Puddle Jumping(16)

But when Colton talks to me or looks at me, I feel really special. Prettier than I’ve ever felt before in my life. I figured the other bitches in school would see that, too. I assumed they would know, since we held hands all the time, and drove to and from school, walked to class and ate lunch together: Colton and I were, ya know . . . together.

Apparently, I was wrong.

The simple fact that neither Colton nor I had actually said we were boyfriend and girlfriend made people think maybe we weren’t. We hadn’t kissed or anything, and I guess a lot of people . . . girls . . . saw me as just some sort of friend or something. Friends who hold hands?

As Colton would say, “Whatever.”

He’d gotten better at chiming in with little things here or there that would catch us all off-guard at the table. Unprompted.

Girls were suddenly trying to talk to us during lunch, but couldn’t quite get a grasp on Colton’s reactions or silence. It made Quinn laugh to no end, and Sawyer sat back with a shit-eating grin on his face because he could tell I was like a tiger about to pounce every time one of them came over. Marissa would usually interject and talk the girls’ ears off and they’d eventually make an excuse to walk away.

Anyway. We got the announcement about the Girls’ Choice Dance and all the girls in the school suddenly got lobotomized or something because half of them were crying about having to ask a boy out and the other half were making lists. Those that didn’t have boyfriends, that is.

I hadn’t really been paying attention to what was going on, oblivious to gossip sessions around me for a couple weeks, thinking it was obvious to everyone I would be asking Colton to the dance, when I heard the first rumor.

No less than three girls had vocalized their intent to ask him.

Now, you have to remember I was the only girl to have spent copious amounts of time with him alone. With his family. Learning how he ticked. So, I definitely had the advantage there. It was almost like I wanted to see these other girls crash and burn when they asked him to take them to the dance.

But another part of me didn’t even want them to get the satisfaction of asking.

I had a mini panic attack because I wasn’t sure if the dance would be too loud. Too crowded. Too much stimulation.

Would it even be worth trying to go?

One look at him as he came out of class that day answered every question I had in my head. Of course it was worth it.

Like that crazy bitch from Kill Bill, it was like I could see girls were approaching from everywhere, and it appeared they were all coming at us at once in some sort of race against time to get to him first. Right in front of my effing face.

“Colton?” I grabbed onto his hand tightly and turned his back toward the locker, getting his attention focused only on my face. “I want to ask you a question.” He nodded. “Take me to the dance next weekend.”

He tilted his head to the side and frowned. “Lilly, that was not in the form of a question. A question is a request that ends with a question mark. What you just said was a statement.”

“Will you take me to the dance next weekend?” My heart was about to jump out of my throat wielding a sharp knife to cut the Achilles tendons on the approaching bitches’ feet.

But Colton was just staring at me.

“I’d like you to take me to the dance. Please?”

He chewed his lip. Blinked a few times. Appeared thoughtful.

And right at the moment the first girl made it to us, he gave a shrug. “Okay.”

Triumphantly, I whirled around and mouthed, ‘Too late’.

I was stupidly giddy for the rest of the day. I was victorious.

And then I remembered I hate to dance.

No matter. I would go with Colton and we would be together in public and it was really all that mattered.

Harper let me borrow a dress and I let her do my hair and makeup before driving over to meet him so our parents could take our pictures. Parents are so weird about that kind of stuff anyway, and my dad was giving him the sly eye while the moms ran around taking pictures and talking about how cute we were. And all the while, Colton . . . more handsome than ever before in a suit . . . a black suit and white shirt . . . hair meticulously combed, blue eyes wide . . . never stopped looking at me.

He didn’t need to say he thought I looked nice. I saw it in his face.

The red dress I wore made me feel pretty. Colton’s stare made me feel downright beautiful.

By the time we walked through the doors of the gymnasium, music blasting and lights popping from camera flashes and little disco balls hanging from the ceiling, I thought my hand would fall off. Colton was squeezing it so tightly; I swear my fingertips were turning black.

Yet, he endured. I made sure to walk him through the crowd of sweaty dancers and by the tables of kids who thought they were too cool to be there. We waved at our friends but continued walking because Colton was seriously experiencing too much stimulation, so I did what I figured would be best.

I pulled him outside to the white tent behind the building. It was lit with pretty white lights and the girls who decorated had hung Japanese lanterns across the ceiling. It was cute. It was cheesy. It was romantic in a funny way, and I couldn’t help but smile as I led him out there where the music was lower, the lights were softer, and only one other couple was hanging out, drinking soda.

I turned and looked up into his face, moving my arms up to his shoulders and started swaying a little. Just side to side. I’m a terrible dancer, but these things are special and I wanted the memories with him.