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Had Lucas asked her to go, her answer might’ve been a lot different.
He didn’t.
Lucas wasn’t going and had turned down four girls before it had been ascertained that no, he wasn’t waiting for someone else to ask him; he just wasn’t going. This, of course, was widely and voraciously analyzed every time two or more girls gathered in a classroom, hall, cafeteria, gym, bakery, school bus or mall and via phone, text, email, sign language and smoke signals.
Oh, the delicious and frustrating mystery of it! No one knew why Lucas lived with Bryce. Their fathers were brothers, and Bryce said only that “it worked out best.” Bryce’s mother worked for an insurance company that had a branch in Corning, a half hour away; hence the senior-year move from Illinois.
Bryce’s dad was the one who showed up at Bryce’s soccer games, sitting with his nephew, talking easily. The fondness between them was reassuring to Colleen. Lucas Campbell was no Heathcliff (thank heavens, because she knew how irresistible those types were).
Still, Lucas had a tinge of tragedy about him: his own mother dead; details of the father unknown, though speculated upon greatly—mafioso, movie star, eccentric billionaire, prison, gay, defrocked priest. Coll pretended not to listen but ate up every word.
The week before prom was consumed with talk of dresses, hairstyles, shoes and how to stop a guy from going too far. Despite her own utter lack of experience, Colleen was asked for advice and doled it out, sounding quite expert to her own ears—tell him beforehand how far you’re comfortable going, or just say, “that’s far enough,” no, don’t french on the dance floor, it’s so tacky, and whatever you do, don’t have unprotected sex.
On prom night, she took pictures of Connor, helped Sherry pin on his corsage because Sherry had it bad for Con and couldn’t quite manage it as her hands were shaking. Colleen wished them a merry prom and waved with her parents as the limo pulled away, filled with the other four couples as well as Con and Sherry. “Kids today. They grow so fast,” she sighed happily. “What are we doing tonight, parents?”
“I thought we’d watch movies,” Mom said hopefully. “I made Rice Krispies treats.”
“Oh, hooray,” Colleen said. “Dad? You in?”
“I have to go to check on some properties,” he said a bit tersely.
“Okay. I’ll come and help,” Colleen offered, a twinge of guilt at instantly changing plans. “We can watch movies a little later, Mom.”
“Sure!” Mom said with forced good cheer. “I’ll tag along, too.” She frowned, her sweet face soft.
“No. I’ll go alone. You girls stay here,” he said in that voice he used when he was irritated.
“Roger that,” Colleen said, keeping her voice light. Experience had shown that when Dad was in a bad mood, there was no point in arguing.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll go with you, and we can all get some dinner afterward, and it’ll be really fun?” Mom suggested, her voice ending in a question mark. Colleen wished she wouldn’t be like that.
“I said, I’ll go alone. Okay? I have some business to take care of.”
“Sure!” Mom said, and Colleen had to stifle an eye roll. She loved her mom, of course, but...well. “Of course, Pete! We’ll keep the home fires warm.”
Dad forced a smile, then kissed Colleen’s cheek. “I’m sure the other girls are glad you’re not going tonight, honey. All their dates would be after you.”
“Hmm,” Colleen said. It was a slightly insulting insinuation—she’d never steal someone else’s guy, and she liked to think that most other girls quite adored her—but she knew Dad meant it as a compliment.
And so she and Mom ate the sticky treats and admired Matthew McConaughey’s abs, Mom sitting with the house phone and her cell on the arm of her chair, just in case Dad changed his mind.
He didn’t, but around eleven, the phone rang. It was Faith, urging her to come to the after party at her boyfriend’s lovely house.
“Okay if I go up to the Lyons’, Ma?” she asked her dozing mother.
“Oh, sure,” Mom said. “Did your father call?”
“Nope. Why don’t you go to bed? Con and I will be home later.”
“Want to take the car?” Mom asked.
“Nah. I’ll walk.” Jeremy only lived a half mile away from the O’Rourke house, and she could get a ride home.
“Okay. Make sure you’re smart, sweetheart.” Her code for “don’t drink, don’t do drugs, don’t have unprotected sex, don’t get kidnapped, don’t eat tuna fish” (she had a strange fear of tuna, for some reason).
“I was born smart.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “See you later.”
The Lyon parents were exceptional hosts; nothing was more fun than one of their parties because they were the cool parents—the kind who knew how to be welcoming and funny and also how to disappear and let the kids do their thing.
The entire senior class was there, it seemed, and gourmet pizzas were being served, in addition to three kinds of green salad, ciabatta sandwiches and designer pop, and yards and yards of organic snack food and desserts. “Hi, Mrs. Lyon,” Colleen said. “Thanks for having us!”
