Exotic - Chapter 58: Chapter 58

I sat in my closet, facing off with myself in the mirror. The boy in it looked half-done.
I'd prided myself over the last month by never second-guessing my decision on what I was going to wear to my school prom, but I'd known the doubt would hit me at some point. I'd just hoped it would have been sooner than the night of, with the $40 falsies already glued to my lids. My anxiety had impeccable timing.
The dress was a majestic gold colour with an off-the-shoulder neckline and asymmetrical hem. The skirt was overlayed with tulle the same colour as the bodice, spilling out from my waist and falling to my modest nude Gladiator heels, loaned from Zsa Zsa along with the gold-leaf I'd used to speckle my smoky eye with. My lipstick was also gold and beginning to taste like lead on the tip of my tongue.
Stunning? Undeniably. But I was also undeniably Miles.
The choice to forego a wig, padding and contacts had been somewhat self-imposed. Sephora Utah was still an enormous part of my life, my performance persona, my drag alter ego. Disappearing into her easy glamour and overzealous confidence still gave me a rush like nothing else. But when I'd decided to wear a dress to my school ball, it was important to me that people saw me behind the illusion. The easiest way to do that was just to be me. No alias, no character, no false bravado. Just Miles Stewart in a gown, and the most expensive face of makeup I'd ever applied.
I watched the boy in the mirror comb his bangs this way and that with his fingers, trying to get used to the feeling of his everyday hair matched with the extravagance of the makeup below. The two should have clashed awfully, but I didn't hate the combination. Sure, the flatness would take some getting used to, as would the impulse to toss golden locks that weren't there over this shoulder and that, but it didn't look bad. I looked just like I did in the back room of Crescendo before a show, before I fully became the Sephora Utah experience. The itch to 'finish' the look just wouldn't stop, and neither would the churning in my stomach. I shouldn't have eaten dinner before getting ready.
A knock came on the closet door, tentative. "How are you going in there?"
I released my knees, flopping dramatically out into a starfish on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. "Just a minor crisis. I'll be right in a minute."
Reece paused for long enough that I thought he'd left me to my agonising before speaking again, sternly. "You're not lighting candles in there are you?"
I hastily extinguished two with a licked thumb and forefinger. "No."
"I can smell the smoke. It's a fire hazard," he continued, boarding on his lecturing tone but with the hesitance his attempts at parenting had always come with. I'd come to understand his discomfort with the entire notion. We were mostly equaled in the house now, and any paternal moments came in the form of gentle requests and unsolicited advice. Claps on the shoulder. Agreeing to disagree on the new shade of the living room (eggshell white with a chartreuse feature wall). Driving lessons in the university parking lot, his hand hovering near the steering wheel as I fumbled with gear changes by never grabbing it. Cups of coffee outside my door in the morning, and sometimes outside his when I woke up first. Little gestures like that, rebuilding the fissures in our relationship. These days, it was something akin to functional. Warm, even.
"I am trying..." I emphasised, "... to relax."
"Listen to whale noises then. Wax doesn't come out of carpets easy," he retorted. "How do you look?"
I let my eyes fall closed. "Incredible. But also, you know. Like a boy wearing a dress."
"That was what you were going for, right?" Reece asked, and when I huffed indignantly, he quickly amended. "Incredible, I meant. Not the... you were going for incredible, right?"
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. I rocketed upright, head suddenly spinning with potential outcomes for the night ahead. Eyes on me. Laughing. Shoving, grasping hands. Whispered slurs, ripping fabric, you don't belong here. I don't get it. I don't get you.
"Do you want me to get that?" Reece asked.
When I didn't answer, I heard his footsteps receding out of my bedroom anyway. I pulled my knees up to my chin. I was naive at best, delusional at worst for thinking this would be anything other than a disaster. I'd spend whatever part of my night I wasn't dodging shoulder-checks, answering questions about myself I was still getting my head around. That was if they even let me in the door.
I hadn't realised how long I'd been toiling away in my mind until a gentler knock came on my closet door. My name was called, a question on its own. With effort, I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled across the carpet, winching into the artificial light from my bedroom that spilled into my candlelit hovel.
Aaron's long hair was swept back from his face with a touch of gel, and his suit was charcoal, with an honest-to-god bowtie sitting on his collar. He was holding a clear box with a white corsage trapped inside, matching the colour palate of my specifications exactly. He already had a white tulip nestled in his top buttonhole.
