The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,40

point. Sure enough, I feel quite the breeze as my hem starts to rise.

I give in to the sensation of pure freedom and let Buck have his way. He moves six ways from Sunday drawing me into his web of fun. As more people join us, they make sure to give us a wide berth as we’re clearly on a mission to own the first dance.

It feels like Buck and I are the only two in the room as we spin around like an extension of the music. When the second song starts—“Walking on Sunshine,” by Katrina and the Waves—I swear Buck starts to aerobicize like an old VHS tape my mom had of Jane Fonda working out in the eighties.

By the time we come out of our trance, we’re surrounded by a crowd of fellow party goers. They’re cheering for us like we’ve just won the Mirrorball Trophy. It’s a heady experience, to say the least.

Buck waves to our admirers with one hand while offering me the other to escort me back to our table. That’s where we discover that Jessica has arrived with her date, Davis Frothingham.

Davis seems confused when he sees me. “Ashley, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

I hesitate before replying, “I didn’t know you would be, either.” Although, I’d obviously hoped he would, just not as Jessica’s date.

Davis looks at Buck and falters slightly before asking, “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Alexander Freeport. He’s the editor of Elegant Travels magazine. He’s doing a piece about spring celebrations in the American South.”

Buck offers his hand and in a high-brow accent that belies his roots, says, “Pleasure.”

“How in the world did you wind up choosing Creek Water, Missouri?” Davis wants to know.

“My good friend Ashley suggested I come for a visit.”

“How nice,” Davis says, seeming as confused as ever.

Buck looks at me and suddenly enthuses, “No one in London can hold a candle to you, Ashley. I miss our dances more than you could know.” He’s trying to make Davis jealous, which I totally appreciate. Of course, that might have had a better chance of working if Davis hadn’t arrived with his ex.

I decide to play along with Buck. “I told you I’d visit you soon, so quit complaining.”

“My city will be your city,” he promises. “We’ll dine out every night and then ride the London Eye so you can glimpse the majesty of my home; I’ll take you to the palace for tea; we’ll walk along the Heath while I read you poetry.” Oh, boy, he’s laying it on so thick I dare not look up to see Davis’s reaction. I hope he’s green with envy.

When I do finally take a peek at him, he looks completely perplexed. This scene isn’t matching up with what I’ve shared with him about my life. I’m having a hard time suppressing my mirth.

Jessica stares at Buck like she’s a kid in a candy store. I imagine she thought she had the best date in town until he showed up. I love this moment for my friend so much. I wish I could take a picture of Jessica’s face to show him later.

That’s when I decide, what the heck? I pick up the camera like I’m going to snap some pictures of the crowd. I quickly take five or six of Jessica before she realizes what I’m doing. Once she sees the lens trained on her, she performs a series of model-like poses. While I smile encouragingly, I feel like I could vomit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

May 15, 2008

Dear Molly,

I caught Davis looking at me at lunch today. It wasn’t just a glance either. He was full-on staring like he could see right through me. He jolted out of his trance when I smiled at him. Then he nodded his head once and turned back to his friends.

Buck teased me, “Davis Frothingham likes you.”

I smacked his hand and said, “No he doesn’t. He likes Jessica Holt.” But even while I said it, I wondered if Davis has started looking at me differently since prom. Buck’s looking a lot better now that Sammy has gotten her hands on him and eighty-sixed his gothness.

The tension at our table is palpable. Davis and I keep copping covert glances at each other that are almost accusatory in nature. My look says, How could you take me out to dinner, hold my hand, and flirt with me on the phone, and then come to this dance with her?

His says, How does a white-trash girl like you show up