Page 5 of The Tip-Off
Nathan and I have become friends in my short time at Valley, which is nice because I anticipate I’ll be spending a lot of time at The White House since my best friends are dating jocks.
With a hand around my waist, Nathan moves us with the beat. The beer he’s holding in one hand spills onto my arm and he backs up as he apologizes and then his gaze falls to my dress like he’s just now seeing my outfit.
“Wow, Gabby. You trying to kill me in that dress?”
His words make me smile, but I swat playfully at him dodging the compliment like a boss.
Vanessa twirls, raises her hands, and yells, “Let’s move up closer to the foam.”
I nod and Nathan and I follow behind her. I peek over my shoulder to see if Z is following and he is, though unhurried and not all that enthusiastically. We’re a train moving through the crowd. Mario holding onto Vanessa, me with a hand on V’s back so no one can separate us and holding my other hand behind me grasping Blair’s. Nathan is beside me and I don’t look back again to verify but I assume Wes is back there pulling up the rear with Zeke.
Every step closer to the crowd dancing in the cloud-like substance makes my heart thump wilder in my chest. Now this is a party! It’s not as packed in the foam, most people are staying on the outskirts of it, but I want in.
“I think this is as far as I go,” Vanessa says and Blair nods in agreement.
“Sorry, Gabby, that foam freaks me out a bit,” Nathan adds.
I mock pout but no one steps forward.
Wes shoves Zeke forward and my date’s eyes widen in panic. The nice thing to do would be to let him off the hook, but my desire to get him to dance with me outweighs every nice bone in my body. Also, I find Zeke’s presence a comfort, like I can be as crazy and reckless as I want, and he’ll keep me safe. Stupid, I know, considering we’ve barely spoken. But if it came to blows, I think he’d at least step in front of me and block me with his giant frame.
“Let’s go, big guy.” I grab his hand and pull. He budges without me really having to put any weight behind it and we enter the foam, leaving our traitorous friends behind and joining a group of girls who look to be as excited as I feel.
They welcome us, widening the circle before getting lost to the music again. I do the same with Zeke standing behind me. He’s closer now than before and maybe it’s the foam or the way no one is watching us in here, but I grow bolder. I turn and place my hands on his chest, moving with the beat. I keep my eyes downcast until one of his hands finds my hip. My breath hitches and I move an inch closer and meet his gaze.
Zeke’s eyes are a light brown, warm and soulful, and right now they’re finally on me. Wow. The force of a thousand suns. All that intensity focused on me, I was not prepared for it. I reach down to the foam at my feet and scoop up a handful, stand, and blow it into his face. It takes him a moment to react, but slowly a smile spreads on his face and then he shocks me by reciprocating – tossing giant handfuls of foam at me, hurling it so fast and furious there’s a cloud around us. I swat at the foam until I can see his smiling face and giggle, look down, and prepare to make another move.
He holds his hand up and says, “Truce.”
“Okay,” I say at the same time I move to grab for more, but he’s quick and catches my wrist. His large fingers burn into my skin and he shakes his head, still smiling.
The foam builds between us and his touch disappears from my wrist only to be replaced by his fingertips brushing against the side of my face and pushing the foam away. It lasts only a second, but I feel it even after he’s dropped his hand back to his side.
The song changes and the girls in the foam with us squeal in delight as the opening to Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” begins to play.
I feel on top of the world as I give myself over to the beat like I’ve only done in my bedroom for the past three years. Zeke doesn’t exactly dance, but he seems more relaxed now and I’m patting myself on the back for pulling him in here. All he needed was a little forced fun.
One song turns to five and I’m drenched with a combination of foam and sweat when I turn back to face the middle of the circle. I offer a shy smile to the girl to my left. She returns it and then tilts her head and studies me. “You’ve got something…” She takes a step toward me, smooths a hand over her face at the same time she must realize the only thing on my face is… my face.
My scarred face.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Gabby.
My hand flies to the left side of my face and I give her a reassuring smile. After all, it’s not her fault.
They can make mascara that withstands a good cry fest, but so far, I haven’t found a foundation that is as magical. Which means mine is gone with the foam and the lines on my face are more visible. The scars on my face from a car accident my senior year of high school are never completely hidden, but with several layers of concealer, foundation, and setting spray, it’s not usually obvious enough that people gasp in horror – yep, that’s happened.
“Sorry,” she says and averts her eyes back to the middle of the circle.
I don’t look around to the other girls. One thing I hate more than gawking – the pity. As if my life were defined by my face. As if I’m somehow less than because I’m not perfect. As if they’re better than me because they wear their scars on the inside. And I flipping hate that I feel like they might be right.
I turn to face my date and hope he’ll shield me from this awkward, awful moment or maybe whisk me away and tell me I’m beautiful no matter what. Cheesy, right? But I long to hear those words from someone even if it’s not true.
Zeke’s eyes are warm and understanding as his gaze drops to the scars on my face and then to the girls dancing around us. “Wanna head back?”
Well, it’s not a profession of beauty or love, but it’s an excuse out of here anyway. I grab his arm and duck behind him. With as much dignity as I can muster, I shimmy out of that foam like my pride didn’t wash away with my makeup.
Man, I was stoked about a real-life foam party. I forgot one minor detail. Foam is made of water.
