“Home by midnight, sunbeam.”
“Dad, it’s prom night. One a.m.”
“You’re not going to prom, remember? Twelve thirty.”
She remembered. “Fine. But don’t wait up.”
“Maeve,” her mother said, caution in her voice. “Please, be careful.”
She’d been weird since that Conor O’Kane guy came around even though William said it was a chance meeting.
“Don’t get into strange cars,” she’d said to Molly. “Even if someone says they know you. You don’t go. Never ever. That goes for you, too, Maeve.”
Now, Maeve looked at the car full of theater kids but saw only strangers there. A lump lodged in her throat. The horn honked, whoops and laughter erupted. Maeve looked over her shoulder at her parentson the swing, how they glowed in the fading sunlight. They could not see her, not what she really was. She felt invisible. She wished shewasinvisible.
“Maeve? Honey?” Her dad stood.
Maeve squeezed her eyes closed, gritted her teeth, pasted on a smile. “You know,” she said, “I’m not sure how late I want to stay out, after all. If I promise, seriously, I promise, I will not even sip a beer, can I please take your car?”
Maeve had her license, but she wasn’t one of those kids who drove their parents’ car around town. “I don’t know ...” her mother said.
“Dad, seriously.” She pointed again to the novel in her pocket. “Ray of sunshine, remember?” She twirled her fingertips into her dimples.
“Eleven,” her father said, pulling the keys from his pocket. “Don’t let me down.”
Maeve breathed out, caught the keys her father tossed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She followed the brown car through town to make sure she knew where the party was but circled back to the high school. She parked in a spot where she could see couples arriving, girls with corsages and curly up-dos, boys in suits with jackets too big and pants too short, their hair slicked unnaturally.
As the last few couples trickled in, Brett Overton’s white pickup squealed into the parking lot. Maeve wanted to see Wendy dressed up, see her arm looped through Brett’s, queen to his king. Then maybe she could let this all go. She had a clear view.
The passenger door flung open before the truck even came to a complete stop. Wendy hopped out, her feet bare, shoes in hand. She stuck her head back into the cab. She was clearly enraged, though Maeve couldn’t hear what she was yelling. Brett stormed around towhere Wendy stood, gripped her arm. Wendy tried to yank it away, but Brett squeezed tighter.
Maeve sat up, heart pounding. Her mouth went dry. She reached for the door handle, hesitated. If she jumped out now and made a scene ... was that what Wendy would want her to do? Wendy was inches shorter than Brett, and he loomed over her, his mouth chomping down at her. She adjusted the back of her dress like it had gotten caught in her underwear. She wiped her eyes with both hands. Brett motioned toward the doors to the gym. Maeve rolled down the window a crack, hoping to hear. Wendy sat back in the truck, pulled her feet up. Maeve thought of the day they shot hoops at the court behind the junior high, how Wendy insisted they switch shoes. Same size, though the fancy shoes Wendy strapped on now looked too small for real feet, dainty as glass slippers. When Wendy stood again, her stance was more fitting for a basketball court than a dance floor. Brett put his hands together like he was praying, and Wendy held up a finger of warning. Maeve felt a pang of guilt, watching as if it were a performance. But it seemed to be over.
She wanted to follow them through the double doors like a shadow. A gleeful voice shouted. Brett and Wendy turned. One of Brett’s teammates loped up, dragging a girl in a poufy dress behind him. Brett threw his arm over Wendy’s shoulder, his hand landing above her breast. She flung it off, and Maeve could hear her then.
“I said keep your hands off me!”
Maeve rolled the window down a little more.
“You know what? I’m done. I’m going in. You can do what you want.” Brett and his buddy laughed, the other girl shrugged.
Maeve read Wendy’s lips.Take me home.
“I’ll take you home after prom, or you can walk. I don’t care.” Then:You’re a bitch.
Wendy took one step back. She swung wide, a forehand shot. Her palm connected with the side of Brett’s head. “You fucker.”
He twisted his mouth like he was counting teeth.Fuck you.
They left Wendy in the cement courtyard. Maeve looked around. No more kids, no more headlights. She got out of the car, walked smoothly to Wendy, who had taken off the shoes again.
“Wen,” she said, the name floating off her tongue like a butterfly.
“What are you doing here?”
Mascara ringed Wendy’s eyelids, and the clasp of her pearl necklace was skewed to the side. She was missing an earring. Maeve brushed a strand of hair from Wendy’s cheek. She was beautiful. In that moment, Maeve wasn’t afraid anymore. She was with Wendy, and Wendy was safe. They both were. “Are you okay?”
