The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“Hey,” I said, mustering a smile in return.

She nodded at the small cluster of daisies in my hand I’d picked on the way over. “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, my face heating with embarrassment. “I didn’t get you a corsage, but I saw these. Thought you might like them.”

“They’re perfect.” She laced a few in her hair and tucked the largest behind her ear. She was right—they suited her perfectly.

“You look…very nice,” I said.

“So do you. Shall we?”

That was something Violet liked to say. I forced a thin smile on my face and put Amber’s hand in the crook of my elbow.

I endured the “paparazzi” red carpet walk and stepped inside a dark gym illuminated with follow spotlights that beamed across the ceiling. A papier-mâché Hollywood sign had been erected on one side, and long silver steamers and black and white balloons were everywhere. A DJ spun the latest pop and alternative songs over a crowd of dancing students. Two minutes in, and I already wanted to leave.

“You want something to drink?” I shouted in Amber’s ear.

“Sure. I see some friends. Meet me there?”

She pointed. I nodded and left to get us some punch, scanning the crowd for Violet without conscious thought. Shiloh’s warning rang in my ears over the base thundering in the gym. She was right. I had to be fair to Amber and not string her along.

At the punch table, Ms. Sanders, my English teacher, guarded the bowl of red liquid like a hawk. She smiled when she saw me.

“Miller! So nice to see you here.”

“Thanks. Two please.”

“Your final essay on The Great Gatsby was pretty brilliant,” she said, ladling two cups for me. “I’ll return them on Monday, but spoiler alert: you received an A.”

“Cool.” I took the cups. “And thanks for these.”

“Miller, wait.” She leaned over the table with both hands. “Your essay was beautiful, poetic, even. But there were…elements to it that frankly made me concerned.” She smiled gently. “Is everything okay at home? I mean…now isn’t the time or place—”

“No, it’s not,” I said and then softened my tone. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Translation: things are shit, there’s nothing you can do about it, but it’s nice that you care.

Ms. Sanders read me loud and clear. “Okay. But my door is always open if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.”

“And hey, word is getting around that you’re quite the musician. Guitar, right?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Some kids were passing around a video of you playing at a party. Mr. Hodges has started an instrumental club. Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Ms. Sanders smiled encouragingly. “Could be something right up your alley.”

I pressed my lips together. “I have to work every Tuesday and Thursday. I have to work every day after school and all day Saturday.”

Ms. Sanders’ shoulders slumped. “I wish that wasn’t the case. Such a failure of our system that lets talented kids like you fall through the cracks so easily.”

“I’ll be okay. Kids like me have to get shit done on our own.” I hefted the cups. “Thanks for the punch, Ms. S.”

She smiled sadly. “Take care, Miller.”

No sooner had I left the table than three girls I vaguely recognized as new friends of Violet’s accosted me.

“Miller, right?” said one. “I’m Julia. This is Caitlin and Evelyn.”