I stayed wedged in the crack of the door so he could see only a fraction of me. "See, there are reasons men are only allowed to wear suits on special occasions, and you are one of those reasons. You're not allowed to look that good in 'one of Colin's hand-me-downs'."
He looked down at himself in surprise, as if he hadn't thought twice about what he looked like. "Maya did the adjustments."
She'd done mine as well after I'd found the dress in a charity boutique and done my own poor alterations. Aaron's aunt was a whiz with the sewing machine and didn't even blink when I'd explained to her that the dress was for me. She just asked me if I planned to wear a bra with it or if I wanted the bust taken in.
"Anyway, I'm sure I'll look homeless next to you," he grumbled and waved me forwards. "Come on. Out of the closet."
With aching hesitation, I let the door fall back and hitched my skirts as I stepped through. The wardrobe that used to hide the walk-in had been long removed, my everyday and drag clothing now hanging side-by-side inside the closet. The front door was decorated with drawings and photographs, and a large handwritten sign that said, 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE DAZZLED ON SIGHT'. It was no longer a hiding place, just a room filled with things I loved. A haven, not a bunker.
Aaron looked me up and down, eye sparkling. I shimmied slightly to give the dress some movement, striking a half-hearted pose. He grinned at that and thrust the corsage at my chest. "Okay. You'll do."
With a gasp of outrage, I smacked his arm. But the joke eased the tension in my jaw, freeing me up to laugh. "Asshole."
He wrapped me in an extended hug, and we rocked there for nearly a minute.
When we separated, he offered me his arm and I took it, letting him lead me out of the safety of my room. I stumbled a few times before reaching the door, but Aaron didn't let me fall.
We stopped at the top of the stairs and Aaron let go of me to scamper down first. I descended the stairs like a rom-com cliché – as in, practically slow motion with the effort not to trip on my skirts. A smirking Max stood at the foot of the steps, looking suave in navy blue. His hair was freshly clipped, buzzed at the sides and long on top, curls hanging low over his eyes. Max was going stag to the school dance, not from lack of offers. I'd heard him turn down one girl by saying he was currently examining his inherently misogynistic approach to dating and working to build relationships from a point of optimism, so he couldn't justify bringing anyone to the dance he couldn't see himself marrying one day. That excuse hadn't really deterred anyone, so I assumed he wouldn't be starved of company tonight despite his newfound restraint with women.
"That's what I'm TALKING ABOUT," he whooped as I fumbled on the last step, gripping my shoulders and openly marvelling at my face.
I tilted my head back to catch the light of the ceiling lamp. "This? This is tame."
"You've got leaves on your face."
I lightly brushed the gold-leaf adornments clinging to my cheeks with a pinkie finger. "Tame for me. I feel so conservative. Look at my calves."
"I can't see your calves."
"Exactly."
Max snorted and tossed Aaron's car keys from his left hand to his right. Well, Aaron and Max's keys, since Max had taken an interest in being self-sufficient, and that meant learning to drive himself. Much to Aaron's dismay, who often bemoaned the number of dents and scratches the SUV had taken on since Max had earned his provisional licence.
"Alright, let's get the obligatory bits out of the way," Reece was suddenly in the doorway with a digital camera, waving the three of us against a wall and taking aim. I expected a single flash before being hustled out the door, but Reece took the photo session seriously, directing individual, couple, and group shots. I threw my arms around Max and Aaron for the final shot, and Reece smiled as he lowered the camera to check it. "That's one for the mantel."
"Not the desk?" I teased. Reece had left his old job a few months back for a managerial position at a smaller, local mechanics. I'd been there a few times and the environment had been a far more welcoming one. With a female owner and a far more diverse workforce, I didn't feel like I was walking on eggshells whenever I was there. And Reece seemed invigorated by the change of pace, no more repetitive strain injuries and unpaid overtime. The only thing he'd carried over from his old workplace was his therapist.
He considered the photo and flicked his eyes up to me. He cleared his throat in Max's general direction, handed him the camera, and took a step towards me before pausing. He motioned between us and then to the camera, eyes still shadowed with doubt after all this time.
I shuffled to the side and gestured to the place beside me with a flourish. "Come on. It's obligatory."
He came to stand beside me and placed a tentative arm around my shoulders. I tilted my head to rest on his shoulder, which I could reach in heels. Not your average family portrait, but there was very little in my life that was average. I'd generally resented the parts of it that were. Max took a burst of photos, and when Reece reclaimed his camera to look them over, he smiled.
