There’s not much I have in common with these popular kids. Okay, that’s not probably not true. Look at Noah and me.
Despite that, I don’t join a conversation I don’t understand. Instead, my eyes scan over the other tables, looking for a particular person I haven’t seen all evening. Maybe she didn’t come? Then I find her on the other side of the room. Her hair wavy, her dress deep red, her lips the same colour. She once joked with me she wanted to avoid wearing red because it’d be too meta — Ruby wearing Ruby — but I said that was ridiculous because the colour suits her.
Her eyes meet mine, and I give her a tentative smile.
After a moment, she gives me a half-smile.
Declan breaks away from his rowdy discussion with Kaito and turns to me, leaning over Noah. “I see you and Noah have made up.”
“Yes.” I smile.
“What was your fight about? Not your new boyfriend, I hope.”
“No, Declan,” Noah says. He’s squeezed against the back of his seat.
Declan swings an arm around Noah’s neck. “Well, I’m glad to see you here, Knightly. This fella doesn’t look depressed anymore.”
Noah rolls his eyes as Declan lets go to argue with someone across the table who insulted his favourite food.
Noah turns to me. “I never asked you about you and Oliver. How are you two?”
“I’m happy. It was surprising, how it happened,” I admit. “We talked after school on Monday —thatMonday — and … he believed me, despite what everyone was saying. Then it just happened. He was my boyfriend.”
The corners of Noah’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “I’m happy for you, Eve.”
“He … he knew how I felt the whole time. Guess I’m not as good at pretending as I thought I was, huh?”
“Hm.” Noah looks at Henry.
I follow his gaze. I want Noah to have his happy ending. If he wants Henry, I want him to have Henry. I don’t say any of that out loud. That would be like picking a scab.
Henry, feeling eyes on him, looks up. His eyes latch onto Noah’s, blue eyes looking black in the light. They stare at each other for a long time. I bite my tongue and look away.
In the break between the main course and dessert, everyone leaves their tables for the dance floor, or to take photos on the balcony that overlooks the park. I join my table for thirty seconds on the dance floor before learning there is no way I can dance amongst peers without being intoxicated, and head for the bathroom.
I won’thidethere, I’m just going to kill as much time as possible before returning to my seat. Despite everything my reputation has gone through this term, I still want to avoid sitting at a large table by myself.
Fortunately, the bathroom empty, which means I can take my time sitting in the cubicle without people thinking I have a medical problem.
It takes me ten minutes of sitting on a closed toilet lid, scrolling through my phone, to get bored. I go to the sink and wash my hands with soap that smells like Chanel perfume when the door opens.
Red dress. Red lips. Caramel hair.
The door clicks closed behind Ruby. She stares at me, though she doesn’t look surprised to see me. For the first time in weeks, it’s not me who starts the conversation.
“You look pretty, Eve.”
I’m stunned. “Thank … you …” My smile, while uncertain, encourages her.
“I love your dress,” she continues.
“You look amazing. Did you do your hair yourself?” I gesture to her old-Hollywood style waves.
She touches it. “My mum helped me.”
“Well, it looks wonderful.”
“Thanks.”
