“Please do.” He tugs lightly at a piece of my hair, trailing his thumb across my collarbone and down my arm. “I really need to talk to you.”
The crowd starts to close in on us, and he pulls his hand away. I see his shoulders dip forward as if his entire body deflated, probably internally sulking about the gyrating slowly starting to suffocate him. He gives me a salute then disappears into the sea of dancing teenagers.
The first hour of the prom is a chaotic whirlwind.
Ellie and I man the ticket table, Benny assists with the photo booth, and Emma barks out orders like it’s the apocalypse. When the line to enter dies down, we finally sit down and take a breather. Music and dancing happen behind us in a blur. Iglance around, looking for Malcolm, but he’s a ghost, nowhere to be found.
“I’m going to get some punch!” I yell over the music to Ellie who has taken to playing Wordle on her phone.
Weaving my way through the bodies, I find the drink table and Ross on high alert. He really is the perfect person for the job. Volunteering for the police department ignited this spark inside of him. Protecting and serving—even at the high school prom—is what he lives for now.
“Hi, Ross!” The music booms around us, muffling my voice. He nods in greeting as I fill up my cup. “Have you seen Malcolm?” I yell in his direction, eyeing the mess that has overtaken the table. Ross shakes his head as he watches the table suspiciously, as if I, a teacher, will spike the punch while straightening the cups and napkins. Dusting the cookie crumbs off my hands, I collect my punch and turn toward the dance floor. There are no openings—a barrier of bodies swaying and jumping blocks my path across the gym. Sidling up next to Ross, I sip on my punch. Making conversation is useless with the noise, so we watch the madness around us.
“Hey, Ms. Stanley!” Garrett, dressed in a hot-pink suit with a black bowtie, pushes through the crowd. Ross steps closer to the table, glowering at Garrett as he pours himself some punch. “Are you going to get out there?” He smiles at me, chugging his punch like it’s a shot.
I mouth,“No,”and he pouts. “Teachers don’t need to be out there!” I wave my hand dismissively as Garrett points over the crowd at a short woman bouncing and sliding side to side in the midst of the teenagers. Margaret. A song even I don’t know blares through the speakers, and Margaret is shaking everything she’s got—off beat.
One arm goes up, the other goes forward. A slide to the left, and a slide back. It’s a poor attempt, but she is fearless. Mycheeks pinch at the sight—the sheer joy she has out there. And then, in one swift motion, Bill is on the dance floor, sidling up next to her, matching her energy like it’s his own. My heart swells at the sight of two people so in sync and unbothered by everything around them.
“Whew, they’re getting it!” Travis Van gives a single clap as he breaks through the barrier. I have to stand on my toes to keep watching Margaret and Bill as the crowd circles around them.Did Bill leave Daniels alone on bathroom duty?
Sarah and Ethan find their way to the table as well, holding hands and looking adorable. I refuse to let the sweetness of young love cloud my judgment of her date choice.I’m watching you,my eyes say as he fills two cups with water.
“Where’s Geer?” Ethan asks the group. They each stand on their toes, scouring the crowd with no luck. They all linger around the table, Devon and Charlie abandoning their dates on the floor to join them.
For some odd reason, I feel the need to use this opportunity for intel. “Hey,” I yell. Their faces are beet red from the dancing as they face me. Travis throws his hands up and steps away from the table as if I’m accusing him of something. “What happened at the restaurant?” They all look at me, confused, so I clarify, “Why did you guys crash my date?”
A wave of fixed expressions marks their faces—straight, taut lines, fighting any emotion or giveaway. Setting my hands on my hips, I wait. A few of them attempt to back away, probably hoping the crowd will swallow them. I jab my finger in the air at them, halting them in their tracks. “Spill it.”
Devon sighs, stepping closer so I can hear him. “You really don’t know?”
I shrug, unsure how to answer. I have a hunch, but I need confirmation. I need reassurance that my feelings aren’t the only ones going wild right now. “We did it for Geer. He was freakingout about your date, worried about you. At first, we did it because none of us liked Sanders and wanted to ruin it. But a day or so later, we figured it out.” Devon shrugs, like that answers my question.
“Figured out what?” I ask.
“Coach, have you ever considered that maybe Coach Geer views you as more than a friend?” Garrett asks. “All the things he does for you and no one else? And that thing with the pig—I mean, come on.”
“Wait, what thing with the pig?” Confusion mars my face.
“We were at a luau,” Travis whines, “and we didn’t even get to see the roasted pig. Coach had the kitchen staff move it to the other side of the party so we wouldn’t see it—soyouwouldn’t have to watch them roast it. We had front-row seats and everything.” He wails despondently, like this situation ruined his entire week at camp.
“Wh—why would he do that? I could have easily stepped away,” I defend.
“We know.” Garrett nods in agreement. “But Geer was determined. He even helped them move the thing. It was disgusting.”
That was why Malcolm was late.
I stand there, unsure what to say or ask now. So, Malcolm ruined a luaufor me. He crashed my date. These could all just be kind gestures you do for a friend. Maybe he’d do something like this for Benny.
Ethan and Sarah are the first to head back out to the dance floor, Travis and Charlie following suit shortly after. Devon waits, watching the crowd blur in front of us.
“Look”—Devon tugs at my elbow—“a monkey could tell how he feels about you. And you’re out there trying to meet random guys on the internet.” He waves a hand at the crowd, as if it's a clear representation of the number of online date-ees I’veencountered. I glower at him, pursing my lips. “I’m just saying, the guy is so crazy about you. You’d be insane to not know!”
“You don’t know that!” I defend again.
“Kate, ask anyone. You won’t find a single person here who thinks otherwise.”
Well, I clearly won’t be doing that. I don’t need to ask everyone. I just need to ask Malcolm.
