ll look busy, or like I’m someone who knows what to do at these things.
I crack it open and walk over to a section of wooden bleachers and sit down on the first row. Up the back, a straight couple is making out. Already?
I sip my Coke.
Seriously, what am I doing?
I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve told Dad my suspicions about Jason and let him deal with it. If Jason finds out that I know about his plan, then he might react badly. If he really is a Donovan, and he finds out that I know, then I might be in the line of fire.
But I can’t see that happening.
I really can’t.
If he meant to hurt me, I’d know. Right?
I rub my temples. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I look up. And holy shit.
He’s here. And he looks amazing.
He’s wearing a maroon suit over a white shirt and a skinny black tie. It’s perfectly tailored to his body, and the color does wonders for his hair, making it look a richer brown than usual. I’m so here for