Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(12)
Author: Jamie McGuire

Weston crawled out from his seat and stood on the concrete of the school parking lot before offering his arm. I climbed out and hooked my arm around his, and together, we walked around the limo.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

Hundreds of people were lined on each side of the walkway leading to the commons area where prom was held every year. Flashes and clicking that would rival any group of paparazzi commenced before we even took a step. Parents, grandparents, siblings, and underclassmen were stacked five rows deep behind the taped-off walkway.

With his other hand, Weston patted mine. I relaxed my death grip, realizing my fingers had been digging into his arm. We paused for pictures, and then Lisa’s dad gestured for us to continue.

Weston led me to the next stop where dozens of people raised their phones, cameras, and video cameras. The flashes blinked like strobe lights. I was so glad Weston had done this before even though I didn’t want to think about it.

“It’s okay, Erin. I promise,” he said. He smiled for the cameras and then leaned down to peck my cheek.

The people taking pictures around us went into a frenzy then, and it didn’t feel like they were documenting something they thought was cute. It felt like evidence for something to talk about later.

“This is awful. Why do people do this?” I said through my teeth as I forced a smile.

Weston chuckled and then led me forward to the next stopping point. We walked slowly, and I let my mind fall away from worrying about so many eyes on us. Instead, I began concentrating on walking in high heels. The pictures made me uncomfortable, but falling in front of everyone would be much worse.

It took a little more than ten minutes to reach the main building, but it felt like ten hours. Just after we turned the corner, Peter, Veronica, Sam, and Julianne came into view. Julianne touched Sam’s arm before lifting her camera to snap pictures. Her eyes glossed over, and Veronica took a few pictures of her own before squeezing Julianne to her side.

They all waved to us before the door swept open, and Weston and I stepped inside. The lights were dim, and the music coming from the DJ’s speakers in the corner was loud and upbeat.

One path to the tables was lined with red lights and pointed glowing faux flames, resembling a river of lava. Another pathway was blue with white twinkling lights and translucent spikes of pretend ice. The fire side half of the room had tables covered in red or black tablecloths, and the walls were draped in red fabric. The other side featured tables decorated in white or baby blue, and white satin-like material cascaded from the ceiling to the floor, shining like glaciers. In the center of the room was a huge ice sculpture in the shape of glistening curved flames whipping into the air. A red light glowed from the inside to simulate fire, and chiseled diamond-like blocks protruded from the base of the sculpture to represent ice. Bordering the central dance floor on one side were short pillars blowing red and orange tissue paper, and on the opposing side were tall white pillars reflecting blue light.

I wasn’t sure who had been in charge of transforming the commons area into prom, and I didn’t have a basis for comparison, but it was magical and didn’t feel like the high school at all.

Weston guided me to a table, and I sat before looking up at him.

“Who’ll be sitting in those chairs?” I asked, nodding toward the empty seats on the other side of the table.

Weston helped me to scoot closer to the table, and then he sat next to me, shrugging. “Whoever can mind their manners.”

“What now?” I asked.

The servers, all sophomores handpicked by upperclassmen, were busy bringing waters to the dozens of tables. I moved aside when our server set a glass of ice water next to my table setting. She smiled nervously. Her baby blue T-shirt displayed the prom theme and emblem and set off her frizzy copper hair.

Weston leaned over to speak into my ear, “Once everyone gets seated, they’ll serve us dinner, then we dance, and then we leave.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

I relaxed. “Okay, I can handle that.”

He raised my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. Then, he kept my hand in his as he lowered them to his lap.

Within half an hour, the room was full of chatter and upperclassmen. The two chairs in front of us were filled by Brian Fredrick and Janelle Hunt. She was somehow successful in glaring at me and seeming bored at the same time, but Brian was animated and chatty. He and Weston talked about football and coaches. Janelle looked around the room, hopeful to find more preferable seating. I was hoping she would find it.

“Are you still working at the DQ?” Brian asked, his round cheeks moving his equally round eyes when he spoke.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to shrink back from Janelle’s stare.

She was unhappy that he had addressed me.

A loud cackle came from someone passing by, and then I saw Brady Beck.

He knocked on our table with his knuckles and nodded to Brian. “Oh, man. Bad luck.”

Brian made a face as he watched Brady walking away. “That’s just rude, dude.” He shook his head and then let Brady’s words roll off. “I was wondering what it’s like to work with Frankie. She seems crazy!” he said, chuckling.

“She’s pretty fun,” I said.

Janelle sighed and rolled her eyes. She scanned the room again and then touched Brian’s arm. “There are two chairs over there!” she said, eager.

Brian stumbled over his next words, desperately trying to cover for his date.

“No one is forcing you to sit here,” Weston said. “If you’re going to be a bitch, I’d rather you leave.” His fingers squeezed mine, his cheeks flushing red against his tan skin.

I squeezed his hand back, silently begging him not to make a scene.

Janelle didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her attention to the decorations and then waved to her friends across the room.

Brian offered an apologetic expression, and he began to open his mouth to change the subject, but then our server set plates of food in front of Janelle and me. Janelle seemed pleased with the distraction, but she didn’t thank the awkward, gangly red-haired girl who had served us.

Moments later, two more plates were delivered.

“Thank you,” I said.

The girl smiled brightly, thrilled to be acknowledged. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m glad she has that mess pulled back into a ponytail,” Janelle grumbled. “I don’t want her hair in my food. It looks like red pubes.”