Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,58

all,” I say.

Patrick rocks back and forth on his heels. “I hear you got some of your friends to join the pageant with you. You better make sure they know it’s a beauty contest and not a livestock show.”

He’s gone before either of us can respond.

Mitch takes a step forward, but I squeeze his arm, pulling him back.

“You know he’s disgusting, right?” I say.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong.”

I only see Bo and Bekah during one slow song, like the kind of couple who have their pictures taken in white shirts and jeans or the kind who go on family vacations together during the summer.

And I hate it.

I rest my cheek against Mitch’s shoulder. Bo glances up, but this time I don’t look away. There on the floor of the gymnasium, our eyes meet. And I can imagine that it’s us dancing out here, all on our own. Not because the room is empty, but because no one else matters.

“I went to a dance in middle school,” Mitch says. “My mom made me. I had to wear my Easter Sunday suit. I was the only kid that dressed up.”

My eyes stay with Bo and I am acutely aware of the fire licking against my rib cage. “Did you have a date?” My voice is far away.

“No one really had dates. I mean, you know, there were people who called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, but that was it.”

Bekah says something and, after a moment that feels like good-bye, Bo looks away. The two of them slip off behind a wall of people.

I watch the empty space left by Bo. “Did you dance with anyone?”

Mitch drags his finger up and down my spine, and I know that this little bit of contact is a leap for him. “Nope. Just sat in a folding chair next to the chaperones all night. Hung out with some guys doing layups on the other side of the gym. But no dancing.”

“Well.” I lift my head. “You’re dancing now.”

He grins. “Worth the wait.”

Later, as we’re walking to the parking lot with sounds of the dance winding down behind us, my kitten heels dangle from my fingers, and Mitch holds his arm out for me. Inside the dance, the rules didn’t apply. I was allowed to lean my head on his chest and let him wrap his arms around me because it was a dance and that’s what you do at dances. But out here, outside of that bubble, it’s different. I don’t want to be the one to lead him on and turn this into something it’s not.

He smiles. I hook my arm through his because I’ve ruined so much lately and I’m not ready to add this night to the list.

“You’re still not talking to Ellen?”

“Nope.” I hadn’t told him the exact circumstances, but I told him we’d gotten into a fight—a real one. I didn’t really want to share more and he hasn’t asked.

“You guys have been inseparable forever. I remember when we were doing Where the Red Fern Grows in sixth grade and we were reading book reports in front of the class.”

I nod. “She always cried when we got to the part with the dog.” She hated that book. El’s not the type of person who can read something that’s made her cry and think it was good because it touched her. No, books or movies that make Ellen cry infuriate her. Like, it’s some kind of betrayal.

“So you finished reading the report for her.”

“She practiced it in front of the mirror dozens of times. She was so pissed when she started crying.” I pick my head up after realizing I’d been leaning against his arm this whole time.

He opens the car door for me. “How long are you going to let this go on?”

For a split second, I think he’s talking about me and him. “She’s got new friends anyway,” I say after he slides in behind the wheel. “I guess I’m no match for Callie.”

“Listen,” he says. “I obviously don’t know the whole story here, but good friendships are durable. They’re meant to survive the gaps and the growing pains.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Amanda Lumbard is a horrible driver, but since Millie couldn’t use her mom’s van tonight, she’s the only one of us who has access to a car that both works and can fit all four of us comfortably.

“That was sweet of your mom to let us borrow her van,” says Millie.

Amanda shrugs it off, her foot weighing down on the gas. “She