“So, when is he picking you up?” she asks.
I frown. “Um, I’m not sure exactly.” He said he was going to stop by and talk to me, but that was over a week ago, and now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen him since. He’s been absent from English all week. I check my phone. But I know for a fact I don’t have his number.
Why didn’t we exchange numbers right when he’d asked me? Is he sick? Surely he would have told me if he was.
“Do you have his number?” I ask Monica.
“Uh, no. But I think I went to his house once when I was little for a birthday party. Aren’t you friends with Trent, too?”
“Class friends, not exchange numbers kind of friends.” I could message him on social media but that would require me creating an account, which my dad doesn’t approve of.
I grab my arm and squeeze the soft skin around my elbow joint where my underdeveloped left arm ends.
Why didn’t he follow up with me?
“Well, the dance starts at nine, it’s only eight now. I’ll just wait. He probably forgot to tell me what time.” My stomach grows queasy. Something isn’t right, but I’m too afraid to admit as much out loud.
“I’m sure.” Monica places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go watchGilmore Girlsuntil he shows up.”
I lock my prosthetic into place and follow her downstairs, knowing full well that not even a love triangle between Rory, Dean, and Jess can keep me from worrying.
Fifty-five minutes later, I’m practically shaking. My dad has, thankfully, shut himself in his office. Which is good because he wouldn’t know what to say and would just make it worse. Times like this, a girl could use her mom. That also would have been nice during the puberty talk. My dad used a construction analogy including phrases like “tubing systems” and “fluid transport” that should never be repeated. Now I shudder every time I drive by a construction site.
“He doesn’t know where you live,” Monica says, snapping her fingers.
The air whooshes out of my lungs. “Of course.” A reasonable excuse for not showing up somewhere.
“Come on,” Monica stands and grabs her keys. “I’ll drive you to his house, he’s probably sitting there and doesn’t know what to do.”
It feels like a terrible idea, but I agree. Monica tells my dad we are going to her house to finish getting ready since I’m hardly capable of stringing two words together, and we hop in her car.
Thirty minutes later, we park in front of a large home. It’s not quite a mansion, but it’s also not a typical suburban-style home either.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask. But I know better than to question her directional abilities. If she’s been somewhere once, she can find it again. One time I blindfolded her and drove through town, taking no less than twenty turns. She knew exactly where we were before I let her take off the blindfold. That’s how smart she is.
Monica nods, but I’m frozen in the passenger seat. I can’t make myself get out of the car. One knock on that door, and I’ll know the truth. I want to believe Sean is waiting for me. But it’s so far-fetched I can’t even pretend.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Monica asks.
“No,” I say quickly. I’d prefer to be embarrassed alone. I know she’s my best friend, but I’m already so humiliated.
I push open the car door and step out, careful not to snag my dress on anything. My heels click up the long drive. Has there ever been such a long sidewalk? Each step is more daunting than the last. I’m five feet away from the door when the tears start. I’ve held them in for so long that I can’t stop them. I don’t even wipe them away; I know without a doubt that Sean is not in there. Of course, he’s not. I’m not the captain of the cheer team. Why did he ask me to begin with?
It was a joke, right? He’s the popular guy who asks the girl who’s desperately in love with him because he gave her a nickname once that makes her ridiculously happy. But it doesn’t mean anything to him.
I knock on the door, harder than planned, and wait. My pounding heart is screaming at me to run away while I still can, but for some reason, I stay put. Ineedto know my fate.
A moment later the door is opened by a beautiful blonde woman, looking very regal in a white blouse and tan pants. “Oh, hello. My, aren’t you beautiful?”
“I’m London,” I say, ignoring the compliment.
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about you from Trent.”
Trent? Sean’s twin brother has talked about me, but Sean hasn’t.
“Is Sean here?” My voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Sean?” she asks. “He’s at prom I believe. Is that where you’re headed?”
