She collapses on the bed next to me. “What’re you up to?”
I blush deeper, thinking of what I was up to. I don’t want to talk about it. So I say, “I’d rather find out what you were up to.”
She sits up and her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“Last night. I saw you and Hugo getting cozy.”
“Oh,” she says. “Nothing. He’s kind of annoying. And creepy.”
I cringe, thinking of him watching me through the open door. But Angela … Angela doesn’t think badly of anyone. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, he went through everyone’s stuff to get the vodka. Who in their right mind would do something like that?”
“I know. He read my journal,” I say, shuddering.
“Ew, he did? And he always seems to say the wrong thing. I just—he’s not my type, you know?”
Finally, she comes to her senses! “So, what is your type?” I ask, but the thing is, I know. She tells me this all the time. Someone more like her. Someone more like … my boyfriend.
This time, though, she doesn’t say it. She leans back and stares at the ceiling. She’s unusually thoughtful. Maybe being in the wilderness unleashes her quiet, pensive side. Maybe she is at one with nature. Then she opens her mouth and the last thing I’d expected comes out. “Prom’s tonight.”
“It is?” For the past couple of days, I haven’t thought of myself in ice-blue satin at all, but it’s always been in the back of my mind, despite all that has been going on.
She sits up and pinches my cheek like I’m three. “I know you wanted to go.”
“I never said I wanted to,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” she singsongs. “You’ve been one of my best friends for ten years. I know.”
I shrug. “But this is …” I’m searching for a word, but every one I can think of to describe the time up here is negative. The longer I pause, the less real I sound. Finally, I choke out, “Fun, too.”
She titters a little, back to the Angela I know and love. Still, there’s something wrong with her behavior, but I can’t tell what it is. She’s so jumpy, like a spring, yet guarded. She’s hiding something. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, almost as bad as Justin. “Sure it is. Anyway, The River Wild is all they ever play up here. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You’d think they could play something different for once.”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Well, it’s okay. But I just wanted to tell you, I think I’m staying in.”
Okay, there’s definitely something going on. Angela loves darkened movie theaters and big containers of popcorn. I raise my eyebrows. “You’re staying in? With Hugo?”
“Ew. He refuses to shower even though he smells,” she groans. “There’s a zombie movie marathon on tonight and a can of SpaghettiOs with my name on it in the pantry. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” I venture, studying her closely as if her expression will reveal something. But it doesn’t. She just smiles and tries to grab my cheek again, but I swat her hand away before she can.
“Have fun,” she says, leaving me alone.
I walk downstairs, hoping to avoid Hugo. Justin is standing in the living room, digging into the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt. There’s something in there, because I can see his fingers playing with it, but I can’t tell what. He has his Red Sox cap turned backward, which makes him look like an innocent little boy, but something about his expression is wrong. Justin can never hide anything; his face always gives him away. “What?” I ask when I’m standing in front of him.
He brings one corner of his mouth up in a smile. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
He grabs my hand and we walk out into the night. By now it’s dark, with charcoal-colored clouds obscuring the moon. An owl hoots in the distance and the river hums along, but it’s almost as if we’ve walked into a closet. I can’t see a thing. I cling to Justin, shivering. I know the dead probably won’t come to me with him around, but at the same time, I don’t want to test it. Justin leads the way, and in another couple of minutes I can see the orange light spilling from the Outfitters. There are no people outside, though, and the barbecue pit is empty. It looks kind of deserted. “Do a lot of people watch the movie?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Some.”
His voice is so cool, so aloof, that it startles me. I stop in my tracks before we cross the highway. “What is going on with you?”
He won’t look me in the eye. He just hitches his shoulders again. “Nothing. Come on. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t wait for me; he starts jogging so that I’m trailing two steps behind him. We cross the highway and find the path toward the Outfitters. When we’re near the door, I inspect the wipe-off board that talks about the daily activities. It says:
TODAY the RIVER is at 7,500 CFS
Dinner at 6 p.m. will be franks and burgers
Be SAFE out THERE!
Thank You for Choosing Northeast Outfitters
But nowhere at all does it say that tonight is Movie Night on the terrace. I’m about to ask Justin how he knows that there’ll be a movie when I’ve never seen it posted anywhere, when he turns to me and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out this kind of crushed, but still very pretty, red rose, surrounded by a little baby’s breath. The petals are black and wilting around the edges, and some of them fall off in his hands. “Crap,” he mutters.
I stare at it, openmouthed. “What is that?”
He lets the loose petals fall to the ground and holds it up for me. “It used to be a flower. I think.”
I just stare at it. “It’s a corsage? For, like, prom? Where did you—”
He nods. “I bought it Wednesday.”
“I don’t get it,” I say as I take it from him and affix it to my shirt. I look kind of silly wearing a corsage on this ensemble, especially since we’re just going to watch a movie. He opens the door to the Outfitters, and when I walk in, Spiffy is giving Justin the eye. They communicate soundlessly, and I do a tennis match head-swivel to see what each of them is trying to say, but it’s just raised eyebrows, winks, and nods.
“This way,” Justin says, pulling me into a room. A sign on the door says it’s the KENNEBEC ROOM, which I think must be on the way to the terrace. It’s dark inside, like a movie theater.
But suddenly a speaker begins to crackle, and music begins to pour out of it. It’s some cheesy slow song I’ve never heard before. Disco lights begin to flash white circles around the room. I strain in the dizzying moving pattern of darkness and light but don’t see a movie screen or chairs. It’s just a big, empty room with lacquered wood floors, like a gymnasium. In the corner is a banner, painted with big black lettering: WAYVIEW HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR PROM. I turn to Justin. He’s looking at it, scratching his head, which is what he always does when he’s embarrassed. “Justin, what is going on?” I ask.
His shoulders sag. “This was way better in my mind.”
“No, it’s … nice!” I say brightly, relieved.
So this is why he was acting so strange. He never could keep secrets from me. Justin is just too simple, too honest for something like that. I’m relieved it wasn’t anything bad, like … well, I don’t know what.
“You said you didn’t care about prom, but I know you did,” he says softly. “You’re a good person for going along with us. And I know it’s missing all the best things about being at prom, like getting all dressed up and seeing all your friends, but—”
I smile and pull him to the center of the room. I draw him to me, lean my head against his chest so I can hear the thumping of his heart, and we begin to sway. “You’re wrong,” I whisper into his neck. “The best thing about prom would be going with you, the best boyfriend in the world.”
I close my eyes to lose myself in the music, but he’s stopped moving. He’s standing there, stiff. I pull away and look into his eyes. The lights flash in rhythm on the deep ridges of his frown. And I know there is something else.