Page 60 of Better Than the Movies
Which was why I just wanted him to ask me to prom so badly. Somehow, going to prom with someone she’d known—who’d knownherwell enough to know about and remember her daisies—seemed vitally important. Like it might make it feel like she was somehow involved in my senior year.
Ridiculous, right?
But I just wanted the hole of emptiness in my life to shrink just a tiny bit. Was that so much to ask? I kept waiting for the “closure” I was supposed to feel, but I was starting to think it would never come.
The chokecherry tree I’d been looking at got blurry, and I swallowed down the pinch in my throat. “Dad and Helena keep asking me about prom—if I’m going, if I need a dress—and the thing is, I don’t want their help with anything. It’s selfish and they don’t deserve it, but if I can’t haveyoudoing those things with me, I don’t want anyone else.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
I jumped, knocking my head against Mom’s headstone, before turning around to see Wes. He was standing there in sporty clothes with a sweaty running brow, and I put my hand over my racing heart and said, “Oh my God—what are you doing here?”
His mouth went down and his eyebrows squinched together like he was confused. “Whoa—sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
For some reason, I was pissed by his appearance. I knew I should feel embarrassed that he’d caught me talking to a piece of marble, or worried about what exactly he’d heard, but all I could think about was the fact that he was in this space. It wasmyspace—my mom’s and mine—and he shouldn’t be there.
I scrambled to my feet. “Wes, did you follow me here? What is your problem?”
“Oh.” His smirk disappeared and he glanced at my mother’s grave—now that I’d moved, he could see her name—before saying, “Shit. I was already running when I saw you turn in here. I thought you were just cutting through.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t, okay?” I blinked fast, trying to stop my emotions from speeding down whatever chute they were headed for. “It’s probably best if you just don’t run after people without them knowing. That’d probably be your best bet.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t know, Liz.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my earbuds from my pocket. “Yeah, well, now youdoknow. You know that weird Little Liz is the freak who can’t get over her dead mom. Awesome.”
“No. Listen.” He stepped closer and wrapped his hands around my upper arms, gently squeezing as his intense brown eyes moved all over my face like he was desperate to convince me. “I’m gonna go now, and you stay. Forget you ever saw me.”
“Too late.” I breathed in through my nose and gritted my teeth, stepping back from him and his hands. “Stay if you want, I don’t care.”
I jammed my earbuds into my ears and started the music. I cranked Foo Fighters so loud that I couldn’t hear whatever Wes was saying to me, and I turned away from him and started running down the road, even though I knew he was yelling my name.
I ran home at a record pace, trying to think about mundane things like homework in a weak attempt to shut down my emotions. I needed to write a paper on patriarchy in literature, andI couldn’t decide if I should use “The Yellow Wallpaper” or “The Story of an Hour.” I liked the second one better, but the first had more material.
I slammed through the front door and had almost made it to the safety of my room when my dad yelled for me.
“Yeah?”
“Come in here for a sec.”
I went down the hall to his room and pushed open his bedroom door, still breathing hard from the exercise. “Yeah?”
He was sitting up in bed, reading a book, with an episode ofFriendson TV in the background. He didn’t even tear his eyes from the paperback when he asked, “Hey, did you go prom dress shopping with Jocelyn yet?”
“Not yet—her mom got tied up and I didn’t really feel like it because of my nose.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s that feeling, by the way?”
I shrugged and thought about how much I loved hearingFriendsreruns in my dad’s room. He and my mother had watched that show in bed so many times that it’d become like a lullaby to me, a sound that conjured the sights and smells of my early childhood. “Better, I guess.”
“Glad to hear it.” He turned the volume on the television down to zero and finally looked at me. “Listen, since you haven’t gone yet, maybe you could see if Helena wants to go with you guys. I know she’d love to do this, and I’m pretty sure she’ll pay for your overpriced dress too.”
Oh, the timing. I didn’t want her to come, and I definitelydidn’t want her to pay for my dress. I felt an anxious skip in my heartbeat and tried, “I think she’s probably too—”
“Come on, Libby Loo.” My dad took off his reading glasses. “She really wants to do this with you. Why is it such a big ask?”
I swallowed. “It’s not.”
“Really? Because I’ve heard her mention two or three times that she’d be happy to take you shopping, yet you made plans with someone else.”
