Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(70)

There are stairs that lead straight down to the pavilion, but I veer off onto the side path instead. It’s still strange, walking in a gown. It swishes around my feet with every step I take. But at least I don’t trip. Thank God for combat boots.

“Hey.” I feel a nudge.

Of course, it’s Abby, sidling up to me so closely, our arms almost touch. I feel a two-punch in my gut: flutter and yoink. I could easily grab her hand. I could lace my fingers through hers, and no one would think anything of it, because straight girls hold hands all the time. Especially at dances. They hold hands and take cheek-kissing selfies and sit sideways on benches with their feet in each other’s laps. I could honestly just—

“This is really cool,” Abby says, jolting me back to earth. She’s peering around, wide-eyed, taking everything in. All along the path, there are screened-in enclosures—habitats for birds of prey, mostly. She pauses in front of one. “Is this an owl? Is there an owl at our prom?”

And yup. It’s an actual owl, staring unblinking and motionless as we cut down the path. As if this wasn’t already the weirdest prom ever.

“Insert Harry Potter reference here,” I say.

She grins. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

We end up reaching the end of the path just as Simon and Bram step off the staircase. “Fancy meeting you here,” Abby says.

I realize with a start that they’re holding hands. Like the real kind of hand-holding, not the ready-to-spring-apart-at-any-moment kind. And they both look so sweetly self-conscious about it, even though you can tell they’re trying to be super casual.

“So, do we just walk in?” Bram asks.

Abby shrugs. “I think so.”

Already, there’s a crowd of people milling around the dance floor, even though no one’s really dancing yet. But there’s an emcee working the crowd, pumping his fist up and bellowing, “ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?”

“This is literally junior and senior prom,” says Simon.

“I can’t hear you. ARE THERE ANY SEEEEEEEEEEEENIORS IN THA HOUUUUSE?”

“Does he realize he’s white?” Abby asks.

But everyone screams and howls in response, and it’s completely surreal. Under the pavilion, the lights are dim and tinted orange in a way that makes people’s skin seem to glow. I catch a glimpse of white in my periphery, which turns out to be Taylor in a full-on glide. Evidently, she’s decided to wear Kate Middleton’s wedding dress to prom.

“Is she . . . ?” Abby asks.

“Yup.”

“Wow.”

We exchange grins.

“Taylor, don’t ever change,” I say.

Then Garrett appears at my side. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you, Burke.”

Right. My date.

“Want to dance? I’m ready to dance.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.” He takes my hand. “Come on, I love this song.”

“Um. Really?” The deejay’s playing some wordless techno song that sounds exactly like robots having sex.

“I mean, the lyrics are genius.”

I peek at his face, and all at once, I realize: he’s nervous. I don’t know if that’s really clicked for me until now. But he’s smiling too widely and scratching the back of his neck, and a part of me just wants to hug the poor kid. Or hand him a beer. He just needs to relax.

I let him take my hand and tug me to the dance floor, right up front, near the emcee. “YO YO YO. ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THA HOUUUUUUUUUUSE?” Suddenly, there’s a microphone in my face.

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“Say it louder for my peeps in the back! ONE MORE TIME. ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?!”

“Yes, we’ve established that there are seniors in the house,” I say into the mic. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Abby giggling.

“Come on. We’re dancing.” Garrett tugs me closer, his hands finding my waist.

“Are we really slow dancing to this random techno song?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes a little, but my hands settle onto his shoulders. And then we sway. There’s barely anyone dancing—people are mostly just hovering around the dance floor—and it’s hard to shake the feeling that everyone’s watching me. I think self-consciousness is in my bones.

But then the song changes to Nicki Minaj, which seems to flip the switch. People storm the dance floor. I disentangle from Garrett and end up pressed up between Simon and Bram. And—okay—other than the musicals, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon dance. But he’s pure Muppet. He’s basically bobbing up and down and shuffling his feet—and as stiff as he is, Bram’s even worse. I grin up at both of them, and Simon takes my hands and twirls me. I feel almost breathless.

I guess all the teen movies were right: prom is slightly, slightly magical. There’s just something about being crammed onto a dance floor with all your friends, surrounded by twinkle lights and dressed up like movie stars. Simon grins down at me and bumps his hip against mine. Then he grabs Abby’s hands and they spin together in circles. Bram and Garrett are attempting some kind of shoulder swerve, and I’m pretty sure Martin Addison’s reeling in the Nutcracker like a fish.