“Colleen, why on earth didn’t you go to your prom?” she asked.
“I have an old soul,” Colleen answered, getting a fond chuckle as a reply.
Most of her classmates were in the huge finished basement. ’N Sync played from the hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Colleen saw Connor, who was nodding as Sherry talked. He shot her a look that she read perfectly, courtesy of their psychic twin connection—I’m dying here, curse of the nice guy, please save me. She blinked at him. You should’ve listened to me, shmuck-o. Suffer on. He responded with a subtle middle finger. But hey! She’d warned him. Sherry had had a crush on Connor since preschool, something Connor had refuted until a few weeks ago.
Faith and Jeremy were snuggled on the couch, the golden couple, prom king and queen, of course, as if anyone else had a chance. Some guys were playing pool while their dates gossiped or sulked in a gaggle nearby. Funny thing about prom; no one ever had as much fun as they were supposed to. Except Faith and Jeremy, of course.
Bryce Campbell, looking pretty beautiful in his tux, gave her a sloppy wave. Colleen instantly pegged him as being a bit drunk. Must’ve snuck in some booze, because the Lyon elders would’ve called his parents if they’d noticed he’d been drinking. Tanya added a sharp look and put her arm around Bryce’s waist. Please. Colleen was so not the type to swoop in and ruin someone’s night. She drifted over to them. “You look gorgeous, Tanya!” she said, getting a fake smile from the girl. “And you, pal, very handsome.” She leaned in. “No more drinking here, got it?” she whispered. “And no driving.”
“Got it, Coll,” he said with a smile.
She got a bottle of Virgil’s root beer, made the rounds, admired the gowns of the girls, winked at the boys and generally schmoozed, comfortable as the grand dame of the senior class. Part of things, but above them. A modern-day Emma, her favorite Jane Austen heroine. She ascertained that her brother was still trapped as Sherry moved in to try to kiss him, and once again smilingly rejected his silent plea for help. Revenge for the time he locked her in the cedar closet for six hours when they were ten.
At about midnight, it was decided by half the group that a visit to the lake was in order; for one, it was a gorgeous May night, the sky gleaming with stars, the air soft and gentle and just cool enough for cuddling; and two, those who wanted to have sex or drink could drift off to wherever without getting busted by Mr. and Mrs. Lyon. The good kids stayed put, and Colleen figured she would, too.
Until she saw Bryce Campbell fumbling for his keys.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, earning yet another glare from Tanya. “You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t even worry about me,” he slurred. So much for her warning. Was there a creature on earth more stupid than an eighteen-year-old boy? “I’m totally fine, Colleen. You’re pretty, you know that?”
“You’re not driving. Let Tanya... Oh, right.” Tanya had flunked her driver’s test three times already.
Colleen could tell the Lyons, of course. But then they’d call Bryce’s parents, and who wanted to be the kid who turned in a friend?
“How about if I drive, then?” she offered.
“No thanks, Colleen,” Tanya said. She really was quite dim.
“Your date’s not sober, sweets. Besides, it’ll be fun. You guys can sit in the back and cuddle, and I’ll be your chauffeur.”
“All right,” Bryce said. “That does sound fun.” He smiled affably. Goofball.
Jeremy and Faith walked everyone to the door, already acting like a married couple, and Mr. and Mrs. Lyon waved good-night and told everyone to drive safely.
Colleen got into Bryce’s car (a red Mustang convertible, really, did his parents want him to die in a fiery crash?), and Tanya and Bryce got in back. Bryce took a brown paper bag from under the seat, unscrewed the cap of the bottle inside and took a pull, then offered some to Tanya, who accepted.
“Underage drinking, children,” she said mildly. “Illegal.”
“Lighten up,” Tanya said.
Kids today. No respect. Good thing they had her to watch over them and get them home. And sure, it was fun to drive the Mustang.
The gathering at the lake was on a private beach; the owner was a summer person who surely wouldn’t mind if the Manningsport youth used her property. Colleen parked the Stang on the street and followed the path down to the lake, the sound of peepers shrill and sweet.
The party was already in progress; Asswipe Jones lit a fire on the small beach, and a radio was playing. Two or three couples were out on the dock, smooching. There was laughter and a shriek as Angela Mitchum’s date, a kid from Corning, picked her up and threatened to throw her in the water.
Bryce and Tanya weren’t the only ones drinking. Colleen made the rounds and ensured that those who were had a ride with a sober driver; most of the kids had come via limo; Colleen had seen one parked on the street, the driver smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.
After a while, most of the couples left. It had gotten colder, and the night was winding down. There were still a few couples left—the drinkers, naturally.
Sigh. The curse of the designated driver. She’d volunteered, after all. She checked her phone, hoping to call Con to alleviate her boredom. No cell service down here, though.
