None of the Above(3)

“You look killer in this dress,” he said, one hand trailing down my arm and making my skin tingle.

“Better than a tank top and a sports bra, huh?” I took a sip of champagne and leaned into him again, running my hands beneath his tux until I could feel the muscles underneath his dress shirt. His fingers moved up my thigh, warm and strong. Before, I’d always put on the brakes at this point. But that night, I pushed closer into him and he reached beneath my underwear.

Abruptly, his hand stopped. “Holy shit, did you go to Brazil?”

“Yeah,” I lied. It had bothered me for years that I’d never grown hair down there, but when my teammates noticed it I’d always just pretended that I’d gotten waxed.

Sam grinned his GQ grin, and leaned in for another kiss.

When we got to the dance, I spent a minute straightening out my hair and dress. Just as I was about to get out of the car, Sam reached out to stop me.

“Wait—I forgot your flowers.” He fumbled in a side compartment and brought out a green orchid wrist corsage. “I thought it matched your eyes.” The shyness in his voice made me feel strangely protective.

“It’s beautiful.”

“And one more thing . . .” He pulled a little velvet bag from his pocket and handed it to me. “Madison helped me pick it out.”

I smiled. Some people would find it funny imagining a three-sport athlete asking his twelve-year-old sister for gift advice. Then again, most people didn’t know that the twelve-year-old in question had her big brother wrapped around her little finger. I gasped as the contents of the bag slid into my hand with a sparkle: a ring, two hands clasping a crowned heart studded with emeralds.

“Sam. It’s gorgeous.”

“You sure you like it? It’s called a claddagh ring or something.”

“I love it.” I gave him a kiss to prove it.

They’d decorated the entrance to the American Legion with white Christmas lights and votive candles, and I felt truly aglow as I walked in to the strains of Harry Connick Jr. crooning about love being here to stay.

Inside, we set up at a cocktail table strewn with rose petals and found a chair for Vee. Before long, she was holding court. I couldn’t keep track of everyone who kept clustering around our table—members of the Events Committee, class officers, and random underclassmen looking to get brownie points. I caught sight of one of my track teammates and peeled off to say hello, then slipped over to the finger-food table. Reaching for the cheese spread, my arm bumped against someone’s elbow, sending a pile of wheat crackers flying.

“Sorry!” someone said, as he fell to the floor to pick up the broken crackers. I wasn’t sure if I could lean over in my dress, but I managed to bend my knees and get down low enough to pick up a few crumbs with a cocktail napkin. Our fingers touched, and when I looked up to see who it was, I grinned.

“Hey, Darren!” I said when we stood up again. I looked up at him—he was one of the tallest guys in our class, but barely filled out his rented tux.

Darren Kowalski’s face flushed when he recognized me, and he ran his hands sheepishly through his brown mop of hair. “What’s up?”

I pointed at his plateful of cheese. “I hope that’s not your dinner. Your mom would have a heart attack. Is she still trying to feed you alfalfa-hummus sandwiches?”

Darren’s mom and my dad had dated when we were in seventh grade, about a year after my mom died. I was sort of sad when it didn’t work out, because Darren’s mom was an amazing cook who ran a healthy-eating catering business. We hadn’t really kept in touch for the past few years, what with the awkwardness of our parents being broken up, but he was a distance runner, so I usually saw him a bit more during track season.

“Nah, Mom moved on to quinoa earlier this year,” Darren said.

“Keen-what?”

“Exactly. Like anyone in Utica gives a crap about how much protein is in their grain if they don’t know how to pronounce it.” He flicked his head to get his hair out of his eyes, and scuffed the hardwood floor with his shoe.

“I like your tux,” I offered. “It’s sharp.”

Darren shrugged. “I feel like a stuffed penguin. But you look awesome. I totally voted for you.”

For Homecoming Court. “Aww, thanks.” Vee had been saying that Faith and I would get Duchess spots, at least. I had to admit, it’d be nice to be up there with my friends. “Who are you here with?” I asked.

“Becky Riley. Jessica’s sister.”

Jessica had helped out with the HPV-vaccine campaign I’d organized last year. She was into drama and was a glee club star. But before I could ask about his date, a hand snaked across my shoulder.

“Hello, lovely lady,” Sam murmured. He grabbed my hand, pretending to smell my corsage, and kissed it. I mouthed a silent good-bye to Darren as Sam pulled me away.

“Everyone was wondering where you were,” he said. I could barely hear him above the music. He dragged me onto the dance floor to join Faith and her boyfriend, Matt. Vee sat things out, of course, listening to a sophomore chatter on about something or other while her boyfriend, Bruce, stared into the crowd. After a while the DJ switched it up with some Madonna, and a flood of my track teammates pulled me over to do the Vogue with them. Then the strobe lights went off, the disco ball started turning, and they played a slow dance—a cover of that Beatles song “In My Life.” Bruce actually carried Vee out to the dance floor without her crutches, and they swayed together. Sam and I found a spot on the dance floor next to them. I laid my cheek on the smooth satin of his lapel, feeling the beat of his heart.