The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,36

— that’s the point.” She sounds offended that I’d even ask her to consider breaking the rules.

“Bliss?” I turn. This is what it’s come to: asking Bambi for criminal input. But desperate times . . .

She rolls her eyes. “Uh, no. Unless you’ve got some magic wand to wave around, you’re screwed. And I’m still missing my party.” Bliss folds her arms, sulking, but something in her words triggers a spark. An old memory of late night, and hushed laughter, and the pair of us playing tag out on the damp fifty-yard line, the stadium rising, empty around us, as Dante crushed me into the ground.

Don’t worry about security, he’d told me. Eli had fixed it.

I groan.

“What now?” Bliss whines.

“New stop,” I tell them, already resigning myself to the indignities ahead. Sure, Eli Graff may be the undisputed geek criminal — and inadvertent YouTube hit — of East Midlands, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make me beg. “We need to go to the Loft, on Second Street.”

“Are you going to break in there, too?” Meg asks, still petulant.

“No.” I sigh. “I need to see a guy about a thing.”

“How specific.”

“The longer you argue, the longer you’re stuck with me.” I give her a look that could melt steel, and sure enough, she puts the car back in drive.

As we drive away, I rest my forehead against the cool glass. It’s another detour, but I don’t care. All this will be worth it in the end, when I get that painting, when my father knows what it’s like to lose even a fraction of what he’s taken from me.

I don’t complain when Jolene changes our destination yet again and orders me back toward downtown; I can only pray that whatever new task is sending us there distracts her from the most definitely illegal activities she’s planning. Revenge stunts are one thing, but I can tell from her tense expression that we’re veering into darker territory.

“I think this is it.” I pull over, peering through the windshield at the old warehouse. It’s lit up inside, with cars parked all around and people hanging outside in groups. I recognize some from school: the pierced goth kids and alternative crowds who wouldn’t be seen dead at prom.

“Ew,” Bliss says, scrunching up her face at the view. “I’m staying in the car.”

“Fine with me.” Jolene pauses to try and pat the ruffles into submission, but they won’t be denied. She makes a face and reaches for the door regardless. “But you’d better not bail.”

I watch her stride across the parking lot, her dress bright among the ripped denim and dark leather around. She’s halfway to the stairs when a guy breaks away from his friends and saunters to intercept. She stops dead.

“Who’s that?” Bliss asks, bobbing forward for a better look.

“I don’t know.” As I look harder, I realize that it’s the guy from outside prom, the one who asked me for a light. But the white tux is gone, and he’s dressed in a beat-up leather jacket now, his slicked-back hair disheveled.

Jolene plants her hands on her hips and shifts into a defensive stance.

“She doesn’t look happy to see him,” Bliss notes before bouncing out of the car. “Come on. This is going to be good — I can tell.”

I pause, uncertain, but then she hurries after Jolene and I’m left alone in the car on the side of the dark street. Quickly, I lock up and follow.

“What are you doing here?” Jolene is sizing the guy up as we approach. “College doesn’t finish for weeks.”

Bliss puts out a hand, stopping me from going any closer. “What do you think, is he an ex?” she whispers, loitering just within earshot. I shrug.

The guy gives her a crooked smile, his eyes drifting from head to toe. “Nice dress.”

Jolene folds her arms. “It’s prom, remember? Someone said it would be fun.”

“So what are you doing out here, then?”

I watch him, curious. He’s younger than I thought, maybe only eighteen or nineteen, but there’s a casual self-possession in the way he stands that makes me think he can handle Jolene. He glances past, to where we’re standing. “Hey.” His eyes widen a little in recognition when he sees me. “I’m Dante.”

“Hey,” Bliss coos back, fluttering him a little wave, while I blush, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. Jolene fixes us with a fierce glare, but clearly, we’re the least of her problems. She turns back to him.

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing. At least,

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