Forgotten

He’s holding a gigantic canvas with a bow wrapped around it.



“Instead of a corsage,” he says, offering me a painting of what appears to be my ear. I can see the shadow of the healed piercing that I’ll reopen in college.



Wisps of just the right color hair tucked behind. The tiny pitch at the top.



“It’s your elf ear,” Luke says, grinning. I can’t help but laugh and self-consciously touch the body part in question.



He takes a step closer. “It’s my favorite ear,” he whispers into my left lobe, sending chills down my spine. He stands back again and regards my ensemble. “You look great,” he says without hesitation. “Nice shoes.”



“Thanks,” I say, grinning with my whole body. Most guys don’t notice footwear. “You look nice, too. I expected a band T-shirt under your jacket or something.”



“Naw…” Luke says with a laugh, showing off a prominent dimple on his right cheek.



I carefully lean the painting against the foyer wall and grab my coat. Luke offers me his hand, and just as we’re ready to leave, my mom makes a perfectly timed appearance to wish us well. I could kiss her for being armed with a digital camera and for forcing us to stop and pose before we take off.



Luke leans over and gets the door for me, and once we’re out of my mom’s earshot, he bends down and whispers, “The dress is hot.”



Shivers run down my spine, and I am thrilled that I get to spend the whole night—well, almost the whole night—with him.



Luke drives to school, and because the dance is in the gym, we park in the teachers’ lot. Even though it’s allowed tonight, it feels scandalous.



Inside, the disco lights rage and the music is one notch higher than deafening. Scanning the room, I see Carley Lynch surrounded by Alex Morgan and some other cheerleaders, all wearing dresses so low-cut that I’m embarrassed for them.



In the opposite corner, I spot Jamie just as her eyes catch mine. Our gazes hold steady for a moment, and then she looks away. In a lovely black dress, she is standing to the right of a boy I don’t recognize.



A second passes before my hurt wanes and I remember that Jamie and I will continue to be friends long after this evening. She might not know it right now, but she doesn’t hate me.



I follow her eye line, and my stomach lurches a little when I realize that now she’s staring at Mr. Rice, who is chaperoning tonight. I consider that I might actually be sick when he gives her an inviting look no married teacher should ever throw in the direction of a sixteen-year-old girl.



Luke must have noticed, too. “Come on, let’s dance,” he says, before I can get lost in my thoughts.



We move to the center of the dance floor and are immediately awash in a sea of sparkling stars, courtesy of the disco ball. I drape my wrists over Luke’s shoulders, and all at once, the strength of his arms around my waist, combined with the melodic song we’re swaying to, makes me fantasize about marrying him.



This could be our song.



I let the smooth lyrics carry me away, and I enjoy the moment and the fantasy until it heads down the road toward children. And then the darkness is there, my mind asking questions I don’t want to answer.



Is the dead child mine and Luke’s? Is that why I don’t remember him? Because what we share together will be too painful?



I pull Luke closer and smash my cheek into his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to make the darkness go away. Somehow he knows to hold tighter, too, and though he doesn’t see the tear escape my eye, he rubs my back as if to say: “It’ll be okay.”



I never want to let go.



Luke and I dance like we’re glued to each another for three slow songs, before the DJ speeds things up.



My ears fill with a remixed version of a disco classic that will play at practically every wedding and party I’ll attend for the rest of my life. The brave kids dance, while those who are either too cool or too awkward move to the outskirts. I’m not sure which group we’re in, but we slowly make our way to the fringe.



“Want some punch?” I ask.



“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Luke asks back.



I shrug and Luke agrees. “I’m going to say hi to Adam, but I’ll meet you for a roll in the snow,” he says, pointing to a group of benches decorated with fake snow.



Laughing and shaking my head, I walk to the punch table and grab two clear plastic cups. I wait my turn, fill them, and move to a snowy bench and sit down.



Gabby Stein, from PE, and her date, Christopher Osborne, are sitting on a bench two over from mine. Both look at me like I smell like dirty socks. Neither knows it yet, but Christopher will be valedictorian when we graduate next year.



Right now, however, despite looking uncannily like Superman, Christopher is nothing but a small, helpless animal that’s fallen prey to Gabby’s boa-constricting embrace. I can’t help but long for the PDA police as I quickly look away and wish like crazy for Luke to hurry up.



“Sorry,” Luke says when he finally settles in next to me. “Adam’s chatty tonight.”



“No problem,” I say, handing Luke his punch. He chugs it and sets the cup in the snow next to a bunch of other empty cups littering the faux outdoors.



“Having fun?” he asks. His eyes wander to the make-out session two benches down, and he quickly looks back at me.



“Of course, I always have fun with you,” I reply, feeling slightly guilty for my use of the word always.



“Dance not your scene, though?” he prods, reading my mind.



I let out my breath and laugh. “Not really, no. I mean, it was fun for a few minutes. The slow dances were nice. But these shoes are killing me and I’m hungry.”



He laughs with me, then stands and pulls me up with an easy swoop. “Let’s go, then,” he says.



“Okay, let me just run to the restroom first,” I say.



“All right, I’ll wait for you by the doors,” he replies, kissing me gently before I make my way to the girls’ bathroom closest to the gym.



Inside, there are at least five girls admiring themselves in the massive mirror over the sinks. Without catching any eyes, I find an empty stall and then scoot through satin and tulle to a free sink.



Washing my hands, I feel someone’s stare in the mirror.



“I know you never asked him about me,” Page Thomas says in her most accusatory voice.



This is why I should never come to social events: I am not social. I’m definitely not going to prom.



“Sorry?” I say, pretending not to have heard. Maybe I can stall her long enough so that I can dry my hands and leave.



“You should be,” she says, eyes narrowed, face puckered. She spins around, her white-blonde hair trailing after her, and leaves the bathroom.



I’m finished, and the other girls are now staring at me. So, I’m forced to follow Page.



At the end of the hall, Luke is waiting for me. Brad is there, too, waiting for Page. Luke leans against the wall, looking like a suit model. Brad is staring curiously into the trophy case.



Luke’s presence must have registered with Page, because she whips around and sees me behind her. She rolls her eyes at me, turns forward, and quickens her pace. When she reaches Brad, she grabs his hand and pulls him back inside the gym.



I can’t be sure, but I think I hear her mutter a particularly unkind word about me as they go.