I ignore their laughter and make my way to the car, opening Juniper’s door before I hop in the driver’s seat. I look around at the little bit of clutter I’ve accumulated—mostly leftovers of the books I teach in my lit class, but also a few stray papers—and forcefully remind myself it doesn’t matter if my car is messy. Juniper’s not going to care, at any rate; she was literallylivingout of her car.
She brings some sort of citrusy scent with her when she gets into the passenger seat, a sharp but subtle smell that’s way more appealing than the air freshener hanging from my rearview mirror. I’m not a big fan of florals or anything too sweet; Imuch prefer crisp and fresh.?*
“I know your sister was joking,” Juniper says as she fastens her seatbelt, “but you really do look nice.” She glances over at me, and I watch as her eyes trail over my linen suit coat and white shirt. “I like the blue. It makes your eyes look extra brown. Sort of soulful.”
I blink at her, surprised. Then I duck my head. “Thanks,” I say. “You look nice too.” It would be rude not to say it back.
“I feel pretty,” she says happily. Her pink hair is pin straight tonight, sleek and soft-looking, held back by a sparkly clip on one side.
“You are,” I say. I clear my throat, an audible divider in the conversation, and then change the subject. “The dance ends at eleven,” I say. “We can go down to Solomon after that. You’re free to do whatever you want until then. I will not be dancing, though, so don’t ask.”
“I would never,” she says solemnly, but I see her lips twitch.
Whatever. She can laugh if she wants; it’s not going to change anything. I still won’t get out on that dance floor. I’m here to make sure the drinks stay non-alcoholic and to make sure no one gets too handsy under the light of the disco ball—that’s it.
We drive in strangely comfortable silence, arriving at the high school five minutes later. When we pull into the school parking lot, it takes a good ten minutes to find a spot; I finally find one in the back lot, and then Juniper and I begin the trek to the gymnasium.
“Wow,” she says, looking around when we make it inside. “It’s been a long time.”
I glance at her, curious. “Have you not been back here since you graduated?”
She shakes her head. “I never really wanted to come back. Not a lot of happy memories.” The smile she gives me is simple,peaceful—not full of self-pity but acceptance. “Still, it hasn’t changed much, has it?”
“Not a lot,” I say, pointing in the direction of the gym. I realize a second too late that I don’t need to show her the way; of course she knows where we’re going. There are streams of high schoolers moving in that direction anyway, gangly boys in suits and giggling girls in shiny dresses. The air is thick with that adolescent tension I hate—the unbearably awkward awareness of your own body, the veritable flood of hormones suffocating everyone within a ten-foot radius, the perpetual scent of body odor and Axe body spray.?*
I’msoglad I’m not a teenager anymore.
We’re almost to the gymnasium doors when I run, quite literally, into Rocco; he comes out of nowhere, and I stumble, righting myself quickly.
“Sorry, man,” I say. Then, grinning as I get a good look at him, I add, “Looking spiffy.”
His booming laugh echoes down the corridor, laced with that smoker’s wheeze. His blue eyes twinkle as he points to his hair. “You like this? I used about half a tube of hair gel.” His hair is thick and dark, graying at the temples, but usually it’s a mess; tonight he’s got some semblance of a part, and his suit fits him immaculately.?* His smile fades slightly when he notices Juniper, though, a glimmer of interest springing to life in his eyes.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” he says.
I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Rocco, this is Juniper Bean,” I say, nodding at her. “Juniper, Rocco Astor.”
Rocco just looks surprised for asecond; then a wide, boyish smile splits his face, making him look younger than his forty-something years. “Forgive the facial expression,” he says to Juniper. He reaches out and shakes her hand. “I’ve just never seen this guy with a date.”
Juniper smiles back at him. “Truthfully, I just tagged along for fun,” she says.
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Juniper,” Rocco says, winking. “Have that fun, all right?” Then, checking his watch, he says to me, “I’ve got to dash.”
“Yeah,” I say, waving him off. “See you later.”
He claps me on the shoulder, gives one last nod to Juniper, and then hurries off.
“What does he do?” Juniper says quietly, watching with an amused expression as Rocco fights through the tide of students and then disappears around the corner. “He looks familiar.”
“Gym teacher,” I say.
“Who was the gym teacher when you were here?” she says, looking over at me. “Ours was Kennedy. Is that who you had?”
“Old guy with grayish-blond hair?” I say, trying to remember. I have vague memories of excessive whistle-blowing and lots of shouting. “Drill sergeant in his former life?”
“That’s him,” she says with a grin. Something swoops low in my stomach at the sight—she’s really, really pretty—so I look away.
This is going to be a long night.
