Before I can reply, Steve steps out from behind her, licking his lips as he adjusts his belt. “She looksadorable,honey,” he says with a smirk on his face, his beady eyes scanning me up and down, making me uncomfortable. Adorable, his words echo inside my head like an alarm bell. Especially after hearing he likes ‘em young. His compliment does nothing but make me feel gross, anything but fucking adorable.
For a moment, we all just stand there unsure what else to say. It’s not like we are close, and the only person I care about is the one screaming behind the closed door of his room at his game. Which reminds me. Bunching up the skirt, I step towards Tommy's door and knock softly before twisting the handle and stepping inside. Like everything else in the house, his room smells like smoke and stale chips.
He stops mid-game and gawks at me. “You look like Cindy Lauper.”
I look down at my dress and then at him with a raised brow. “I beg to differ, dare I say I look hotter.”
My little brother scoffs, giving me a slight shrug. “I guess. You’re leaving?”
I nod. “Soon.”
Tommy turns to the window, before glancing back at me. “Don’t you have a prom date or something?”
I let out a long sigh. “Or something.”
This time, he doesn’t reply back, his eyes move back to his game and, with a wave, he dismisses me. “Have fun.”
With that, I step out of the room to find my mom still hanging outside her bedroom door with Steve right beside her. “When is your prom date picking you up?” she asks, but I don’t respond.
Hell if I know.
“I gotta go,” I mutter as I glance down to my wrist, noticing that I don’t have a watch on, so I can’t actually tell what time it is. What I do know is that it’s getting dark out and Paul is not here.Isn’t he supposed to come over, with a pin on corsage?That thought alonemakes me move towards the kitchen, ignoring my mother's rambles. I should call him…
My hand moves to the phone hanging on the wall, only to realize I don’t actually know his phone number. My stomach twists and turns until finally the nerves erupt within me, making me feel hot and clammy all at the same time. I could really go for a smoke or a beer just to take the edge off. From behind me, the kitchen clock ticks away like my fucking patience. I pace throughout the space, I didn’t really care for prom. What I do care about is being stood up… or played with. Paul is definitely late, and the last thing I’ll be doing is waiting around like a princess waiting to be rescued.
After a few curses and more pacing, I decide I’ve waited long enough, and then I’m back in front of the phone calling the only number I memorized. The line rings twice, then she answers. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I say nervously, feeling like an asshole for calling her after what happened the other night. Twirling the cord around my finger, I wait for her to hang up or say something snarky. Trish does neither of those things. Instead, she says, “What’s up, Prom Queen?”
Prom Queen.
The words sink into my stomach like dead weight. Suddenly, the realization of it becomes too much. A shiver runs down my spine, and again, that ominous feeling curls around the base of my spine making my mouth go dry. “Jess, you there?” Trish asks, and I swallow hard and take a deep breath in.
“I am sorry to callyou but…”
There’s a beat of silence. My throat tightens trying to find the way to tell her, “Hey, you got a prom dress?”
“Jess…”
“Paul never showed.” The words tumble right out of my mouth and into her ears. She lets out a barky laugh, making me chuckle alongside her.
“No way, he stood you up?” she asks. I shrug, before leaning into the green kitchen tiles wall.
“I guess.”
“And you need a date?”
Her question makes my lips stretch into a smile. A genuine one. It’s so easy to relax with her, which makes it so much easier to say, “Yes, if you still would like to be.”
Trish once again chuckles. “Alrighty, Prom Queen, make sure to wear shoes you can ride in.”
Looking down at my dress that covers my heels, my smile turns into a smirk. “Copy that.” With that, the calls end and I slip out of the uncomfortable heels that belong to my mom and slip into something more me – my combat boots.
STACEY
Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley
“Icould kill Lacey,” I growl as I adjust my tits, making sure they’re pulled up and perky.
