Page 67 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

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rachel

I used to show up to things alone all the time. Granted, I wouldn’t stay long. Usually long enough to grab the freebie or find out the gossip and then leave. But I could do it. I was comfortable walking in and out on my own, knowing I’d get some looks but in that knowing, being all right with it.

But walking into a ball alone is a whole new level. My dress is tight. I loved it when I picked it out, thinking how the black drapery would trace my curves and how the slit up the side would accentuate my height and show off my favorite part of my body, my legs. Now it just feels tight for the sake of tightness. Uncomfortable, and showing off all my flaws.

Plus, turns out when you walk into a ball alone, stepping through grand doors where people are on hand to take your photo, people stare. Everyone stares. They’re still staring and I walked in a full minute ago.

“You look nice,” says a girl I faintly recognize. I think she’s in the physics core.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I catch her gaze scoping out the expanse of my dress, a slight twist to her lips, like she’s some fashionista keeping notes for her blog.

My anxiety is narrating this story now.

“I like your dress,” I say, wanting to pay her back. She smiles and does a slow turn, I’m guessing to show off the open back of the deep blue number that’s cut to perfection. She’s pretty. Petite and blonde. I could eat her in one bite, just like the hors d’oeuvres being passed around.

I turn to face the bar, seeking an easy out of our conversation. I order myself a cranberry with a splash of vodka, watching to make sure the splash is tiny. I’ll nurse this for the next hour over mingling, dinner, and then the awards. If all goes according to my plan, I’ll be out of here by seven-thirty and in my pajamas by eight.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice chimes in from my other side. I glance up to find Claire, the self-titled hater of all things formal balls. She’s wearing a gothic black dress made of lace, with lace gloves that spiral up her arms and are cut into diamonds over the backs of her hands.

“You came!” I hug her. Neither of us are big on hugs with people who aren’t the guys we’re currently sleeping with. Hers very well may even be a dragon.

“I couldn’t let you endure this alone,” she says, glancing over my shoulder.

I follow her gaze in time to catch Stella and Dalton enter.

“Are you gonna throw up?” Claire asks, having heard what happened last time I saw Stella.

“I ate a bagel for lunch, and this is a weak drink. I think I’m okay,” I say, zeroing in on Stella’s left hand. The sparkle is modest. I guess it’s nice he’s making it official, or honest, or whatever they want to call things. I guess it’s possible they’re in love.

“Does it help that she’s showing?” Claire’s chin lands on my shoulder as I’m now facing the entrance head-on.

“It helps a little. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Not in the least.” She wraps an arm around my neck, I think a little to hold me back.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say, downing my weak drink to get the most out of that splash then setting the empty glass on a nearby high top.

Claire trails behind me as we head toward Dalton and Stella. My ex spots me first, and pulls Stella closer to his side. His move gives her a jolt and she scans her surroundings, finally landing on me. The two of them practically sink roots into the swirling carpet floor.

“Hi, Rachel,” Dalton says. His voice is weak, and that pleases me.

“Nice to see you. And I hear congratulations are in order,” I say, flitting my gaze to Stella. Her eyes are welling up, and there’s a small pang in my chest for my former best friend. I wish this was something I could celebrate with her. Any other circumstances and I might. Though I’m sure none of this was planned. Well, the cheating part was planned, but the baby . . . probably not.

“Thanks, Rachel. We appreciate that,” Dalton says on their behalf.

My smile comes easier this time with him, but it falters when I shift my gaze back to Stella. It took me a while to really get to the center of my pain after what they did, and while the affair part stung, it was really the dream theft that stuck it to me. And to know she didn’t even go.

“Hi, I’m Claire. We’ve met a few times,” my new bestie says, reaching over my shoulder to shake Stella’s hand. I suck in my bottom lip, remembering how acerbic she was with Amy. I’m not sure whether Stella deserves better or worse.

“Yes, I think we have,” Stella says, clear recognition in her eyes. The two of them have never mixed.

“Dalton,” Claire tosses out, pulling her hand from Stella and not offering it to my ex. They’ve met too. Dalton tried to dismantle her LARPing club because they were too noisy outside the law school study rooms. Claire has said she would like the earth to swallow Dalton whole. I kinda would too.

“I hear you’re getting the student of the year award,” Stella says, pulling my attention back to her. Her brow is pinched with this forced caring expression. Maybe she’s truly in pain and filled with regret. I can’t believe anything from her anymore.

“Well, it’s not quite an abroad study scholarship, but I can put it on my shelf,” I say.

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