"This one's for the desk."
He waved us off as we made our way to the car, parked behind my lilac-coloured Colt, Whitney – spray painted by hand, repaired across many weekends between earnest conversations at Reece's new garage, where he taught me how to change my oil and I taught him what bullshit the gender binary was. I wasn't a born mechanic, but I felt a surge of pride whenever I got behind the wheel, knowing it was something I had helped build from a beige scrap pile.
Max ushered us into the backseat of the SUV, and I felt Aaron winch beside me as he revved the engine of their shared vehicle. Max turned in his seat with a fiendish grin.
"Guess what? Since I'm designated driver and therefore will be staying out of trouble tonight, Maya gave us a curfew of two," he whooped. "This is going to be a night to remember!"
"We're going to drink punch with too much soda water in it and bob our heads politely to Shawn Mendez until ten," Aaron reminded him. "And then probably go to a bad after party, leave within the hour and be home in bed by eleven."
"Or maybe, hear me out," Max leaned forward to squash his brother's cheeks between his palms. "You'll take my advice, hit on Connor North who is certifiably in love with you, and finally have a high school hook-up you can look back on fondly."
Aaron made a face as he extracted himself from Max's grasp. "Not happening."
"Have some fun, Double-A," Max advised, meeting my gaze in the rear-view mirror. "You'll make sure he has fun tonight, Miles?"
"We can do that without Connor," I reached across the seat to Aaron's jacket pocket, which I knew from our extensive planning would hold his silver flask, sloshing with spirits. I took a burning sip and passed it over. "But he is in love with you."
Aaron shrugged noncommittally as he took a swig. We both knew nothing was going to happen with Connor. Bless Max for trying, but his brother's heart was still tied up a few suburbs over in a gay nightclub, currently headlining for Crescendo's burlesque night.
Mine, on the other hand, was likely standing around a kitchen table with his kid cousin on one hip, hip-hip-hooraying in a pair of jeans and a basic polo shirt.
Caleb Proust had not asked me to the school dance. Not that I expected him to, per our agreement several months ago. We were still doing great at being friends, despite what Aaron and Max and Lauren, and pretty much everyone else seemed to believe. We had sleepovers, we texted, we went out to clubs again now I had a legitimate ID. We danced together, sometimes a little closer than friends should, we got drunk and played never have I ever, we nearly made out that one time in the Crescendo dressing room when my contact lens had slipped, and he'd gotten very close with the flashlight of his camera... but the important thing was we both pretended it had never happened afterward. So. Friends.
The school dance happened to fall on the same day as Lauren's sweet sixteenth, a lavish family affair that usually went into the early hours of the morning. I'd been invited by Lauren, and then promptly uninvited when I showed interest in it over the school dance. Caleb was not permitted the same leniency to skip a family celebration, especially since his grandparents were over. And god damn it if my heart didn't sag a little, friendship be damned, when he'd broken the news to me. The romantic in me felt a little let down by the boring reality of family obligations getting in the way of my dramatic coming-out moment. The part of me that wanted Caleb there was mostly selfish – I wanted to see him in a suit as much as I wanted him to see my dress – but there was a slither there that was just disappointed I couldn't share one last high school cliché with him.
As friends, of course.
"Isn't it nice to be chauffeured around for a change?" I asked Aaron right as the car lurched in reverse, sending alcohol sloshing and us sprawling.
"Whoops," Max fidgeted with the gear stick and switched on the lights, throwing an arm over the passenger seat as he backed up, marginally slower this time. "Might want to buckle up."
We did, with haste.
The school was buzzing with activity, limousines backed up into the street, and groups posed on the stairs for photos. The dresses made up a pastel mosaic crowded around the doors, and the sound of chatter floated out to the street. The car ride had been easy, despite Max's less-than-stellar driving. But the relaxed part of the night was over; as we looped past the crowd looking for a park, the fabric clinging to me began to itch, and the air around me became unbearably hot. I hoped my makeup wasn't sweating off.
Max parked up near the soccer oval, which gave me a long walk to shake my nerves and cool down in the chill of the evening air, but I was still dragging my feet by the time we got to the foot of the stairs. Aaron's hand was loose on my arm, giving me all the freedom of movement I needed to run if the urge hit me. I took a deep breath and locked our elbows together tight.
