— I guess you know already.
— You fucking traitor.
Billy’s voice was gaining an edge. He was so angry that tears had formed in his eyes. He knocked the hot chocolate out of Pete’s hand. It hit the ground and the lid burst off. The hot chocolate steamed on the dark pavement.
— Say something, Peter.
— I don’t know what to say. It just … doesn’t have anything to do with you.
Billy pulled his fist back but then Duane swept between them, barrelled up against Billy, pushed him away. Billy kept calling Pete a fucking traitor. Pete happened to glance over at the store. Caroline was watching from the window. Duane walked Billy backwards, speaking to him all the while. There was no real fight in Billy anyway. There was only hurt etched on his face.
— You’re a fucking traitor, Peter.
A few feet farther on, Duane released Billy. Billy pushed Duane away and shook his shoulders. He pointed at Pete and said they were done. Then he slouched away in the direction of his car. Pete and Duane looked back at the gas pumps but no customers had come in the meantime.
— You okay? said Duane.
— I’m fine.
Pete bent down and numbly retrieved the Styrofoam cup. They walked back and Pete dropped the cup in a garbage can. His hands were shaking and the image of Billy’s hurt face seemed to have been burned into his mind. If there’d been anything to do or say before, the opportunity was lost now.
By this time Caroline had come outside. She came right up in front of Pete, not standing as tall as his chest.
— You, mister, keep your personal shit away from here. I’m trying to run a business. Understand?
— I’m sorry, said Pete.
She went wordlessly back to the store.
Duane leaned against one of the pumps. He looked amused. He said: A girl between buddies, I’m guessing.
— Everything changed when I met her. I just wish he could have seen that at the time.
Pete drove into town. He was stiff inside a brown tuxedo and dress shirt he’d rented. He didn’t know why, exactly, but he swung past Lee’s place first. For advice of some kind, perhaps? There was also a desire just to see the man, given the accident he’d survived a few weeks previous. But at Lee’s place, the windows were dark. That seemed to be the case lately. Maybe he was on one of his long, town-wide walks, hunched into his coat, smoking a cigarette. Pete drove on.
The address Emily had given him was the house of her friend Samantha, who lived on Harding Crescent, up near the golf course. It was a nice part of town. Snow lay on lawns and rooftops and the tops of hedges. There was light in the windows of Samantha’s house. Pete parked behind another car. A corsage of small roses he’d purchased sat in a box on the passenger seat. He took it and got out of the car and crossed over to the porch.
Samantha opened the door. He had a vague memory of her from the party at Nancy’s house in the fall-she’d spent the night conspiring in the kitchen. Samantha was wearing a purple formal gown and was heavily made up. She nodded, and she called out to Emily that Pete had arrived, but Emily had already appeared in the hallway.
She looked coolly elegant, much as she had the first time he’d ever seen her, in the church when she’d played the piano. She was dressed in a pale satin dress, fitted in the bodice, bare across the shoulders. She was smiling as she came forward, and Pete felt his breath catch in his throat. She smelled like lilacs, and when she said hello there was peppermint schnapps on her breath.
Pete held up the corsage. Emily told him to come in, that they’d go soon.
Samantha was in the living room with her boyfriend, Doug. Doug’s tuxedo trousers were short by a full two inches, and he’d paired white sports socks with the brown leather shoes he was wearing. Doug and the girls finished the drinks they’d been working on and they all went out and got into Pete’s car and set off for Heron Heights. Doug pawed at Samantha in the back seat. She was slapping his hand and laughing. They passed a mickey of rum between them and offered it to Emily. She had a sip of it, made a face, and passed it back. The corsage was pinned over her breast. She was wearing snow boots, but had brought along a pair of high heels to wear at the dance. Pete kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
They’d spent much of the past two weeks seeing each other. She’d called him at work one day, a little while after he’d seen her at the hospital. She’d admonished him for not calling her. The first two times they’d spent together, they barely touched. He’d not dared to put words to what might be happening. He avoided Billy entirely. Then, on a weekend afternoon, he and Emily had gone walking by the river and she’d stopped abruptly and said he’d better give her a kiss.
In the car now, Emily asked Pete how work was. He answered briefly, agreeably. He didn’t say anything about Billy’s visit.
They arrived at Heron Heights at a quarter past eight. Pete had only gone to a few dances at his old high school. He’d never gone to a formal.
They got out of the car, Samantha and Doug in the lead. Emily looped her arm through Pete’s. She said: Do you think a Christmas formal is too much? I feel like I at least have to make an appearance.
— We’ll have fun, said Pete. Will we see your other friends?
— One or two of them. There’s been some drama.
— Drama.
— I don’t like drama. But if you’re a girl you can’t get away from it. I envy you. Boys don’t become dramatic. Boys just hit each other like cavemen when they get mad.
They went into the school lobby. There was a national flag and a portrait of the Queen and a bulletin board. Music was coming through the doors to the auditorium. The students’ council had set up a reception table. A girl at the table greeted Emily and Samantha and Doug by name and asked Peter if he was Emily’s guest. She crossed their names off a list and told them to not forget about the photographer.
The auditorium was dark, hot and half filled with young people uneasy in their fancy dress. Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Some teacher chaperones policed the scene, prowling for booze. A local disc jockey had his equipment set up on the stage. He had stacks of LPs in milk crates and was just now drawing a record out of a sleeve. Nobody was dancing.
People spoke to Emily and Samantha and Doug. Pete was introduced. They spent some time idling about in their foursome and Emily was never far away. Fingertips on Pete’s hand or a tug at the edge of his jacket. He wondered at it. She told him when a good song came on she wanted him to dance with her.
After awhile, they went to a classroom where a photographer had set up his camera in front of a muted backdrop. Pete and Emily took up a position. The photographer came over and adjusted their pose, angled them towards each other. Pete’s free hand traced patterns on the small of Emily’s back. The photographer scooted back behind his camera and told them to smile their million-buck smiles.
Emily murmured: Is this completely ridiculous?
— It was your idea.
She pushed her back against Pete’s fingers.
The flashbulb went off and the photographer told them that was just great. Emily took Pete’s arm and they stepped away from the backdrop. Pete wondered vaguely what might become of the photograph.
Back in the auditorium, the music was slower. Couples were pairing up to dance. They spied Doug and Samantha out on the floor, turning slowly. Doug looked half asleep.
Emily led Pete out and they started to dance, and then over her shoulder Pete saw a small group of the people he’d wondered about. There was Nancy. Some other girls were with her. There was Roger. He was leaning against the edge of the stage. Beside him one of his mates was saying something into his ear. Roger had his head tilted the better to hear, and both he and his friend were looking at Pete. If Emily had seen any of them, she gave no sign of it.
When the song ended, Emily and Pete headed back to the chairs at the edge of the room. Sweat and perfume and cologne hung in the air. Doug had disappeared somewhere but Samantha had come with them. She said she needed more rum, would Emily go with her to the bathroom.