Dancing with Molly - Lena Horowitz Page 0,30

but I made him promise me that he would just text me from the curb.

I just think that molly makes it easier for me to relate to people—at least to a hot guy like Carson. I suppose I shouldn’t need outside help with that. Ashley sure doesn’t. But she’s used to being pretty and popular and all that jazz. This is insane. I know I can’t go around rolling on molly every time I want to go on a date. I logged on to that online forum and read all these posts by kids who did molly at their actual proms—not the after parties, but actually at their schools DURING the prom. It was crazy to read about it, but I get it now. I understand why it’s something that people do. There is this one girl who was all high-and-mighty and judgmental. She reminded me of Ashley. She was posting all these links to articles about this guy in London who was nineteen and died of a “bad batch” of molly. It was all over the news, and the Guardian had several big articles about it.

Still, most of the other people on the forum posted about how those stories are few and far between, and most of the other deaths attributed to molly (or just ecstasy) are because people don’t get enough water and get dehydrated. I would never be dumb enough not to drink enough water. And Kelly always tests the stuff that we do, so we’ll never have to worry about a “bad batch”—whatever that means.

I’m so nervous. I’m so nervous. I’m so nervous. I’m so nervous. I’m so nervous.

I wonder if it’ll change when I see him? Like on Monday at my locker, when I saw Carson there talking to Jess, all my nerves just disappeared.

I’m going to go check my hair and makeup one more time before he gets here. When I got home from band practice, I took a shower and tried to blow my hair out straight. It sort of worked. It’s not nearly as sleek as when Robin did it at the salon, but it’s not frizzy, which is a step in the right direction.

Saturday, May 17

Last night was not a total disaster. I mean, it definitely got off to a rough start, mainly because I felt completely tongue-tied with Carson. It wasn’t too big a deal because we were going to dinner and a movie. We got burritos at Carson’s fave burrito joint. It’s not superfancy or anything, but he told me the restaurant serves sustainable and humanely raised pork, beef, and chicken products, and it was nice and casual. At least we didn’t go to some fine-dining establishment where I would’ve worried about which fork to use with which course. These burritos came wrapped in silver foil, and we ate them with our hands.

Still, I felt . . . awkward just hanging out with Carson. I wore cute jeans that I think make my butt look good, and some little silver flats with a V-neck T-shirt and a bra that keeps everything lifted front and center. I caught him staring a couple times, which is a job well done on my part. But he wasn’t gross or anything—I mean, he can definitely hold eye contact, and maybe that was the problem: Carson is so good-looking that he sort of takes my breath away.

So he kept asking me questions and I’d just catch myself staring at his perfect eyes, or his perfect jawline, or his perfect nose, or his perfect lips, and then he’d say, Yo. Everything okay?

And I’d blush and take a big bite of my burrito and then ask him to repeat the question with my mouth full of food, and then blush worse because I was talking with my mouth full, then hold up a finger and finish chewing and swallowing and then ask him to repeat the question again, and then, while he was talking, I’d get distracted by his eyes, or his nose, or his lips, or his jaw AGAIN . . . and . . . well. Yeah. So that’s how the whole meal went.

The movie was just okay. It was based on one of those books where the world is a dark and gloomy place and impossibly gutsy girls and impossibly handsome boys fight battles to the death to outsmart evil alien overlords. Somewhere in the middle of the film, Carson jumped when one of the evil alien overlords dropped out of an elaborate