The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,72

For the first time since he spoke to me, it occurs to me that I could make this last, make it become something real.

The thought blossoms in my mind, full of possibility.

Will tonight be my Cinderella story before everything shifts back to normal, or is this the start of a whole new life for me? Dating Tristan, getting invites to their parties and trips, making friends with the other girlfriends, actually showing up to the school events and organizing committees. I can see it now, unfolding ahead of me in a glitter of friendship and activity. Not just one, perfect prom night, but dozens more.

All senior year.

“Right, Meg?”

I realize Tristan is looking at me expectantly, so I give a grin and nod, even though I haven’t followed a word of the conversation. It doesn’t seem to matter; the boys barely pause before continuing, something about planning a fundraiser for next year.

“You’re the other Meg, aren’t you?” The other girl moves closer. It’s the petite redhead I saw outside the country club, the one who rushed to be a part of the group photo. “I’ve seen you around, in school.”

“That’s right.” I smile. “I think we have gym together.”

She makes a face. “Volleyball, ack. I’ve only just figured out how to spike the ball, and we finish next week!”

We both laugh. “Anything’s better than cross-country running,” I confide. “I pretend to get my period so often, they’re going to think I have weird health problems soon.”

“Eww, girl talk.” Her boyfriend catches my last words and grimaces, as if we’re discussing something gross. “You two need some space?”

“Grow up!” The other Meg elbows him lightly, laughing. I watch them joke, wondering if I’ll ever be so comfortable with a boy. Even now, I’m hyper-aware of Tristan’s every move — whether he seems relaxed, if he’s still smiling at me, or if his attention has drifted elsewhere. I see his eyes slip past me, so I tuck my arm through his.

“I could use another soda,” I suggest, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s go see who’s still awake.”

He grins, pulls me closer. “You read my mind.”

I exhale with relief.

We find his friend Kellan in the kitchen, surrounded by an avalanche of party debris. He’s stacking empty cups into a tower on the counter top, slowly, as if it’s a serious undertaking.

“What’s up?” The boys exchange fist bumps and backslaps; the rituals of popularity.

Kellan shrugs. “Nothing much. Things are winding down. Oh, wait, did you see what happened with Kaitlin?”

Tristan shakes his head, handing me a beer. I wait until he’s turned away, and then casually switch it for a carton of juice.

“It was crazy.” Kellan laughs. “B flipped out and, like, smashed a bottle over her head. Kaitlin went into total meltdown, ran out in tears.”

I stop. Does he mean Bliss?

“Those girls, it’s always drama, drama.” Tristan rolls his eyes, unconcerned, as one of the other boys — Nico, I think — wanders in. I melt back against the fridge, making room for him to saunter past. Tristan slaps his back. “Hey, man, where you been?”

“Around.” Nico begins shaking the cans of Pringles in turn, trying to find some remnants. He looks up, noticing me for the first time. “Hey, who’s this?”

Tristan laughs. “It’s Meg, from school. You know, Meg Zuckerman?”

I give an awkward wave.

Nico blinks. “No way.”

“See, man, I told you she could be cute.” Kellan looks back at me. “You know, if you lost those glasses and some weight. Right, dude?” He tosses one of the cups at Tristan. The tower wobbles.

“Right.” Tristan grins, ruffling my hair affectionately. “Now look at you. The belle of the ball.”

I stare at him, the warm haze of breathlessness parting for just a second as their words sink in.

“You want to head outside for a minute?” Tristan’s breath is warm against my ear. He doesn’t wait for a reply before taking my hand and tugging me gently out of the room. Nico and Kellan let him go without a word, now both deeply fascinated by the ever-growing stack of cups. I follow.

“I’m sorry about the guys. They can be kind of blunt.” Tristan squeezes my hand as we slip out a side door. It’s silent here, shaded from the backyard by trees and a canopy of vines strung up on an elaborate trellis. There’s a winding paved path and even the low bubble of a fountain — the perfect romantic retreat. I look around, my stomach already fluttering with nerves. A cute boy, a secluded spot,