“No, actually, I really and truly don’t care,” I say. “I mean, of course I want him to regret it, but no, I don’t care about him. … Ugh!” My cheeks flame. What I really regret is telling Aunt Penny that Devon cheated in the first place. And not just because I had to convince her that the whole ex-UFC-fighter thing was totally unnecessary.
Aunt Penny pats my shoulder, as if to say, “See, I know you better than you know yourself.”
“All right,” Paige says. “Let’s get you into your dress.”
A better plan has not been hatched.
It takes Paige under three minutes from the time we enter my bedroom to get me into the dress Mom helped me pick out months ago—a strapless, corset-back gown that fits tight around my bust, then billows out in a puff of navy-blue, crystal-embellished taffeta that reaches just past my knees (optimal dress length for running, thankfully)—buckle the clasps on my strappy heels (Paige insisted I wear flats, but I argued I can run just as well in heels), and hook my sequined clutch onto my arm. All just in time for the doorbell to ring.
My heart races, and I take a measured breath so that I don’t hyperventilate.
It’s really happening. After days of slapdash training, of Bishop begging his uncle to use whatever influence he has to turn down our plan, of Jezebel pleading with the Family until they miraculously agreed to our plan, of Bishop caving once he realized we really were going to do it with or without him, homecoming night is finally here.
“I’ll get it,” Aunt Penny says, a blur in the hallway.
“Devon’s right on time,” I say. “Now, there’s a shocker.” Especially considering Bianca is hosting a pre-homecoming party the whole universe except me is invited to. Not that I’d go even if I were invited. But Paige doesn’t laugh at my joke, just twists her hands together.
“Wish me luck,” I say, my traitorous voice cracking.
“I still don’t see why I can’t help,” Paige blurts out. Behind her glasses tears well up, which she doesn’t even try to wipe away.
I sigh and swallow my own tears, because one of us has to be the strong one.
“I know, I know,” Paige says. “You never thought you’d see the day when I was begging you to go to homecoming. But I just can’t stand sitting on the sidelines while you’re in danger.”
“Potentially in danger,” I correct her. “They might not even show up. It’s not like they didn’t have plenty of opportunities at the game today.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s just …” She shakes her head, mumbling something under her breath. Not for the first time, I worry that she’s just pretending she’s going over to Jessie’s for an anti-homecoming Jeopardy! party. That she’s going to follow me the minute I leave the house. I take her by the forearms and shake her until she looks up at me.
“Seriously, Paige. If the Priory knows anything about me, they’ll know you’re my closest friend. They could take you hostage. It’s hugely unsafe for you to be there.”
“I don’t care about that,” she says, pushing her chin up.
“But I do,” I tell her. “Yeah, my magic has improved, but I’m nothing compared with the Priory. The last thing I need is to have to look after you on top of myself. I won’t even have a chance then. Promise me you’re not going to follow me.”
She’s quiet a moment, her lips pressed into a line as a rogue tear slips down her cheek. Finally, she lets out a slow breath. “Fine. I don’t like it, but fine.”
She twines her fingers with mine and squeezes so hard it hurts, giving me a weak smile that I translate to “Good luck, stay safe, and in case you die, I love you.” It’s a complicated smile.
And then I walk downstairs.
Devon stands in the doorway, sporting the black tuxedo with a powder-blue vest and navy bow tie that we picked out because it both matches my gown and makes his eyes look impossibly blue. I could stand less gel in his hair, but that’s just me being picky—he looks great. And I feel nothing. Despite all my reassurances to Paige and Penny that I didn’t care about Devon, I will admit now that I did worry our date would somehow rekindle my desire for him, and then I’d end up being one of those lame-o girls who takes back her cheating boyfriend. I couldn’t be happier to find that the Devon-fire is safely dead.
Devon’s eyes go from my hair, linger around my on-display bust, and then move down to my legs.
“You look amazing,” he says. And even though I’m his date because there’s no one else left to ask, he actually looks sincere when he says it. “I have this.” He holds up a little plastic box with a corsage made of white orchids.
“Oh!” I turn to retrieve the box with Devon’s matching boutonniere from the coffee table, but Paige is already on it.
Aunt Penny snaps pictures while Devon slips the corsage around my wrist and I fumble to pin the boutonniere to his lapel. It feels silly to be doing all these things with him, and not just because the point of the evening is to lure the Priory out and not to make lasting high school memories. Though, if everything goes to plan, I’m sure that’ll happen too.
After hundreds of horribly posed pictures at various locales around the living room, Devon and I head for the door.
“Wait!” Aunt Penny calls to my back.
I spin around. Aunt Penny chews the inside of her cheek, her index finger pressed to her lips.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her eyes flit to Paige and then to Devon before settling on me again. “Just be careful, okay?”
Ew. It’s one thing for Aunt Penny to help out with my hair and makeup but another thing entirely when she gives me sex advice. Cool aunt or no.
“Careful. Yeah, sure.” I snag Devon’s arm to get out of here fast.
“Wait!”
Ugh. I spin around in the doorway. “Yes?”
Aunt Penny opens and closes her mouth as if trying to find the right words. I’m about to blurt out that she needn’t worry, because I’m not having sex tonight, when she finally speaks. “If … if you find yourself in a tough position”—she bites her bottom lip—“you can always call on Alica Frangere.”
Alica Frangere? I’ve never heard of the woman. I exchange confused glances with Paige. “Who’s that?” I ask.
Aunt Penny presses a hand to her temple, a pained look crossing her face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She waves me away. “Just a headache. Forget about it. You’ll be fine, and have a great time tonight.” When I don’t move, she shoos me to the door. “Seriously, go, have fun.” She smiles so widely I’m forced to believe she’s okay.
Devon links arms with me and leads me outside. I crane my neck to look back inside the house until Aunt Penny closes the front door. He leads me down the three steps as though I’m a fragile doll that might break just because I’m wearing a dress. It’s ridiculous, but then I remember that Bishop and Jezebel are watching somewhere in the falling twilight, and I cling to Devon’s arm like the leading lady in some black-and-white movie all the way down the drive to Devon’s car.
Take that, jerkwad.
All I can say about the drive to Elysian Park, where we’re meeting up for photos with the group who went to Bianca’s party, is thank God for Jay-Z. I don’t know how I ever thought Devon and I were a good match, but in the many instances of awkward silence and stilted conversation that occur in the short drive, it has become very clear that we’re not. We’re so not.
Devon circles the parking lot and finds a spot at the rear. He opens my door for me, and that’s where the chivalry ends. He spots his friends climbing out of Jarrod’s car a few rows over and practically sprints over to join.
Right away I see one of the Amy/Ashley twins and Julia with their respective football-player dates, but it’s only as I get closer that I spot Bianca. It’s kind of hard not to spot her, with her white-blond hair, tanned skin, and hot-pink, painted-on dress that scoops low at the neck to show off her ta-tas.