The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,84

I look up and see Jolene and Dante making out against the car. Seriously making out. He’s pressed her right up against the driver’s side, and his hands are slipped so high inside her jacket that I blush, just looking at them.

“Ummm, guys?” I start, hesitant. There’s no change. “Jolene?”

He brings his hands down to her thighs and then lifts her up; she wraps her legs around his waist, but before things can get R-rated, there’s a piercing whistle. We all look over. Scott lowers two fingers from his mouth. “Hey.” He gives them a casual wave. “We, uh, got the card.”

Jolene slips to the ground again, untangling herself from Dante’s arms. “Great,” she says, breathless. “That’s awesome!”

“Good work.” Dante gives me a sheepish grin.

“OK.” I’m trying not to laugh, but they look so dizzy it’s hard to keep a straight face. “How about we go ahead and break in, while you . . . umm, keep watch here.”

“It’s a plan,” Dante says immediately. He wraps his arms around Jolene’s waist, leaning his chin down on her shoulder; she relaxes back against his chest. “We’ll be, uh, vigilant.”

“I’m sure you will.” I smirk. Jolene looks happy, if such a thing were possible. Dante whispers something in her ear, and she swats him good-naturedly.

“I’ll turn the jammer on.” Jolene looks over as an afterthought. “So you — and Scott?— can take your time.” She holds up the remote control as evidence.

“I guess we’re up.” Scott grins, turning back to me. “You ready?”

I nod, determined.

There’s a wide walkway leading up to the dorm, but we approach from the side, skirting along the front wall to stay out of sight. I peer around, through the walled glass entrance. The old security guard is at his desk inside, watching something on the computer screen as he munches on a slice of pizza. Bliss is watching from her perch on a file cabinet behind him, slurping at a soda. I risk a wave. She glances up and catches my eye; I gesture. She nods.

“Let’s go,” I whisper to Scott, even though there’s nobody around to hear us. Taking a breath, we stroll around and approach the door in full view. Scott swipes his card. Nothing. He swipes again, miming in a big gesture. I step up beside him and knock loudly on the door.

The guard looks up. Scott waves his card and points to the scanner. Reluctantly, the guard puts down his pizza and comes to let us in.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I say, heart beating quicker. “It won’t even beep.”

He frowns, swiping his own card through the machine, but there’s no response. “Come on,” he says with a sigh, waving us inside. I make it halfway to the elevator before he adds, “I’ll still need to see —”

“Quick, Brazil is about to score!” Bliss cries. From this angle, I can see that he’s streaming a soccer match on one of the computer screens. The guard glances back, torn.

“Here!” Scott takes the opportunity to wave his card in the guard’s face. He glances at it for a split second.

“Oooh!” Bliss cries out with excitement. “That was so a foul!”

With a quick nod at us, the guard hurries back to his station. “What did I miss?” he demands, as Scott hustles me into the elevator. I hit the button, and finally the doors slide shut.

“Oh my God.” I cling to him, breathless. “That was close!”

“He barely looked at it!” Scott exclaims. He looks down at me, laughing, and I suddenly realize I’m still holding on to him, pressed warm against his chest.

“Right.” I quickly let go, blushing. “I, umm . . .”

The doors open.

I step out into the hallway ahead of him, forcing myself to take a deep breath. You’re not clear yet, I remind myself. There’s still the matter of Jason to navigate — who could be poring over the diary at this very minute.

“Which way now?” Scott gets his bearings. There’s mess from the party still scattered all around: garbage bags littering the lobby, and bottles stacked in recycling boxes outside every door.

I check the map on the wall. “Room 318, that-a-way.”

“Lead on.”

With the dorm so quiet now, there’s nobody to stop us from making our way quickly through the hallways to Jason’s room. I stop outside and assess: the door is shut, no light coming from inside.

“Do we knock?” I wonder.

“And ask politely for it back?” Scott asks, pressing his ear against the door to check for noise.

“Good point.”

Besides, aren’t I past