Page 38 of The Lookback

And his friends.

But in this case. . . “I wanted him to be forced to saysomething,” I say. “I wanted him to face me.” I sigh. “I’m starting to think that he never will.”

“Go with me anyway,” he says. “You can’t let him ruin prom for you.”

“It’s just junior prom.” I shrug. “Who cares, anyway?”

“You do,” Tommy says. “You act like you don’t, but this matters to you. You want to go, and you deserve to get a crown. All the guys want you and all the girls like you because you’re nice and smart and funny. That’s rare. It should be fun for you, and he’s ruining it like a little baby. You ruined his year unintentionally when Clyde asked you out, and he wants to do the same to you.”

“When will it ever be enough?”

“That’s why I want to hit him. He’s a real mush brain.”

“Mush brain?” I laugh. “You sure know how to dish out the insults.”

“If you want to deal out a major insult to him for being dumb, then come to prom with me andenjoyit.”

“I don’t think he’ll even come.” And I really don’t think he will.

Not while I’m picking a big, floofy pink prom dress. Not while my mom’s doing my hair. Not even when Tommy shows up in his dad’s car to pick me up.

“Whoa, he’s letting you drive?” I ask.

The long, black Chevy Classic—a V8, as I’ve heard over and over—is sparklingly clean, not a speck of dirt showing on its entire shiny, sleek length. Tommy’s dad has had the nicest car in town for years, but I’ve never seen anyone behind the wheel other than Mr. Collins.

“I offered to weed Mom’s entire front flowerbed,” he says.

“That sounds terrible.”

Tommy shrugs. “It was worth it.”

To get behind the wheel, he means. He’s always loved that car, and he’s never had an excuse to really ask to drive it. When he opens the door for me, it almost feels like a real date. He’s wearing a dark suit I didn’t realize he even had, and on the seat, there’s a little bundle of flowers.

“What’s that?” I freeze, peering at it. There are tiny pink roses that just match my dress and a spray of delicate white flowers that look like lace bunched up below them.

“Everyone gets wildflowers for their hair and stuff. I asked your mom if you were, and she said no.” He shrugs. “I thought you should have some flowers. You are the princess.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “I don’t care about that.”

“Still.” He reaches over the center of the car and lifts the flowers. “This can go on your wrist.” He shows me a rubber band. “Or I can pin it to your dress.”

I think about his hands trying to reach underneath the small straps on the top of my dress and a tiny thrill runs up my spine. “My wrist is fine.” Because I’m kind of stupid, and I’m worried I’ll shiver while he tries to pin it, giving myself away.

But then he holds out his hands, likehe’sgoing to put it on me. My hand trembles embarrassingly as I extend it toward him. His hands are quick and deft—I’ve seen them do crazy things with ropes when calves are misbehaving—but I don’t expect them to be quite so warm or anywhere near as large as they are when he captures my hand in his. His fingertips brush against the tender skin on the center of my palm, and he freezes, looking up at me slowly.

When his bright eyes meet mine, my heart catches somewhere in my throat. I forget to breathe. I’m just staring at him, my hand still trembling a little, but captured well and truly between his.

“Mandy?” He tilts his head. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” I yank my hand back and slide into the seat. Of course, my skirt doesn’t exactly comply. It’s all bunched up, and before I can figure out how to get it all subdued, Tommy has leapt to my side and he’s gathering it up himself to tuck it carefully next to me.

When he closes the door, his face is just above mine, his eyes softer than usual. Now, in this moment, I’m not the one who’s frozen. It’s him. My heart isn’t in my throat this time. It’s hammering, like a frantic woodpecker, right where it’s meant to be in my chest. It’s so loud that I’m worried he can hear it.

But without a word, Tommy breaks away and circles around to the driver’s seat. Maybe I imagined all of it, because it’s gone as soon as it arrived, the strange awareness of him, the nervous energy at his closeness.

For years, the best-looking guy I’d ever seen in real life—the coolest, too—was Clyde Brooks. He was tall, handsome, and almost larger than life.

But my vision changes when Tommy shows up with flowers.

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