You are going to walk in there and dazzle everyone. You are going to give them a night to remember.
"... is that Miles Stewart?"
I bristled at the first comment, spoken in a faux-whisper from a group of girls huddled outside a limo. Eyes drifted to me and caught there like hooks, prickling up and down my flesh as they took every inch of me in. There was a giggle, then a sharp word condemning the giggle, and by then the news had passed to the second group, then the third, trailing up the stairs... the news of what I was wearing was going to reach the gymnasium before I did.
With a wave of acknowledgement to one boy, who couldn't seem to keep his eyes off me, I started up the stairs that led up to the school. They felt different that night, a familiar hill I'd climbed five days a week for the last year. Despite the nerves, I practically bounced up them, past groups of girls in the same three colours of blue and huddles of boys in their father's suits. There were double-takes as people realised who exactly was showing them up, but I didn't give myself time to hear what they had to say about me. I kicked my skirts over the last step, lungs straining with effort – I had to remind myself to breathe.
"...Mr. Stewart?"
I turned to see Miss Riley at the door holding a clipboard, eyes wide as she took all of me in. I gave her a shy smile and waited for Aaron to join me before I approached. "Stuck on door duty?"
She held up a small yellow breathalyser with an eye-roll. "We all play our parts. Miles, you look... is this a statement of some kind? Because I agree, the dress code for the girls is frankly outdated."
"No," I laughed, and reached up a hand to smooth my stubborn hair. "I just wanted to look my best."
Miss Riley dropped the clipboard by her side, and there wasn't enough light outside to be sure, but she seemed to go a little misty-eyed. "You do look quite remarkable. In the sense, I'm sure it will be remarked upon. Thank you for all your hard work this year, Miles, it hasn't gone unnoticed."
"Thank you for all the high Bs."
"I don't do hand-outs. You earned your right to graduate," she lectured and traced her pencil up the list to scratch out three lines. "Enjoy your night, boys. Mr. Sanchez, please blow into the tube until you hear a beep."
Aaron stiffed beside me, his hand resting on his hidden flask, but Miss Riley bypassed him entirely to hold the breathalyser up to Max, who grinned at us like a wolf. While she was distracted, Aaron and I fled inside.
The school gymnasium was decorated with silver streamers and grey balloons that seemed to pop at a rate of about two every minute, still managing to startle everyone in range whenever it happened. There was a photo booth at the entrance and a table of snacks being carefully watched over. The DJ, who was just Mrs. Cher armed with a pre-approved Spotify playlist, was blasting Fergie.
There was no lull in chatter or dramatic record scratch when I swept my way inside, but as more and more eyes found and recognised me, the mood of the room did shift. Not in a bad way, but people were surprised. Sure, I wore a little eyeshadow in classes these days, but they probably didn't see this as a natural progression from me, an introvert with only a few close friends. Maybe a few of them were jealous. Yes, I had to tell myself, they are all in awe of your impeccable style and flawless bone structure emphasised by your very expensive contour stick. In a few minutes, they'd be showering me with compliments and fawning at my hemline.
Max showed up at my other side, having apparently been cleared to enter by Miss Riley. "Don't look now, but there's someone staring at one o'clock, two o'clock, two-fifteen 'o'clock, two thirty-one o'clock..."
"Just get me to a table before I pass out," I pleaded, gripping his wrist with the hand that wasn't already clinging to Aaron.
Whispers of my name nipped closely at my heels, and I could feel the eyes on my multiplying by the second. Every instinct told me to duck my head and run. I resisted. Everyone stared at Cinderella when she swept into the ballroom, and she still savoured every step. The people wanted to see; I'd let them get an eyeful before tucking myself away.
I slipped free of Aaron and Max and turned, just off the side of the dancefloor. The people that I caught staring looked away in apparent shame. I wasn't having that. I smoothed out the torso of the gown and finally met the eyes of someone who wasn't looking away.
Aidan McCaffrey, all buttoned up in a basic black suit, Marisol Ursa on his arm. His expression wasn't one of disgust, per se, but he did seem irate at my audacity. How dare I show up like this, such ripe bait for harassment, basically begging to get shoved to the ground and called a sissy, while he was on probation? I knew if he laid a finger on another student, the school was going to make an official report to the police. A criminal record would have hurt his university chances way more than being kicked from the soccer team, so I guessed that was why I hadn't seen much of him since. He was fuming now, glancing side to side as if to check he was seeing what everyone else was seeing before locking back on me. He seemed to be calculating if anyone would join in if he launched a verbal assault. I squared my shoulders and stared right back.
