Page 99 of The Serpent King

“How awesome does it feel that in a few short weeks, neither of us will see any of these people on a regular basis ever again?” Lydia said.

“You won’t. Some might be going to MTSU.”

“But they’ll never achieve the same critical mass of awfulness ever again. Even at MTSU.”

“True. It feels amazing. What also feels great is to not care at all anymore what any of these people think of me.”

On cue, Tyson Reed and Madison Lucas walked by. “Oh Lydia, honey,” Madison said, her voice dripping with mock concern, “I think they missed a spot or two on your spray tan.”

Lydia laughed breezily. “Did they? That is the last time I order the ‘Madison Lucas brain activity MRI’ spray tan package.”

“Always so clever,” Madison said, sneering.

“Always so not,” Lydia said.

Dill stepped between Madison and Lydia. “Hey, Madison, Tyson. Do you guys not get it? You can’t hurt us anymore. You can’t do anything to us. You can’t take anything from us. You’re nothing now.”

Madison’s expression was as though she’d just farted during a prayer. Tyson got up in Dill’s face. “You’re lucky it’s prom, Dildo. Otherwise I’d beat your ass. I don’t give a shit that your friend died and everyone feels sorry for you.”

Dill didn’t blink. He smiled. “You think you can cause me pain after what I’ve lived through? Go on. Hit me with your little fist.” He stared down Tyson until Tyson once more blustered about how fortunate Dill was that it was prom, grabbed Madison’s hand, and stomped away.

“Sorry about the whole no-college-wanting-you-to-play-football-for-them thing,” Lydia called after them.

Lydia turned to Dill, put the back of her hand to her forehead, and pretended to swoon. “My knight in shining armor!”

“Wouldn’t getting a black eye on prom night be pathetic?”

“Unquestionably.”

The DJ played a slow song. Lydia took Dill’s hand. “Come on, Sir Galahad. Being the only people dancing at prom is also pathetic.”

She led him to the middle of the dance floor, where they stood alone, people staring and snickering. Dill put his (shaking) hands on Lydia’s hips. “We should probably dance too close together, for patheticness’s sake,” she said. “We might as well do this right.” She drew in nearer to him. Near enough to feel his warmth. To see his (beautiful) jawline out of the corner of her eye and not the stares. To hear his (fast) heartbeat and not the snickers.

While they danced, swaying like two trees in the wind, she realized she wasn’t doing a very good job of feeling pathetic.

They rode home to Lydia’s under the moon and stars. Lydia sat on the crossbar, leaning her shoulder against Dill’s chest.

“The prom photographer guy seemed pretty unamused,” Dill said.

“I could not conceivably care less,” Lydia said. “The irony is that everyone acted more concerned with us mocking their precious rite of passage than with drunk driving or girls getting roofied.”

“I had the time of my life.”

Lydia turned, looked up at him, and smiled. “That was pretty badass when you stood up to Tyson, by the way. It was—dare I say—rather sexy.”

Sexy, huh? Dill took one hand off the handlebars and flexed his arm, mugging. “What can I say, babe? Tyson bought a ticket to the gun show.”

Lydia snorted, grabbed his wrist, and pulled it back down to the handlebars. “You are an irredeemable dork. Fortunately for our relationship’s continued viability, you suck at acting like a dumb bro.”

They passed Riverbank Books. Dill tried to concentrate on the road, but the geometry of Lydia’s neck distracted him.

“I’ll miss this,” Dill said. That was the understatement of the century.

“This town?” Lydia gestured back at the town square. “Or this?” She gestured at the two of them.

“This. Being together.” He loved the way the words being together felt on his tongue, like nectar.

Lydia reached up and pinched his cheek. “Aw. Look who’s getting the hang of this evening.”