The Best Laid Plans(61)

“No, I want to talk about it.” I bite into the bread, and even though it’s slicked in butter, I have trouble swallowing it. I notice my knuckles turning white around the handle of the knife, and put it down.

“Ava was so mad at me after that party,” Danielle says, reaching over for a breadstick of her own. “She said because she didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight, I was supposed to stay with her, and, like, sacrifice my own night. She was still hung up on Tim Loggins and was so mad he didn’t show. It was the whole reason she’d thrown the party in the first place.”

“What party?” I ask, feeling the back of my neck start to get damp with sweat.

“New Year’s,” Danielle says, biting into the breadstick, somehow managing not to spill any crumbs. “Don’t you remember how mad she was? Just because I hooked up with someone and she didn’t. Typical Ava. Always making everything about her.”

Next to me, Andrew is bright red. He reaches a hand up to rub the back of his neck. I wonder if he feels as sweaty and uncomfortable as I do.

I know exactly what party she’s referring to. Ava’s parents were out of town for New Year’s Eve. Someone got ahold of a bottle of peppermint schnapps and we were mixing it with chocolate fudge, and I felt such a sugar crash that I went to bed early, briefly waking up at midnight when I heard everybody cheering in the other room. I was sleeping on the twin bed in the guest room, and when I woke in the morning, Andrew was sprawled out asleep on the floor like a dog, wrapped in an extra blanket.

He hooked up with Danielle that night? How many other girls has he been with that I don’t know about? I feel a sharp sting of betrayal at the thought, but I know it’s silly. It just hurts he didn’t want to tell me. He’s told me about plenty of other girls. Why is this so different?

“But what are you guys up to?” Danielle motions toward Dean and me. Her words have begun to flow together, like a phrase of music, and I can tell the wine has gotten to her. “I heard you’re going to the prom, James Dean.”

“Looks like it,” he says, taking a casual sip of his wine.

“Are you excited?”

“Sure,” Dean says.

Danielle dips the end of a breadstick into the dish of sauce and brings it up to her lips, taking a bite and getting a bit of sauce on the edge of her lip.

“You enjoying that breadstick?” Dean asks with a low laugh.

“I love breadsticks,” Danielle says. She wipes away the sauce from her lip with a long finger in a way that makes me certain she’s had too much wine. “You know,” she says, once her hands are clean, “Keely can’t wait for prom, either. She loves breadsticks even more than I do.”

Andrew clears his throat beside me. I turn to look at him and see that he’s staring intently at the checkered tablecloth, his forehead wrinkled, the tips of his ears bright pink.

“Is that right?” Dean asks. “Could have fooled me.”

I laugh, trying to pretend the joke hasn’t made me uncomfortable. My phone buzzes again in my lap and I look down to see another text from Danielle.

    James Dean loves stuffed crust and extra sausage





I cover the phone quickly, nervous Andrew can see what it says. Danielle laughs, and then types something else.

    Careful, he might get alfredo all over you





I slam the phone facedown on the table and narrow my eyes at Danielle. She looks back at me, mouthing “What?” with an innocent shrug of her shoulders.

“You know, I never went to my prom,” Dean says, leaning back in the booth. “This will be my first.”

“Aw, it’ll be Keely’s first time too!” Danielle says, and I slam my foot down on top of hers under the booth. “Ow!” She pulls her foot away.

“Our school doesn’t have a junior prom,” Andrew says, and I silently thank him for trying to rescue me. “So none of us have been yet. But it’s not that big of a deal. “

“Whatever,” Danielle says. “I’ve been three times. You just have to get asked by a senior.”

“Why didn’t you go to your prom?” I ask Dean, eager to latch on to a topic of conversation that isn’t about my inexperience.

“Eh,” he says, letting his lip curl up with the word. “It just wasn’t my thing. I was into this girl in a punk band and they had a big show that night, so I went to that instead. It was way more epic anyway. Our prom was, like, in the gymnasium.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat, James Dean,” Danielle says. “Our prom is badass. Did Keely tell you it’s at the Walcott?”

“That big old hotel on the lake?” he asks. “That place is stuffy as hell.”

“It’s really pretty,” I say, trying to get him excited. “I went there for brunch once and it’s got these amazing high ceilings and old chandeliers. It looks a little bit like Hogwarts.” I can see Dean’s interest waning. “And there are secret passageways,” I add, hoping that will get him. He raises an eyebrow.

“Secret passageways at a prom? Sounds dangerous.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, running his thumb over the sensitive skin of my palm, and suddenly I’m short of breath. “Who’s going to stop us from sneaking away together?” His words send an excited flutter to my chest, but there’s something uncomfortable there too.