Page 84 of People Like Us

The gymnasium looked softer in low lighting, though not soft enough to hide what it really was. Streamers drooped from basketball hoops like wilted vines, and cheap gold stars dangled from the ceiling on fishing lines that spun slowly in the draft of the air vents. The whole room smelled faintly of sweat, fruit punch, and the plasticky heat of overworked speakers. Somewhere beneath it all lingered the sour bite of bleach from the janitor mopping the floors before the dance started.

A slow song pulsed through the speakers as Andy disappeared toward the punch table to talk to some football players. I used the chance to escape toward the bathroom hallway, my heels clicking sharply against waxed hardwood.

I found Emily and Lindsey standing outside the girl’s bathroom like bouncers at a nightclub.

Lindsey leaned against the cinderblock wall in a skin tight violet dress with silver fringe that glittered every time she moved, while Emily adjusted one of the velvet straps of the dusty pink gown I’d made her. The dress looked almost obscene against the mundane backdrop. Layers of tulle and embroidered fabric softened her into one of those Renaissance angels with sad eyes and hair so pale it looked like it had been spun from heaven.

I slowed as I approached them. “What’s going on?” I asked lightly. “Someone smoking or hooking up in there?”

Emily snorted. “Morgan’s throwing up,” she said dryly.

“Again,” Lindsey added with an eye roll.

I blinked. “You guys know she throws up?”

Emily gave me a look so obvious it bordered on insulting. “Lola, you’ve been eating her food every day for two weeks. And then she still throws up the air she swallowed. Yeah, we noticed.”

Lindsey crossed her arms tighter over herself. “She’s gonna end up in the psych ward if she makes it any more obvious.”

Before I could answer, the bathroom door creaked open.

Morgan stepped out looking pale beneath her makeup, strands of dark hair sticking damply to her temples. For a second she looked startled to find us all standing there waiting for her.

Then her eyes landed on Emily, and stayed there. I watched awe move across Morgan’s features slowly, helplessly, the way people looked at stained glass windows or car wrecks.

“Emily,” she breathed, “you look stunning.”

Emily brightened instantly, the compliment hitting exactly where she wanted it to. She spun once in a little circle, layers of pink fabric floating around her thighs like flower petals.

Morgan let out a low whistle. “Wow. Where the hell did you get that?”

“It was custom,” she said smugly.

Pride swelled warm in my chest before I could stop it.

I’d spent almost two weeks making that dress. I’d taken apart thrifted prom gowns, velvet curtains, old embroidered throw blankets from donation bins. My fingers still carried tiny needle pricks from hand sewing the appliqués onto the bodice at three in the morning while Christian radio whispered static through my bedroom walls.

Emily caught Morgan’s hand. “Come dance with me,” she said brightly. Morgan hesitated only half a second before letting herself get pulled toward the dance floor.

I watched them disappear into the crowd together, Emily glowing pink beneath the gym lights while Morgan stared at her like she’d been handed religion in human form. Something twisted softly in my chest watching them. They would make such a beautiful couple. Morgan all sharp edges hidden beneath sweetness; Emily all hidden sweetness disguised as sharp edges.

Maybe people like them deserve each other. Maybe they each deserved someone who understood the particular loneliness of hiding.

Emily glanced back over her shoulder at me as they reached the crowd. “Do me a favor,” she called. “Go dance with my boyfriend. He’s looking pretty lonely.”

I followed her gaze across the gym.

Jack sat alone at one of the folding tables near the wall, broad shoulders slumped slightly as he stared into the moving crowd beneath the strobe lights. The pink tie around his neck hung loosened already, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked exhausted in the quiet way only deeply sad people could.

And he wasn’t watching Emily. His eyes were fixed on Penelope.

She danced near the center of the gym with Ben, her blood red dress catching light every time she spun. The fabric looked liquid beneath the colored bulbs overhead. Ben twirled her dramatically while she laughed loud enough to carry over the music, black eyeliner smudged slightly at the corners from sweat and dancing.

I crossed the gym slowly and slid into the chair beside Jack.

“She’s a nice girl,” I said quietly.

Jack didn’t even pretend not to know who I meant. “I know.” No embarrassment or denial, only an honesty so tired it hurt to hear.