Page 96 of The Serpent King

Dill laughed when he saw Lydia standing. She had gotten just her right leg and just her left arm spray tanned.

Lydia struck a pose. “They didn’t want to do it at first. They finally caved after I paid for a whole-body spray tan.”

She also had ridiculous, garish makeup caked on her face, and an elaborate, upswept hairdo. She had long, neon-pink fake nails.

“You look insane,” Dill said.

“I was going for pageant contestant made over by a truck-stop prostitute. Or vice versa.”

“Nailed it. You do actually look pretty, though.”

Don’t blush. “Oh shut up. Come stand over here.”

They took a bunch of pictures, individually and together. As Lydia tweeted and Instagrammed them, Dill smiling in each one, she basked in her relief. Dill is alive. He’s happy. He has a future.

“Okay, time for our Pathetic Prom dinner,” Lydia said. “Which I will be paying for, to make things more pathetic.”

“Nope. Sorry.” Dill reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill.

“Is that from the talent competition?”

“Yep.”

“Dude. Taking a girl out for a night on the town with your rock-star earnings is like the least pathetic thing ever.”

“Guess I can’t even get Pathetic Prom right; that’s how pathetic I am,” Dill said breezily.

They drove about a half hour to Cookeville. They listened to a positive affirmations self-help CD on the drive. Lydia found herself enjoying it unironically, such was the lightness of her mood. She also found herself unironically enjoying Dill’s hungry glances at her. She might have thrown Dill a few longing glances herself.

“Where are we going?” Dill asked.

“Cracker Barrel.”

“But I like Cracker Barrel.”

“I know. I’m cheating a little here,” Lydia said. “Technically, Krystal would be the most pathetic, followed closely by Waffle House. But remember? We’re so pathetic that we can’t even do Pathetic Prom right, so we’re eating decent food.” The mention of Krystal reminded Lydia of Travis. It doesn’t feel quite right without him.

They drew stares as they walked in. Lydia flipped her hair and flounced past the gawkers. Their matronly server was unfazed both by their getups and the attention they drew.

“Don’t y’all look nice all dressed up. Is it y’all’s prom tonight?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am it is,” Lydia said, with a markedly thicker Southern accent than normal. She trotted it out for special occasions.

Their server bent in close. “Well, I’ll take great care of y’all on your special night.”

Dill played the little peg game at the table while they waited for their Diet Sprites (the most pathetic of all beverages, according to Lydia). Dill was about to win the game when Lydia casually reached out and flicked it onto the floor, scattering the pegs.

“Sorry, Dill,” Lydia said as Dill scrabbled around on the floor to gather the pegs. “Winning the Cracker Barrel peg game is not pathetic. It’s a triumph of the human spirit. Come on. You invented this idea.”

The server returned with their Diet Sprites. “Have y’all decided?”

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’ll have a bowl of fried chicken livers; a stack of blueberry pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top; and a piece of Double Chocolate Fudge Coca-Cola Cake, also with vanilla ice cream on top.”

Dill started to speak. “And I’ll have—”

“He’ll have what I’m having.”

The server looked from Dill to Lydia and back.