The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(54)

I endured the “paparazzi” red carpet walk and stepped inside a dark gym illuminated with follow spotlights that beamed across the ceiling. A papier-maché 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.”

I took a step back, mindful I was holding two cups of red punch while wearing a white shirt. “Can I help you?”

“Relax! We just wanted to say that your performance at Chance’s party was ah-mazing,” Caitlin said.

“Insanely good,” Julia said. “You’re very talented.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Are you here with someone?” Evelyn asked, glancing at my cups with shrewd, calculating eyes under fake lashes. She was the prettiest of the three.

“Amber Blake. I should get back.”

Julia pouted. “I knew it. Too late.”

“Too late for what?” But my words were drowned by the DJ dropping a beat and the gym exploding with sound.

“You should have been hired to play this thing,” Evelyn shouted in my ear, moving in close. “You would have slayed it. Violet is always telling us how talented you are.”

My chest tightened at her name. “Thanks. I should go.”

“Hold on. Care to spice those up?” She produced two mini bottles of vodka.

I was about to say no but then Julia said, “Oh, I see Violet! God, she looks so freaking pretty.”

I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to follow Julia’s line of vision. Tradition at Central was that the King and Queen took their spotlight dance together, alone. The entire school would circle around River and Violet to watch them dance like a married couple at their wedding.

I can’t. I fucking can’t.

Evelyn was watching me with a knowing look.

“Sure, hit me,” I said.

She poured one bottle to each cup, leaned in, and planted a lingering kiss on my cheek. “Have a nice night, Miller.”

The girls melted into the crowd of writhing bodies, likely to join Violet and River. I downed one cup of punch, the sickly sweetness hitting my tongue first followed by the bite of vodka in the back of my throat. It warmed me from the inside out, and without thinking about the sugar intake or my numbers, I downed the second one.

The night mellowed and smoothed out. Turned liquid and murky in my vision. Somehow, I made it back to Amber.

“No drinks?” She laughed and took my hand. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

The DJ played “Dance Monkey,” and Amber bounced along to it, both my hands in hers.

“I don’t dance,” I shouted blearily.

“You’re so cute.”