"Lick it up, baby. Lick it up," I drawled. Aidan couldn't touch me anymore.
A couple of laughs broke the tension, and Aidan looked horrified when he realised, they were directed at him. Marisol Ursa hissed something in his ear and dragged him to the punch table, tripping over her heels as she struggled to pull him away. He finally looked away. That was the last I saw of Aidan McCaffrey; him walking away from me like a spurned dog, having no idea how to retaliate against someone who could meet his glare and hold it.
People went back to their dancing, and I turned back to Aaron and Max with a shrug.
"What was in that flask?" Max muttered to Aaron, whose face was stuck in a baffled smile. I took their arms and steered the three of us to a table just off the dancefloor, collapsing into a cheap plastic chair a second before my legs went to jelly. I cupped my hands around the back of my neck and let out a breathy laugh. Aaron slid the flask discreetly across the table.
"Man, I wish Proust had seen that," Max mused. My heart gave a little sad flutter in my chest, but I did my best to shake the feeling. I was glad to be there with Max and Aaron, two people who had made high school remarkably easier. I wouldn't have wanted to walk in the door with anyone else, but there was an absence.
Sensing my sudden restlessness and perhaps interpreting it correctly, Aaron leaned in close. "I'm so happy to ditch this to hang out with Lauren, so just say the word."
Aaron had also been invited and then uninvited. "It's not fair to compare this to a Proust party. I'm sure the dance committee did their best."
A grey balloon burst beneath our feet, nearly toppling us both from our seats.
It wasn't long before Max disappeared to greet some other friends, and Aaron and I were flocked as well; members of the GSA club mostly, with a few curious bystanders along for the ride. It was nice, having expanded my circle of people I could convincingly call 'friends' through the club. Aaron would always be my ride or die, but there were now a handful of other people my age I could see myself still talking to in years to come. I'd been so ready to salt the earth when I left Truman that I hadn't taken a chance on anyone else.
"You've done this before," accused Naomi, who was relentlessly bubbly and dramatic on par with only myself. We got on famously.
I hesitated for only a second before pulling out my phone. "Uhm. Yeah. For about two years. I have... I have an Instagram."
Naomi clutched my shoulder as I showed her some pictures. Her squeals drew a crowd, and soon my phone was being handed around like a newborn. I was prepared to feel a little sick at the cat being well and truly out of the bag, but I felt nothing but relief. That, and a little smug at the positive reception. Sephora was never that far from the surface these days.
Aaron pushed a cup of punch into my hands, holding up his own. I tapped the rims together with a cheap plastic crunch. "Thanks for being my date."
"Anytime," he took a sip of the punch and made a face. "Well, that's been spiked."
"Is Dr. Foxe handing out detention slips?" I asked incredulously, staring bug-eyed at the dancefloor.
She was indeed roaming the floor with an infringement book in one hand, handing out pink slips to anyone who was getting too intimate with their date. The gymnasium was littered with them. Aaron and I watched in silent horror and delight as she tried to slip one between a couple locking lips near the buffet, giving up after a minute and tucking it into the girl's corsage.
With a sip of the spiked punch, I held out my hand to Aaron. "How fast do you think we can get one?"
We wove our way to the dancefloor, a square of the gym sectioned off by neon tape, bumping to Macklemore. The speakers were crackling with age, and the scent of B.O was overwhelming, but it felt something akin to a busy night at Crescendo. A mass of bodies moving against the rhythm of the crowd, eyes closed, and mouths open to the lyrics that flowed out without thought. Couples struggled to keep holding hands through the chaos, and wherever you turned someone's hair was flying at you. Petals from drying corsages crunched underfoot. Aaron and I bounced up and down because that was the only direction there was to go. We were laughing and perspiring and throwing out hands up in the air. Someone yelled that I looked incredible, and I laughed and danced. Someone else hissed that I looked fucking gay, and I laughed and danced.
A slower song came on, an old Taylor Swift song, and the dancefloor thinned into sparse couples. I was about to suggest escaping to the drinks table, but I realised Aaron had stopped dancing and was smiling over my head at something. I spun around and my breath caught.
