The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,31

pull myself back together. That dorm-room confessional was just a mistake, I tell myself, some kind of hormonal glitch in sanity. The sooner I’m back with Courtney and the crew, the sooner I’ll stop feeling so strange.

“You can drop me at Brianna’s, up in Cedar Heights,” I instruct Meg, fluffing out my hair. I still look flawless, at least. And I’ve learned by now, that’s all that matters.

“The after-party,” she says, wistful.

“Yup. They’re on their way already, and I can’t miss anything else, not after bailing on the main event. So, can you guys get a move on?” I look over to find Jolene mussing up her hair and Meg twisting uselessly under the weight of her dress. “I’ll be outside.”

I’ve read all the tabloids on the magazine stand, so I wander the aisles, idly poking at the packs of Doritos and sugar-rush snacks that I can never in a million years eat. Not unless I want Brianna offering to lend me a workout DVD. Again. I sigh, wondering what they’ll all say when I get to the party. Will Cameron and Kaitlin act guilty and ashamed, or will they be sneaking off every half hour to dry hump behind the pool house? I don’t know which would be worse.

“Hey, señorita. Can I get that ass to go?”

I look up. A couple of men dressed in dirty jeans and trucker hats are unloading six-packs from the cooler nearby. They’ve got goatees and tattoos and look like the kind of guys who blast heavy metal from their truck and holler dumb-ass racist comments at you on the sidewalk.

I turn away.

“Aww, don’t be like that.” The one with his gut bulging against his shirt saunters closer. “We’re not so scary, are we, Chuck?”

His friend chuckles. “Nah, we’re regular gentlemen.”

I take a couple of steps back, but I’m boxed in the corner by the refrigerator cabinets. Gut Guy gives me a leer.

“You’re pretty dressed up tonight, huh? Heading to a fiesta?”

I look around, but the boy at the register is still slouched over his magazines, and there’s nobody else in the store. I shiver.

“Uh-huh.” I give a vague murmur, trying to look enthralled by the row of processed potato products, but the men don’t shift; they just loiter behind me, filling the space.

“I could do with some fun.” The man laughs. “We should come along.”

I finally turn, giving an icy look as I move to pass them. I’ve been around guys like them before — guys who think it’s some kind of compliment to rake their eyes all over you. Usually, I can handle them, but tonight, something’s not working because they block my path.

“Don’t go running off so soon. We were just gettin’ to know each other.”

“No, thanks.” I take a step to the side. He mirrors me. I fold my arms. “Prom,” I offer, hoping they’ll back off once they know my age. “I’m going to junior prom.”

He’s undeterred. “Oh, yeah?” He grins. “So, you want a dance?”

Before I can move, he grabs me around my waist.

“I’ve got to go.” I try to pull away, but he’s laughing, stepping in a clumsy slow dance while I’m crushed against him close enough to smell the cheap deodorant and tobacco. “Get off me!” I protest, pushing uselessly against him. His friend is whooping, and for a terrible minute I’m trapped.

“Stop flirting, and get your ass out here!” I hear Jolene’s yell and manage to twist around, sending her a desperate look. Right away, her face changes, getting harder and full of steel.

“C’mon, we’re going.” She doesn’t hesitate, just sends the guys a deadly glare as she elbows into our corner and takes firm hold of my wrist. “Say good-bye to the nice men, Bliss.”

But Gut Guy doesn’t loosen his grip on me.

“Hey! Here’s your partner.” He laughs to his friend. “Double date. That’s more like it.”

The other man reaches for Jolene, but she makes some kind of movement with her leg and suddenly he’s bent double, cursing loudly.

“You bitch!”

“Like I said, time to go.” Jolene glares at Gut Guy with such ferocity, he backs off, hands up in surrender.

“Hey, we were just playing.”

“Yeah, well, play with yourself in the future.” Jolene shoves me backward into the open aisle, planting herself between me and his meaty hands. “You should be used to that.”

My heart is racing. Any minute now, they’re going to fight back, I just know it, and Jolene’s angry stare will be no match for their weight and height and willingness to,