The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,43
the brain of every teenager who has been remotely conscious for the last five years. “Hit Me Up.” The most annoying pop song known to man, even the singer needed auto-tune to get through it alive.
This is what hell feels like.
“Woohoo, go Bliss!” Eli yells, loving every minute of my pain. The first lyrics appear on-screen behind me but I turn to Jolene, looking for a last-ditch escape.
Instead, she stares at me, eyes wide. “Please,” she mouths. That’s when I know for sure I’m doomed. Jolene would rather die than even admit for a moment that she doesn’t have things under control, and here she is, begging me for help.
I grip the mic, say a prayer, and turn to my audience.
“Ooh, baby, I want you so bad.”
I’ve got to hand it to Bliss — the girl does nothing halfway. She may be tone deaf and unable to hit a single decent note, but she throws everything into that performance, prancing across the stage area and pouting like this is all just a big joke, and anyone who thinks otherwise isn’t in on the plan.
“Hit me up, don’t stop, I’ve got to get what you’ve got,” I sing quietly as we head toward the exit. That terrible melody is already carved deep into my brain, but I’m too wired to care. Because I’ve got it: gripped tightly in my hand, the last thing standing between me and that painting. A little black box of technological magic. “Tonight, make it right —”
“Please stop.” Bliss shudders. She trips out onto the fire escape, gasping for air. “That song is going to haunt me forever!”
“But it worked.”
“Mmmhmm.” Bliss sinks to the ground, perching on the edge of the metal staircase. She rummages in her bag and pulls out her lip gloss, swiping it back and forth over her lips as if it’s some sort of meditative gesture. Slowly, her breathing returns to normal.
I pause. For the first time, I realize that the panic and terror before weren’t just drama queen hysterics; Bliss is actually scared to death of singing. But she did it anyway. For . . . me?
“That was amazing,” I tell her, confused but grateful. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
“That you’ll never tell another soul what I just did?”
“I think it’s kind of late for that.” She looks up at me, eyes wide. “There were some camera phones waving around in there.” I grimace. “And, knowing Eli, he’s got the whole thing taped.”
Bliss lets out a whimper.
“But, it’s fine,” I promise quickly. “You were hamming it up so much, you can just say it was a dare. Part of some scavenger hunt or something.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Nice show you put on there.” A voice from behind makes me jump. I turn to find Dante leaning in the doorway, grinning at Bliss. “I mean it — that was awesome. Next stop: Vegas.”
“Can you not do that?” I snap.
“Do what?”
“Lurk.”
His gaze slides over to me. “You said you didn’t want me getting in your way.”
“I meant at all.” I shift under his stare, self-conscious. For all my ice-queen act, this dress is a big flashing neon sign saying I showed up, that I remembered our plans. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Nope.” Dante meets my eyes, unruffled. I always used to like his calmness, how nothing would ever shake that nonchalance. It made me feel safe when everything else was whirling in a riot, like the world could fall to pieces but he’d still be there to keep me centered, keep me from going too far. I’ve lost count of the times he’s pulled me back from making stupid mistakes with that look, the one that says, “I’ve got you.”
Now I know that look is a lie, I wish he’d break a sweat, just once. Just for me.
“Let’s get going,” I tell Bliss, turning my back on Dante and the way the shadows cut across his face. “I promise, I’ll have you at Brianna’s soon.”
She nods, slowly getting up. “Thanks.”
Dante follows us down to the parking lot, whistling some song I don’t recognize. I force myself not to turn, or even acknowledge his existence, but I can feel him behind me with every step. “Where are you heading?” he asks when we reach the car. Meg clicks off the central locking, looking miserable behind the wheel.
“None of your damn business,” I answer at the same time that Bliss says, “Her dad’s office.”
“Bliss.” I give her a murderous look, but she