Milling by the doors, dressed in a slate grey suit that stood out from the sea of black and blue, was Caleb. I had to blink a few times to make sure that whatever had been used to spike the punch wasn't a hallucinogen, but Caleb remained squarely in my vision. He looked lost, hands shoved deep in his pockets and eyes tracking the gymnasium floor. When they found mine, his face morphed from slack confusion to awe in a split second.
I slipped away from Aaron, caught up in a Caleb-tractor-beam that dragged me steadily across the floor. I tried not to run – inadvisable in a floor-length gown – but I certainly hustled until we were face to face, my face splitting into a grin. Caleb's eyes trailed up and down my body, his lips slightly parted, cheeks visibly pink. I felt it was only fair I ravish him with my eyes right back. The suit, up close, wasn't fitted – the shoulders were a little big, the sleeves a little long – but the colour complimented his eyes perfectly, and the ink black tie was an excellent choice. His hair hung in its natural soft waves, glossy under the gymnasium lights, constantly tempting me to reach up and run my fingers through.
Our eyes met again.
"You..." he started, but I overlapped him with, "What..."
We both paused, and started again on the same breath. His eyes crinkled when he laughed, eyes darting to the floor for a second before coming back with an intensity that made my heart kick up to a hummingbird's pace. "You look incredible."
"You look..." Don't say delicious, don't say it, "...here. You're here. What about Lauren?"
"What about her?" came a slightly amused voice from about a foot away. Lauren was dressed entirely too casually, in a blue sundress and flats, with her hair thrown (in the most literal sense of the word) into a bun. She had a silver Birthday Girl badge pinned to one of her straps.
I managed to bypass whatever magnetism had locked Caleb and I together, so I could rush over and hug her. Then I pulled her back to arm's length and looked between them with suspicion. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Well, I might have accidentally let slip what Caleb was missing out on in the name of being a good brother, and our grandmother was so horrified we'd kept him from all this..." she gestured about the poorly decorated gymnasium as if it were Buckingham Palace, "... so she found one of Dad's suits, frogmarched him to the car and told him not to come back until morning."
I had never felt so much affection towards an eighty-year-old woman I had never met before. "And you are here because..."
"It was this or listening to the story of my own birth for the fifth time," she made a face. "Everyone likes telling it from their perspective. It was quite the event. Solar eclipse and all."
I gave her another hug to keep her from divulging any further details and turned back to Caleb. "You bought your sister as your date?"
He shrugged. "She wanted to experience a wild co-ed school function. She's on her own."
"Thanks for the plus-one," she stood on her toes to ruffle his hair. "Have a great night! Don't forget what we talked about in the car!"
And then she was off, running through the crowd of students like a kid in a candy store.
"Happy birthday!" I yelled after her. Caleb's hair was all dishevelled on one side now, which I saw as enough of an excuse to reach up and pat it down. You know, in a friendly way. If my hand lingered there a second longer than socially acceptable, it was just because I was temporarily paralysed by how soft it was. "I can't believe you're here."
"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were planning on wearing that," Caleb's eyes skirted me again. His lips pinched together in a soft frown. "If I'd known..."
"You would have ditched your family and come anyway," I teased, but Caleb's flickering eyes told me that was exactly what he would have done. I pressed my hands against his lapels, my pale hands warming against the heat of his chest. "I'm fine. I don't need you to defend me tonight. I wouldn't have worn this if I wasn't prepared to do that myself."
"What?" his eyebrows crinkled in the middle. "I know. No, I can't believe you wore that with absolutely zero intention of me ever seeing you in it."
Oh. I was pretty sure my shoulders turned pink at that. "I would have worn it again if you asked. Besides. You were going to deprive me of seeing you in a suit."
He held out his hands and looked down at the sleeves that came to the middle of his palms. "Yes. I'm sure I look very classy in my dad's Friday suit. There are tissues stuffed in my shoes, Miles."
"Shush. You look delicious," I couldn't help myself. And before Caleb could get his bearings back, I added, "What did Lauren not want you to forget you talked about in the car?"
To my surprise, he didn't stammer and blush adorably as I'd hoped. I kind of liked Caleb when he was flustered. Instead, he leaned in a little too close for friendly, almost as close as we'd gotten that one night at Crescendo when we'd nearly broken our friendship pact, only this time he didn't look like he was overthinking everything all at once. "We're being watched."
I turned my head to confirm that we were, indeed, the focus of most of the room's attention. I removed my hands from the front of his suit, but slowly and deliberately, my hands sliding down his jacket until they fell by my sides. "Of course we are. Their Beau of the Ball just showed up."
