I walk toward the kitchen doorway as if my feet are lead and continue down the small hallway leading to the entryway. I turn right, open the door, and there he is.
There… he… is.
Luke.
Tall but not too tall, trim but not buff, perfect hair, glorious eyes, looking comfortable in his simple black suit, even though I know from the notes that he’s more partial to rocker chic.
He’s holding a gigantic canvas with a bow wrapped around it.
“Instead of a corsage,” he says, offering me a painting of what appears to be my ear. I can see the shadow of the healed piercing that I’ll reopen in college.
Wisps of just the right color hair tucked behind. The tiny pitch at the top.
“It’s your elf ear,” Luke says, grinning. I can’t help but laugh and self-consciously touch the body part in question.
He takes a step closer. “It’s my favorite ear,” he whispers into my left lobe, sending chills down my spine. He stands back again and regards my ensemble. “You look great,” he says without hesitation. “Nice shoes.”
“Thanks,” I say, grinning with my whole body. Most guys don’t notice footwear. “You look nice, too. I expected a band T-shirt under your jacket or something.”
“Naw…” Luke says with a laugh, showing off a prominent dimple on his right cheek.
I carefully lean the painting against the foyer wall and grab my coat. Luke offers me his hand, and just as we’re ready to leave, my mom makes a perfectly timed appearance to wish us well. I could kiss her for being armed with a digital camera and for forcing us to stop and pose before we take off.
Luke leans over and gets the door for me, and once we’re out of my mom’s earshot, he bends down and whispers, “The dress is hot.”
Shivers run down my spine, and I am thrilled that I get to spend the whole night—well, almost the whole night—with him.
Luke drives to school, and because the dance is in the gym, we park in the teachers’ lot. Even though it’s allowed tonight, it feels scandalous.
Inside, the disco lights rage and the music is one notch higher than deafening. Scanning the room, I see Carley Lynch surrounded by Alex Morgan and some other cheerleaders, all wearing dresses so low-cut that I’m embarrassed for them.
In the opposite corner, I spot Jamie just as her eyes catch mine. Our gazes hold steady for a moment, and then she looks away. In a lovely black dress, she is standing to the right of a boy I don’t recognize.
A second passes before my hurt wanes and I remember that Jamie and I will continue to be friends long after this evening. She might not know it right now, but she doesn’t hate me.
I follow her eye line, and my stomach lurches a little when I realize that now she’s staring at Mr. Rice, who is chaperoning tonight. I consider that I might actually be sick when he gives her an inviting look no married teacher should ever throw in the direction of a sixteen-year-old girl.
Luke must have noticed, too. “Come on, let’s dance,” he says, before I can get lost in my thoughts.
We move to the center of the dance floor and are immediately awash in a sea of sparkling stars, courtesy of the disco ball. I drape my wrists over Luke’s shoulders, and all at once, the strength of his arms around my waist, combined with the melodic song we’re swaying to, makes me fantasize about marrying him.
This could be our song.
I let the smooth lyrics carry me away, and I enjoy the moment and the fantasy until it heads down the road toward children. And then the darkness is there, my mind asking questions I don’t want to answer.
Is the dead child mine and Luke’s? Is that why I don’t remember him? Because what we share together will be too painful?
I pull Luke closer and smash my cheek into his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to make the darkness go away. Somehow he knows to hold tighter, too, and though he doesn’t see the tear escape my eye, he rubs my back as if to say: “It’ll be okay.”
I never want to let go.
Luke and I dance like we’re glued to each another for three slow songs, before the DJ speeds things up.
My ears fill with a remixed version of a disco classic that will play at practically every wedding and party I’ll attend for the rest of my life. The brave kids dance, while those who are either too cool or too awkward move to the outskirts. I’m not sure which group we’re in, but we slowly make our way to the fringe.
“Want some punch?” I ask.