Stifling a yawn, she sat down on the sand, which was a little chilly. The stars stretched and blazed above, and a comet streaked across the eastern sky, and then her eyes were closed.
She awoke to the sound of angry voices.
“Fuck you, pretty boy,” someone was saying. Great. It was Jake Green, one of the too-privileged lacrosse players. He’d been the first of the nine who’d asked Colleen to the prom and was now talking to Bryce out on the dock.
Colleen got up. Tanya was sitting with her head in her hands, crying. “What happened?” Colleen said, putting an arm around her. “Honey? You okay?”
“My shoe broke,” Tanya sobbed. “See?” She held it up for inspection. “The heel just snapped. And they’re so pretty!”
Colleen sighed. People who couldn’t hold their liquor really shouldn’t drink. “What’s going on out there?” She pointed to the dock.
“I dunno,” Tanya mumbled, tears falling on the wounded shoe. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll get Bryce and we can go.”
“Good.” With that, she lay down on the sand, her wounded shoe cradled against her chest, and closed her eyes.
The voices were louder now. The moon had risen higher, fat and full, shining across the lake in a wide path of white light, allowing Colleen to see who was out there with Bryce. In addition to Jake were his minions (because all irritating rich boys had to have minions)—Jase Ross and Chris Eckbert—Crabbe and Goyle to Jake’s Draco Malfoy. Their three dates appeared to have left.
“I don’t know why you’re mad. I meant it as a compliment,” Bryce said.
“Hey, guys,” Colleen said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, you’re here?” Jake sneered. “I thought you were too good for the prom.”
“No, no, not too good, Jake. I’m only here as a designated driver. Speaking of that, Bryce, can we go? I’m tired, and Tanya is, too.”
“Fuck you, O’Rourke,” Jake said. “Mind your own business.”
“He’s mad at me,” Bryce whispered (loudly). “I told him I thought he looked like Cameron Diaz.”
Colleen bit down on a smile. Jake was indeed blond and blue-eyed.
“You’re gonna be sorry you said that, idiot,” Jake said.
“Oh, come on,” Colleen said. “He’s drunk, Jake. And you do look like Cameron Diaz, right, Crabbe? Right, Goyle?” She smiled at Jase and Chris, who, uncertain of how to respond, glanced at Jake.
“Bryce, let’s get going,” she said, starting toward him. He answered with a crooked smile.
“Hold on,” Jake said, and then put his hand on Bryce’s chest and shoved, almost gently.
“Dude,” Bryce murmured. His legs buckled, and Colleen realized that at some point, Bryce had gone from sloppy to shit-faced. This was confirmed when he lay back on the dock. “I don’t feel so good,” he muttered.
“I don’t feel so good,” Jake echoed in a high-pitched voice. “I bet you don’t, pussy.” His minions laughed, and Jake gave a tentative kick to Bryce’s ribs.
“Knock it off!” Colleen said.
“Hey,” Bryce said faintly, sounding more surprised than hurt.
She took a step toward them, stopping as Jake turned and looked at her, a speculative expression drifting over his face.
The cold lance of fear that slid through her stomach was almost alarming.
Jake was in front of her. Jase and Chris were behind her.
Oh, shit.
That was the thing about life in a small town. Once, they’d all been friends, more or less—all forty-nine kids in the senior class, back in the day of Halloween parties and field trips to the local cemetery. But somewhere in high school, things changed. Cliques formed, circles closed, and before you knew it, you could lose track of a person.
And Colleen had definitely lost track of Jake. She’d rebuffed him a few times, starting in seventh grade, not liking his rich-boy superiority, his casual dismissal of the girls who liked him. Chris and Jase, too, had never been her favorites. Chris wasn’t that bad, just kind of a jerk. But Jase had a mean streak, too.
Suddenly, they seemed...dangerous.
Without looking away from her, Jake gave Bryce another oddly gentle kick, as if trying to see if he enjoyed it. Bryce appeared to have passed out.
“You think he’d drown if we rolled him in the lake?” Jake asked.
The minions snickered
This night was heading south. Fast.
“Okay, that’s enough, boys,” she said briskly. “Help me get him to the car.” Yes. Give them the chance to be on her side, to change the dynamic.
Chris and Jase didn’t move, waiting for instructions from their leader.
“You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you, Colleen?” Jake said softly, looking her up and down.
And all of a sudden, Colleen was—there was no more denying it—genuinely scared. Her knees buzzed, and her heart kicked in her chest.
“Jake, come on,” she said, and she hated the fact that her voice shook. “Let’s call it a night.”
“I don’t think so. This prom sucked, and I want some fun.” Another kick to Bryce, resulting in a soft grunt and nothing else.