Caleb rolled his eyes languidly at that, and then it wasn't just us in our little bubble of intimacy. A bunch of Caleb's soccer mates rushed over to greet him, a chorus of shoulder slaps and fist bumps from boys who eclipsed me in height. Max was doing that boy thing I didn't understand where they put each other in friendly mutual headlocks. I started to back away, aware that I didn't fit in the picture, but felt a hand gently encircle my wrist before I got too far.
"Where are you sitting?" Caleb asked. His eyes, despite the horde of others around him, were only for me. I felt a rush of fondness zip up my spine and nodded in the general direction of my table. He shouldered past his teammates and walked beside me, dragging the crowd along with him. Aaron had returned to the table, a knowing smile on his lips as I took my seat beside him. He acknowledged Caleb with a wave – they weren't at the hugging stage of the friendship yet – and leaned his chin on his hands.
"I'm sorry for abandoning you on the dancefloor," I frowned. "That's a big Victorian faux pas."
"Oh, it was unforgivable. Mother says I am ruined now and will have no chance of capturing another's affections before the social season concludes," Aaron sighed dramatically, and his eyes flickered to Caleb, who had made himself comfortable on my other side, and then on something that made them widen. "Is that his sister?"
I turned, glimpsing Lauren a little way away, dancing with absolutely zero inhibition to Post Malone's Sunflower. She'd already attracted a small crowd of bewildered admirers, who were probably wondering what a middle schooler in her Sunday best was doing showing them all up at their own dance.
I laughed unreservedly, and Caleb looked down from his conversation to gaze at me, and we smiled at one another, and gazed, and smiled and gazed. It went on for a while.
After about an hour, we were hustled to our seats for the sit-down meal portion of the dance. Ms. Hudson gave a brief and to-the-point address, and the head students – the Gay-Straight Alliance's first petition had been to take away the gendered aspect of the selection process – gave speeches filled with anecdotes I mostly couldn't relate to, having checked out of high school for most of the three years. They finished up with awards, first a slew of joke categories like Most Infectious Laugh and Most Likely to Win Survivor, then the handful that had entire tables of girls squeezing the life out of each other's hands. Best Dressed, Best Couple, Belle of the Ball – which went to the volleyball captain who did, admittedly, look like a fairytale princess. And then Beau of the Ball. Despite my earlier joke, I wasn't particularly surprised when it was announced.
"Caleb Proust!"
He at least had the decency to look stunned, glancing around for a few seconds to make sure he hadn't misheard anything. I gave his shoulder a playful shove as he stood, Lauren whooping louder than anyone from the other side of the table. He accepted the sash gracefully and gave the Belle a congratulatory hug. Adele played for their obligatory couple dance, which they managed to make look not as awkward as I was sure they felt. Caleb's hand was light on her shoulder and waist, their bodies angled strategically away from one another. Before the last beat of the song, the Belle's actual partner crossed the stage to rescue her, leaving Caleb standing alone as they swayed back and forth.
I felt a kick under my seat and jumped, looking accusingly at Aaron. "No."
"Go, you coward."
"It would cause a scene. I'm not doing that to him unless he..."
The music took an upbeat turn with Mitski's Strawberry Blond, and I met Caleb's eye across the room. Time seemed to slow as a wave of feelings I'd been shoving to the back burner flared up in my mind. It was as if I'd been beneath the surface, holding desperately onto the sand for months as waves barrelled overhead, and I'd finally come up for air only to find a tidal wave bearing down on me. I was about to get body-slammed and there was nothing I could do.
Caleb's lip twitched into a smile, and he held out his hand in a simple, crystal-clear gesture. Aaron took my shoulders and practically threw me out of my seat. I staggered upright, drawing in a breath as half the heads in the building turned to me. Oh my god what am I doing. My heart hammered at my ribs as I took one step forwards, two then scurried to the edge of the dance floor. Caleb had sauntered his way over to meet me, eyes igniting with questions. I was pretty sure all the other couples had been invited to the stage at the end of the first song, but no one else was standing. Everyone was watching us face off across the border of the dance floor, both beyond words.
