Page 22 of The Prom

He nods when he sees me coming and chuckles softly, “I like the disguise.”

I grin. “Sorry, I didn’t want anyone to see me heading this way.”

It’s a little awkward as I head up the wooden steps and hesitate, staring at the only other seat which happens to be right by his side. There is only one chair on this veranda and it’s a double one.

He sets the beer down as I shrug off my rucksack and hand him the soda and pie with a shy smile.

“My favorite.”

His blinding smile only increases my nerves and I attempt to swallow them and tease, “I must have known.”

He nods toward the seat as he chucks me a can.

“I’ll put this in the fridge and grab the pizza.”

As he disappears inside, I perch nervously on the chair and attempt to get my breathing under control.

This is wrong on every level. I shouldn’t be here, but for some reason I couldn’t have said no if I tried. Part of me wonders what I’m playing at—whathe’splaying at because if I consider this is wrong, what must he be thinking? He should know this is not a common practise for a teacher. Inviting their student for pizza on their veranda.

I wonder what his plan is because it’s obvious he has one. I’m not stupid and have always had a heightened perception of situations ever since I was a kid.

He returns with two boxes of pizza and hands me one with a smile.

“I hope you like the toppings, pepperoni with extra tomatoes.”

“My favorite.” I shake my head. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. It also happens to be my favorite, too.”

As he joins me, the chair dips a little and as his bare leg catches mine, a little more of my soul slips away.

“Are you going to wear your disguise for the entire time?” He jokes and I blush as I pull a piece of pizza apart with my fingers.

“Probably.”

“Are you always so careful?”

“One of us has to be.”

He raises his eyes and I blush a little.

“I mean, wouldn’t you be in trouble if anyone saw us?”

“Why?” He appears genuinely confused.

“We’re having a meeting over pizza regarding the prom. Out in the open with nothing to hide.”

He appears concerned. “Does this make you feel uncomfortable? I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought it did.”

Now I feel stupid and relax a little. “Of course. I’m overthinking it.”

His words reassure me, so I pull off my baseball cap and allow my hair to fall to my shoulders and, for some reason, the air stills. Silence takes charge as we eat in silence and even the birds stay away, creating a cocoon where only we have a key to the door.

I’m aware of the heat from his body as we sit side by side, his leg pressed against mine because it has nowhere else to go. After a while, he says guardedly, “So, ancient Rome. What gave you the idea?”

“I don’t know, really. I watched Gladiator a while ago and loved the staging. I suppose that was fresh in my mind.”

“You’re studying history. What do you want to do when you graduate?”

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