The Serpent King(79)

Dill didn’t blink. He smiled. “You think you can cause me pain after what I’ve lived through? Go on. Hit me with your little fist.” He stared down Tyson until Tyson once more blustered about how fortunate Dill was that it was prom, grabbed Madison’s hand, and stomped away.

“Sorry about the whole no-college-wanting-you-to-play-football-for-them thing,” Lydia called after them.

Lydia turned to Dill, put the back of her hand to her forehead, and pretended to swoon. “My knight in shining armor!”

“Wouldn’t getting a black eye on prom night be pathetic?”

“Unquestionably.”

The DJ played a slow song. Lydia took Dill’s hand. “Come on, Sir Galahad. Being the only people dancing at prom is also pathetic.”

She led him to the middle of the dance floor, where they stood alone, people staring and snickering. Dill put his (shaking) hands on Lydia’s hips. “We should probably dance too close together, for patheticness’s sake,” she said. “We might as well do this right.” She drew in nearer to him. Near enough to feel his warmth. To see his (beautiful) jawline out of the corner of her eye and not the stares. To hear his (fast) heartbeat and not the snickers.

While they danced, swaying like two trees in the wind, she realized she wasn’t doing a very good job of feeling pathetic.





They rode home to Lydia’s under the moon and stars. Lydia sat on the crossbar, leaning her shoulder against Dill’s chest.

“The prom photographer guy seemed pretty unamused,” Dill said.

“I could not conceivably care less,” Lydia said. “The irony is that everyone acted more concerned with us mocking their precious rite of passage than with drunk driving or girls getting roofied.”

“I had the time of my life.”

Lydia turned, looked up at him, and smiled. “That was pretty badass when you stood up to Tyson, by the way. It was—dare I say—rather sexy.”

Sexy, huh? Dill took one hand off the handlebars and flexed his arm, mugging. “What can I say, babe? Tyson bought a ticket to the gun show.”

Lydia snorted, grabbed his wrist, and pulled it back down to the handlebars. “You are an irredeemable dork. Fortunately for our relationship’s continued viability, you suck at acting like a dumb bro.”

They passed Riverbank Books. Dill tried to concentrate on the road, but the geometry of Lydia’s neck distracted him.

“I’ll miss this,” Dill said. That was the understatement of the century.

“This town?” Lydia gestured back at the town square. “Or this?” She gestured at the two of them.

“This. Being together.” He loved the way the words being together felt on his tongue, like nectar.

Lydia reached up and pinched his cheek. “Aw. Look who’s getting the hang of this evening.”

Dill pulled away. “Is that pathetic? To miss you?”

“Of course not. I’m just giving you shit.” She rested her head back against Dill’s chest.

The floral night breeze blew a lock of Lydia’s disarrayed hair against Dill’s lips. It tickled, but he made no move to brush it away. They arrived at Lydia’s house.

When Lydia jumped off the bike, Dill took a quick look to make sure the coast was clear. Then he grabbed her by the waist and drew her to him. “There’s one more thing I’ll miss.” And he kissed her. The way she kissed him back left him doubtless that the rules were once more on hold.

“Anyway,” Dill said at last. “We better stop before your dad sees.”

“He deserves to see his daughter making out with the preacher’s kid as punishment for making me grow up in this hick town. But come on.” Lydia motioned for Dill to follow her into the backyard. She kicked off her shoes and walked over to the outside faucet. “Now we enter the final phase of Pathetic Prom. While our classmates are getting zongered at the Holiday Inn in Cookeville and getting pregnant, you and I will be playing in the sprinkler and looking up at the stars until your curfew. Yes?”

She didn’t wait for Dill’s answer before she turned on the water and the sprinkler chick-chick-chicked around the lawn in a circle.

“Come on, Dill.” She jumped in the sprinkler’s path and squealed and giggled like a child as it soaked her.

Dill put his hand over his face, laughed, and shook his head. Lydia was already a dripping mess. What remained of her mascara ran down her face in inky streaks. Her hair had come loose and fallen out of its elaborate style. It dangled sodden around her face. Water droplets coated her glasses. She cackled and picked up the sprinkler, chasing Dill with it.

He tried to run. “No! Get away!” He slipped and skidded on the wet grass and Lydia pounced. She tackled him (he didn’t fight that part too vigorously, especially when she lay on top of him for longer than necessary) and left him drenched. They ran and jumped through the sprinkler for several minutes, yelping and giggling.

Lydia’s parents stepped out onto the back porch. Lydia’s mom folded her arms. “Lydia, are you sure Dill thinks this is as funny as you do?”

He stood up, rivulets of water pooling at his feet, a colossal grass stain up the side of his suit. “Yes ma’am, I do. At least I think I do. I don’t always get what’s in Lydia’s head.”