14
Hayley
2006 — Eighteen Years Old
“Mom, I can’t find my mascara anywhere.” She rushes in with the makeup bag the size of a suitcase and empties the contents onto my bed. She starts rummaging through it, her blonde hair sticking up on ends and making the whole scene sort of funny.
“Here.” She hands me a black tube. I apply the finishing touches without making a mess and take a deep breath and turn to face her.
“Well, how do I look?” She stands with her hands on her chest, tears welling in her eyes.
“Perfect. You look absolutely perfect.”
I turn to the mirror again and grin at my reflection. My blonde hair is swept up in an elegant swirl at the top of my head, and a few strands hang around my face. The deep blue cocktail dress I’m wearing looks beautiful and matches my eyes. Even the freckles on my cheeks don’t stand out. My silver pumps complement my jewelry and clutch bag.
We hear a doorbell, and my mother giggles like a schoolgirl. “I bet that’s Logan now.”
I rush out of the room and down the stairs, my heels clicking on the wooden floors. I swing the door open, and my smile instantly drops.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“That disappointed to see me, Bella?” he asks, grinning. I hadn’t been called that in a whole year. I look at Wyatt standing on my threshold. The top button of his dress shirt is unbuttoned, and his shirt hangs out of his jeans on one end. His jacket is the only indication that he’s going to prom.
“What do you want, Wyatt?”
“To drop this off. My parents asked that I give this to your mom on my way out.” I look out onto the street, and sure enough, his father’s Mercedes is parked out front. There are a few teenagers packed in already making a ruckus. The music turned up way too loud.
“Thanks, I’ll be sure to give it to my mother.” I reach for the envelope. My hands brush his for a second, and I suck in a breath.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” He offers me one of his smirks, and with that, he walks down my pathway.
“Damn you, Wyatt Barnes,” I call out, and he waves at me, not bothering to look back. Why does he still have this effect on me? I close the door and place my forehead against it.
Wyatt and I used to be friends. Hell, we were best friends, but he changed drastically, started hanging out with the wrong crowd and getting into trouble. He had a new girl on his arm every week, and he made a fucking show of it too.
The doorbell rings again, and I instantly swing it open, ready to tell my annoying neighbor where to get off.
“What do you want now?” I grit my teeth and flush when a confused Logan stands at the door with flowers in hand. His milk chocolate eyes search mine for an answer I don’t think I can give him. Logan knows how close Wyatt and I used to be, and yet he adores me and doesn’t interfere, although I have a feeling it was simpler for him with Wyatt out of the picture.
“Am I at the right house?” he grins, and I reach up, wrap my arms around his neck, and bring my lips to his. Logan is so good for my soul. He is kind and respectful, and he sure as hell doesn’t have a stinking attitude like Wyatt. Logan is just the kind of guy for me, and I am fortunate to have him in my life.
My mother finally comes downstairs, takes an insane amount of pictures, and we are off.
Logan opens the door for me and places his jacket on the back seat. This is our second prom, the first being his senior year. He’s a year older than me, and we’ve been dating for a year and a half. A fantastic year and a half, I reflect.
He jumps in and places a hand on my knee. “You look amazing, Hayley.” He smiles, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt that I don’t feel his words in my heart. Not like when Wyatt said it. Logan is the sweetest and kindest guy I know and so different from the guys I go to school with. But what I actually mean is that he’s different from Wyatt. I take a deep breath and squeeze his hand.
* * *
The vibeat the prom is cool, and despite my reluctance, I find myself enjoying myself. The ‘80s theme is a winner, and some of the greatest hits from that era blast from the massive speakers on either side of the room. The hall is decorated in colorful neon colors and ceiling swirl danglers in every color. Balloons attached to old cassette tapes are used as table centerpieces.
The chaperones wear clothing with shoulder pads and silver gloves, which I figure was actually part of their own wardrobes.
Logan and I take several pictures with ‘80s photo props. My cheeks hurt from laughing, and I sit on his lap with flushed cheeks and a grin I can’t wipe out after having some vodka-spiked punch. I never drank before; I felt light-headed and insanely happy.
“You two are just the cutest,” my friend Samantha says as she takes a seat across from us, her boyfriend, Trevor, joining her.
Logan looks at me and wraps an arm around my waist, placing a chaste kiss on my lips. “She’s the cute one.”
