Ford

“I’ve always loved homecoming.” Sara Bliss clasps her hands, watching as students begin to fill the gymnasium. Music pumps from the speakers, a mix of songs, some new and unfamiliar, some nostalgic. “There’s just something magical in the air. The weather is cool, the leaves are changing. Everyone’s excited for a new school year.”

Her small talk is like a splinter, slivering its way beneath my skin.

“I was homecoming queen my senior year, believe it or not,” she says, leaning closer and bumping me with her shoulder. If she’s trying to impress me, she’s wasting her time.

A Black Eyed Peas song comes on next and she starts dancing some weird, dorky little dance, and I don’t know if she’s trying to be funny and quirky or if this is just how she is, but I can’t take my eyes off the door.

Any minute now, Halston’s going to wander in on Thane’s arm, and while I have no intentions of stoking the fire that took all the self-control I had to put out last weekend, I want to make sure she’s okay.

All week, she avoided me.

She’d see me and she’d walk the other way.

Clearly, I hurt her, and while I’m sorry, I did what I had to do.

If only I could find the chance to tell her that.

The song changes, something slow and unfamiliar, and couples filter toward the dance floor, wrapping their arms around each other and trying to pretend their moments are more enchanting than awkward.

Hate to break it to them, but one of these days, they’ll barely remember this night. All they’ll have are their filtered-to-death Instagram posts and saved Snap Chats.

The crowd is thicker than it was a moment ago, and the students begin to stir a bit.

“Elvis has entered the building,” Sara says.

Peering across the gym, the sea of well-dressed high schoolers parts and Thane Bennett struts, peacock proud, with Halston Kessler in tow. His crown rests on his head, cocked to the side, and he wears the proudest smirk I’ve ever seen.

Everyone cheers for him, even Sara. But I just stand here, arms folded, watching their every move.

I swear there’s a halo around Halston. She radiates, her skin warm and tan, her dress glimmering under the flashing lights. He places his hand on her hip and pulls her close just as the song changes, and then he kisses her.

He kisses the sweetest lips I’ve ever known.

And in this moment, I’m sunk.

Being jealous of an eighteen-year-old means I’ve officially hit rock bottom.

I stand behind the refreshments table and observe the two of them, ensuring his hands don’t travel lower than they should while nonchalantly watching for any cues that suggest she’d rather be anywhere else but here, with him.

But she’s acting as if I don’t exist, pretending not to feel my penetrating stare from across the room.

They dance to another song before a crowd of brawny football players surround him. He wears the limelight like couture, basking in his moment. Guys like Thane tend to peak in high school, but I won’t be the bearer of bad news. He’ll find out someday. The second he leaves Rosefield High, no one’s going to give a rat’s ass how many track records he’s shattered or how many girls he fucked before he even knew how to properly fuck.

Halston squeezes away from the crowd, heading toward the punch bowl … toward me.

We lock eyes, and I wear a solemn expression, though my heart is thundering harder with each step that brings her closer.

When she stands on the other side of the table, maybe two feet from me, I want to tell her how beautiful she looks. How radiant and stunning. But I can’t.

“Principal Hawthorne,” she says, filling her cup. “Had no idea you were chaperoning tonight.”

I’m not sure how to respond with Sara beside me, but I know what Halston’s insinuating.

“I’m filling in for someone,” I finally say.

She takes a sip, staring up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Okay.”

Either she doesn’t believe me or she doesn’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.

“Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Miss Kessler?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Halston lingers for a second, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.

The DJ asks the king and queen to take the dance floor while he spins some God-awful pop medley, and the second it’s over, I spot Thane and Halston slipping out the side door.

It’s only nine. They weren’t even here for a half hour.

Pulling in a deep breath, I force it through my nostrils. Every muscle in my body tightens. I don’t know where she’s going or what his intentions are with her tonight. Not being able to talk her out of it is killing me.

“Uh, oh. I think I see a flask.” Sara taps me, pointing toward a girl with wild red hair and a purple dress that goes to the floor. “You want to take care of it or do you want me to?”

Storming off, I do my fucking job.

And the second the dance is over and the last student has left the building, I sit in my car and message Halston. I’d promised myself I’d leave her be. I swore on my life that I’d never contact her again, but in this case, I’m truly concerned for her safety. Leaving the dance early with Mr. Popular can only mean one thing: the pencil-dicked douche wants to get her drunk and fuck her.

Not on my watch.

Pulling out my phone, I tap on the Karma icon and shoot her a message.

Kerouac: Where’d you go?

Absinthe: Seriously??

Kerouac: You left after twenty minutes. I assume you went to a party?

Absinthe: WTF is wrong with you?!

Kerouac: ???

Absinthe: You tell me to leave you alone. You kick me out of your house after we kiss. You watched me like a fucking hawk at the dance—which made an already unenjoyable evening that much more unenjoyable, so thanks for that. And now you’re messaging me like it’s any of your business what I’m doing?!

Kerouac: Just because I can’t be with you doesn’t mean I can’t care about you.

Absinthe: Yes, it does. That’s exactly what it means. You don’t get to care anymore.

Kerouac: I’m trying to do the right thing. Morally. Ethically. Professionally.

Absinthe: How valiant.

Kerouac: I think about you all the time. I go to bed, you’re on my mind. I wake up, you’re the first thing I think about. Seeing you in the halls drives me fucking insane because all I want is to have you to myself, for you to belong to me. You’re right there, so close, and I can’t go anywhere near you. I may not be able to control my thoughts, but I can control my actions. I’m not going to touch you. I’m not going to cross that line.

Absinthe: You could’ve had me, but you’re too chicken shit. I thought you were like me, but turns out you’re nothing but a fucking coward.

Kerouac: I’m a professional, not a coward.

Absinthe: You’re a big, fat fucking coward.

Kerouac: Where are you right now?

Absinthe: LOL

Kerouac: Are you drinking?

Absinthe: Duh.

Absinthe: And don’t worry. I won’t come a-knockin’ on your door tonight.

Kerouac: I just want to make sure you’re safe and that you have a ride home.

Absinthe: I’ve got it covered. I’m a responsible adult … too bad you don’t see me that way.

Kerouac: That’s not true. I think the world of you. And I see you as an adult, just not one that I can be with at this point in time.

Absinthe: I’m so bored with this. You sound like a broken fucking record. And you know what the worst part is? I’d still come over and fuck you if you asked me to. I’d leave right now.

Kerouac: Don’t say that.

Absinthe: It’s the truth.

Absinthe: And that’s the difference between you and me … I’m not afraid of the truth.

Absinthe: You want to be with me, Kerouac. And it terrifies you. And because of that, you lost the one chance you had. The only chance you’ll ever have.

Absinthe: I have to go.

Kerouac: Wait.

Absinthe has signed off.