Until There Was You(117)

The girl gave Posey that classic teenage look—dubious that this relic of the last century could offer anything useful. “Sure,” she said sullenly.

“Screw him. I mean, no, don’t screw him in the…you know. But this is your prom. Your friends are here, you look gorgeous, the band is, um, great, and you’ll never do senior prom again. So don’t go crawling off and let him see how much he hurt you. Just put that away for now and go have fun.”

“Right,” the girl said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, crawling off to cry works, too. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Posey had crawled off. But she never had again, had she? That night, miserable as it had been, had made her a better person.

The bathroom door burst open, and three girls, all pretty as swans, came in. “Sierra, he’s such an ass! Don’t hide in here, though! Come on! Pretend he doesn’t exist. Ryan Joyce will be totally thrilled.”

The girls were gone in the next instant, and for whatever reason, Posey felt…well…a sense of closure, an affection for her sixteen-year-old self, for the heartache of an unrequited, crushing first love. She’d really loved Liam back then. She really loved him now. And you know what? It was…good. Someday, maybe, she’d tell her grandkids about the bad boy with the leather jacket who took her for a ride on his motorcycle, and wouldn’t they all think she was the bomb?

Well. Time to go back and return to chastity patrol. A glimpse in the mirror revealed that Jon’s hairspray had not been up to the task of conquering the mighty cowlick, but so what? She looked like herself, and it was oddly reassuring.

As she came out of the loo, she could hear the lead singer of the band talking. “Okay, kids, we have a request, and maybe you’ve heard it, if you’ve ever been to a Red Sox game. Bear with us, we haven’t played it for years, but the guy gave us a hundred bucks to do this.”

Posey emerged into the ballroom. There was Jon, who waved to her. A few teachers were with him. Posey headed over, then bumped into Nicole. “Hi, honey, having fun?” she asked.

“Totally,” Nicole said, looking at the stage. “How about… Oh. Oh, no.” Posey looked, too, but even standing on tiptoe, she couldn’t see what was going on—the salmon had not fled the waters, and the dance floor was rather packed.

Then the bass player started to play a very familiar phrase.

“Oh, no,” Nicole said. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Posey’s heart crashed to a stop. Oh, she knew this song, yes indeed. No doubt about it. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

Then someone started singing.

“Nicole!” a girl in a pink dress shrieked, whipping out her phone. “Are you seeing this?”

“Oh, kill me now,” Nicole said. She turned to Posey. “Um…I think this is for you. Tanner, move.” She pushed Posey forward so she could see.

There, onstage, stood Liam Declan Murphy, leather jacket, five o’clock shadow, guitar in his hands.

Singing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.

Her favorite song. The same song that was playing in the elevator the day she gave him the CPR he didn’t need.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they fell on her, he smiled. “‘Sweet Caroline…’”

And a fair number of the kids and pretty much all the teachers chorused back, “Oh, oh, oh!”

“‘Good times never seemed so good,’” he sang, still grinning.

“‘So good, so good, so good!’” the mob sang back, and Posey’s eyes were suddenly stinging.

“Mr. Murphy, don’t quit your day job!” someone shouted, and everyone laughed, including Liam. But he kept singing, doggedly, messing up some of the words, and when he came to the chorus the second time around, it seemed like everyone in the room was singing with him.

“I think you’re hot, Mr. Murphy!” called a girl.

“Ew! Hello! That’s my father, so shut it, okay?” Nicole said. She glanced at Posey and rolled her eyes. “Sorry for you, Posey. I told him he should go out with you, but I never pictured…” The girl gave her a closer look. “Oh, man, you’re eating it up, aren’t you?”

Posey gave a shaky laugh, nodded and wiped her eyes.

The song ended, and the kids gave him a good-natured round of applause, and he jumped off the stage.

“Back to something a little, ah, more contemporary,” the singer said and counted off a beat to yet another song Posey had never heard of, and the salmon-jumping began again.

Then Liam was standing in front of her, and the sight of him was so overwhelming that she forgot to breathe.

“Want to dance?” he asked.

“Dad? Seriously? Not here,” Nicole shouted over the music. “I’m embarrassed enough.”

“Whatevs,” he said, and taking Posey’s hand, he led her through the maze of tables—there was Jon, grinning into his seltzer water and pretending not to see them.

In the foyer of the mansion, the music wasn’t so loud. “Want to dance?” he asked again, and Posey couldn’t quite answer. Apparently, he took this as a yes, because his arm went around her waist, and he pulled her close and moved in a slow rhythm that had nothing to do with the music, which was some god-awful song about wanting someone’s body and their disease—blick—but somehow it was the most romantic, mushy moment of Posey’s entire life. Holy Elvis, she might actually be crying from happiness. She could smell leather and fresh air, and his soap, and she looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling.