“What’s—”
“Well, see ya ‘round, Dancing Queen.”
She snapped her mouth shut and wavedas he peeled off and trotted down Bridge Street. She tried to form the word, “bye,” but all that came out was “buh—”
Standing dumbfounded, she stared after him. She hadn’t realized Tage knew she existed, let alone the fact that she waitressed. And danced.
Stunned, Hailey walked, then jogged, then stopped dead to puzzle over what had just happened. Then she jogged again until she finally reached the pub.
Nobody at that school “chatted” with Hailey. Not since the fourth grade, not since the day a particularly mean girl concocted a particularly ugly rumor—that Hailey had started the fire that killed her parents. The whispers and sideways glances lasted close to a year, and in trying to defend herself, Hailey only made things worse. By the time she figured out that nobody else believed in pyromaniac-nightmare-monsters, it was too late. She’d already earned the label “weirdo,” which, unfortunately, stuck.
When Hailey burst into the pub, Holly had already cleaned up most of the St. Patrick’s Day mess but was still scurrying around the dining room, rag in hand, her feet a green-sneakered blur. Hailey grabbed the rag from Holly, set it aside, and looked her sister dead in the eyes.
“You’ll never guess who talked to me today,” she said to Holly, though Fin, the new bartender, also looked up.
“Who?” Holly’s sea-green eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Tage Adams.” Hailey stepped back, crossed her arms, and chewed her lip.
“No!”
Hailey nodded. “Yup.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me I usually have my nose stuck in a book.” Hailey paused for effect. “And then he called me Dancing Queen.” Hailey raised her eyebrows as she waited for her sister’s assessment.
“He knowsyou dance?”
Hailey shrugged, feeling as perplexed as Holly looked. Tage was hardly a regular at the pub. When he had come with his family for dinner—which was exactly twice—Hailey had reverted to her antisocial-school-self, stood in the shadows, still as the grave, and made Holly wait on him.
“He might like you.” Holly pointed her finger at Hailey. “Isn’t prom coming up?”
“What?”
Holly gave her the sister-ESP look, and Hailey recoiled.
“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Hailey put her hand over her forehead. “Oh my God, I hope not.” She didn’t care how obscenely handsome Tage was—she’d rather be locked in a trunk full of spiders than attend a school function. Spider bites healed. Gossip stung forever. “I’d have to tell him no.” She grabbed Holly’s rag and wiped an already clean table.
“Oooorrrrrr…” Holly smiled, leaning casually against the bar, “You could suck it up and go to prom with the hottest guy in school.”
“I’m sure he was just being polite,” said Hailey, wiping more vigorously.
“Oh, yeah,” said Holly sarcastically. “I’m sure that’s all it was. Football stars are typicallysopolite to the school’s biggest introvert.”
Hailey stared at her, full of dread. The very thought of prom made her ill. She was quite content to remain mostly invisible until she graduated and prayed that Tage had simply suffered a momentary bout of social amnesia in acknowledging her existence. More than that, she hoped he already had a date lined up—a perfect cheerleader or something.
She shook her head, pushing Tage and prom and excruciating, extremely public ridicule from her mind, but Holly wasn’t done torturing her.
“Tage Adams,” she marveled, and then she held up a white envelope. “And I thought seeing this would be the highlight of your day.” She smiled brightly.
“What’s that?”
“Another scholarship announcement—wait till you hear this one,” she said, unfolding the letter. “A scholarship for the study of the mating habits of the arctic ice worm.”
Hailey squinted.
“But wait.” Holly held her finger up. “—requires a high tolerance for cold weather as well as an abundance of patience.” She dropped the paper on the bar and stared at Hailey.
