The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,80
now he’s only letting in residents with ID.”
We all exhale.
“Didn’t you try to make an excuse or something?” I ask, frustrated.
Bliss looks insulted. “What do you think? I said I was his sister, visiting from out of town. But he didn’t budge. He’s kind of an ass,” she adds, frowning. “I mean, imagine if it was true — where does he think I’m going to sleep?”
I slump back. “So, what now?”
“We can’t just give up,” Meg insists. “Remember what’s in that diary — we’ve got to get it back. Tonight.”
“But how?” Bliss asks. “I mean, I tried everything in there. I even cried!”
We’re silent. Then Dante speaks. “What’s the setup in there? Do you sign in, or what?”
Bliss thinks, “Umm, there’s a card swipe on the main door. But even if we get someone to let us in, they’re not allowed to sign in guests after midnight. And this guy doesn’t leave his desk.”
“Huh . . .” Dante pauses, and I just know his mind is ticking over something. Give him long enough, and he could steal the Declaration of Independence. “Jolene, you still got that hack from Eli?”
He’s speaking to me.
“Uh, yeah.” I manage to recover. My heart pounds as I finally meet his eyes. “It’s in my bag.”
“OK.” He nods, beginning to curl his lips in a smile. “And do you think you guys could find an ID? It doesn’t have to be from this dorm, just a college one.”
“You mean we jam the entry system and then bluff our way in?” Meg brightens, way ahead of me. “That could work. The library should be open all night, and I could try and borrow someone’s card. . . .”
“Perfect.” Bliss bounces out of the car. “You go take care of that, and I’ll go back and work on the guard, in case he breaks.”
They slam the doors. It’s just me and Dante now. Silent.
“Wait a minute.” I scramble out and hurry after them. “What do I do? I should go with you, Meg, to help out.”
“Nope.” Bliss stops and gives me that grin again, the devious one. “She’s the one with the access there, and we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?”
“But —” I look back at the car. At Dante. “You can’t leave me alone with him,” I whisper.
“You’ll be fine.” Meg looks amused. “He won’t bite.”
“Unless you’re lucky,” Bliss adds, giggling.
“Guys!” I cry. They don’t understand; this isn’t a joke. “Please . . .”
“Try starting with an apology,” Meg advises, already backing away. Then she pauses and gives me a curious smile. “He came, you know. To prom. I saw him outside, all dressed up. I’m guessing that was for you.”
And then they split off in different directions and leave me here to my fate.
He showed up.
I don’t go back to the car. The thought of sitting there in icy silence with Dante is worse than the night chill, so I wander down the sidewalk a ways until I reach one of the benches overlooking the quad. Not that there’s much to overlook: a dark patch of grass and the looming ugly concrete buildings all around. Ivy League, this isn’t. A lone neon lamp washes me in a thin pool of light. Hugging my knees to my chest, I wait.
He showed up to prom. After all this time, he remembered too — found a tux, came back down from college. That has to mean something. And even though I screwed everything up with my stupid, blind quest to even the score with my dad, Meg’s revelation still fills me with the smallest bit of hope.
If he gets out of the car, there’s still a chance for me.
I repeat it like a mantra, watching groups of drunken stragglers stumble back to the dorms. The minutes stretch out, but still I hope. If he gets out of the car, maybe this can be mended, somehow. If he comes to talk to me, then he still cares. Part of me wants to march right up to him and demand forgiveness — I’m not the kind of girl to ever wait around for a guy to make his move — but some instinct tells me that I can’t force this.
Five minutes turn into ten, and soon my butt is numb from the hard seat and I’ve got goose bumps all over my body. And he hasn’t gotten out of the car.
I’m surprised to feel a sob well, stinging in the back of my throat. I’ve been fooling