Before things could get too histrionic, Caleb reached out, took my hand, and pulled me into him. My hands went automatically to his chest to steady myself, then looped carefully around his neck. His hands went to my waist, and we were so close that Dr. Foxe probably had her detention slips out and poised to hand to us, but I couldn't make myself care. Even with every eye scrutinising every touch, every breath, every step we took, I couldn't make myself care about anything but the light pressure of Caleb's hands settling above my hips, the warmth radiating from the bare skin of his neck. The way his lopsided, close-lipped smile broke into a beam when I looked up at him.
Look at you, strawberry blond
Fields rolling on
I love it when you call my name.
"This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to," I advised him, and I felt his grip tighten consciously on my sides. "Just so we're clear."
"Does that mean..." he swallowed. "Does that mean you want it to mean something?"
Can you feel the bumblebees swarm?
Watching your arm,
I love it when you look my way.
"It'll always mean something to me," I was sure my breathing had become too shallow, that I was going to swoon on the dance floor. "But I told you not to wai-"
I didn't get to finish my completely planned and coherent speech, because he was ducking down to kiss me before I could even start. It wasn't long or drawn out, nothing to make the teachers shield their eyes against, but it felt like coming up for air. I arched my body into him, fingers locking together behind his neck, his head tilted slightly so I felt his eyelashes brush my cheek, and then he was pulling back, resting our foreheads together.
"It means everything to me," he whispered, his eyes still closed. He looked blissful, hands squeezing tenderly at my waist. I let out a shaky breath and tried to laugh, but couldn't. His eyes cracked open as he pulled back to look at me, sapphire eyes mined straight out of a rock and pushed, rough and glittering, into his face. "You are spectacular."
People seemed to take that as a cue to rush to the dance floor, and soon were boxed in by couples, pressed tight together and swaying to the end of the song. Caleb's face was bright with elation. I loved that look. Unbridled happiness. I was certain he would have found it on his own soon enough even if we'd never clashed that night at Crescendo, but I didn't mind being a part of it. I was ready to be a part of it.
"I want to be friends who kiss," I blurted out, and then immediately felt the need to clarify. "What I mean by that, is I don't want to be friends anymore. Wait, no I want to be friends, but with kissing and all the other things you would expect when you're together... you asshole, you're meant to cut me off before I start doing that."
Caleb was laughing, hands still gripping me as if he was anchoring me to earth. "No, I get it, you just want me for my kissing with none of the responsibilities that come with that. Typical."
I grabbed his face with both hands, angling it to look at me. "Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?"
At those words, his smug smile softened, and his eyes shone like tasteful neon club signs. His forehead came down to press against mine again. "You could have asked anytime in the last five months and the answer would have been the same."
"What, 'I'm flattered but I'm actually waiting on Andrew Garfield...'"
He cut me off, much in the way I'd wanted him to before, with a kiss. This time neither of us felt any need to hold back, considering we were masked by hordes of shouting, dancing classmates, and I doubted Dr. Foxe could have got to us if she tried. One of my hands slid around to cup his jaw, the other to bunch in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I yelped into his mouth when he lifted me with remarkable ease, spinning in a half circle and holding me there, suspended. My surprised melted into a breathless laugh as his mouth went to my cheek, the corner of my eye, and then my ear. "Yes, because I'm completely in love with you."
I pulled back, still in the air with his arms around my waist. Bits of gold-leaf had transferred to his cheeks from mine, streaks of gold lipstick making his lower lip shine. I wondered how my heart could be aching despite the dream I was in. But Caleb's grip was too present, anchoring me to reality. Maybe the ache was just part of hearing that – I love you, from someone you never thought would, could – and it was stretching new muscles I didn't know about. Preparing to throw everything it had into loving them back, blinding teenage hormones be damned.
"I am completely." I patted his cheek once for emphasis. "Wildly." Twice. "Determinedly." Three times. "I'm-running-out-of-words in love with you back."
He set me down and drew me back into another kiss, while the mayhem of the dance reached a peak around us, girls shrieking with happiness and boys laughing shamelessly, the music swelled, stomping feet shaking the building at its foundations. The glee they found in one last night of being a hapless teenager before we all woke up the next morning with exams and university preferences and jobs and futures on our minds, was thick in the air. One last night.
Caleb's jaw moved with mine, tongue brushing the inside of my lip and I sighed into his mouth at the sensation. His hand moved carefully, probably conscious not to smudge my makeup as he brushed my bangs behind my ear, fingers settling comfortably in the short hair above my ear. Caleb Proust kissed me like he knew exactly who he was holding on to, and it finally fit.
And it was spectacular.