Page 128 of Something Rad
Robbie lets out a scoff. “As if they’d fire the queen of cinema herself from Groovy Movie.”
“The queen…of…cinema?” My brows pull together. “Are you high?”
Robbie rakes one last hand through his hair as he reaches over and opens his glove box, tossing his comb inside of it. “Wish I was about now if I’m being honest.” He starts to close the glove box then stops. “Actually, hang on a second.” He lets the door fall back open, digging his hand inside and shuffling some contents around before he pulls something small and white out. “Ah, here we go.” I think at first that he’s holding a little rolled up wad of paper, but as I squint at it in the light of the barely lit parking lot, I let out a gasp, realizing what it actually is.
“Robbie!Oh my God!” I squeal, smacking the joint out of his hand.
“Cooper, what the hell?”
“A joint?” I whisper-shout. “Pot?Are youinsane?We are literally at my place of work!”
Robbie ducks back and starts fishing around the floor of his back seat, looking frantically for his lost treasure. “We are in theparking lotof your place of work,” he retorts. And we’d already be out of it by now if you’d stop lollygagging and get in the damn car.” He sits upright again, and I see the joint between his fingers. I immediately dart out to grab it from him, but he fights me for it.
“Robbie!”
I finally drop all of the contents I’d been carrying on the floor by my passenger seat so I can wrangle with him with two hands.
“Cooper,would you just stop–” Robbie looks up at me for the first time and suddenly cuts off. I take whatever caused his momentary distraction to pluck the joint from between his fingers, shoving it back in the glovebox under a pile of papers and slamming the door shut.
“Wow,” I hear Robbie mutter.
“Oh, don’t cry about it. You can go smoke pot as much as you want, wherever you want, the minute you drop me off at home.”
I let out a huff, finally looking up at Robbie, and when I do, something on his face tells me he’s not thinking at all about the pot anymore. I glance down at myself, checking my baby blue ruffled tulle dress. The way Robbie continues to stare at it makes me wonder if I should’ve fought Alice when she insisted I buy it. It was more money that I should have spent anyway. I was excited though at the thought of borrowing some of my mom’s shimmery blue eyeshadow she always wears to work since it matched perfectly. Now I’m wondering if I regret that decision too. I find my cheeks heating as Robbie’s gaze continues to burn into me.
That’s it, I’m returning the dress Monday afternoon.
I finally muster up the courage to ask him, “What?”
Robbie suddenly snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, his eyes meeting mine. “Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Nothing?” I question him. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he says, shaking his head.
I tilt my head at him, not convinced.
“Just…” Robbie trails off, gripping his steering wheel. “You clean up pretty okay, Cooper.”
“Oh,” I breathe, my brows knitting together as I look down at myself once more. “Thank you?”
“Anytime,” Robbie says. “Now, please, for the love of God, get in the car.”
* * *
We arrive at the dance fifteen minutes later to find it already packed. Luckily,Your Loveby The Outfield is playing when we walk in, so everyone is too busy singing it at the top of their lungs shoulder-to-shoulder on the dancefloor to notice us walking in.
After the Back to School Dance, I feel a lot more comfortable in this environment.
Well, as comfortable as I could ever be.
Robbie and I grab a few glasses of punch, make some small talk, and even stop to take a photo together at the type of booth I’ve manned so many times in the past. We have a bit of a debacle over Robbie’s hand placement in the photo, and my timid freshman friend from yearbook, Eugene, who was working the camera may have uncomfortably laughed as he gently reminded me and Robbie tolook like we liked each otheras he took the photo, but I think it’s going to turn out okay. Hopefully.
I wonder for a minute what will even happen to the photo. If it’s something I’ll even want to keep. I imagine myself forty years from now, pulling the photo out of an old shoebox to show my grandkids.Look kids! It’s Grandma at her senior Homecoming Dance with her fake boyfriend!Or maybe it’ll make it into the yearbook. I ponder that for a moment, realizing I might actually have a chance in deciding that.
I suppose we’ll find out on Monday.
We make some more rounds after the photo, stopping to chat with some of Robbie’s teammates and their dates, several of which surprisingly praise me on my speech and let me know they voted for me. I hope my cheeks didn’t flush as intensely as I felt they did when they made those declarations. I end up spotting Denise hanging out in a corner with some of the cheerleaders. I realize that I may have been subconsciously scanning for her since the moment we walked in, and, even though I knew she would be here, I can’t say I’m thrilled to have found her. She’s wearing a cream colored dress with soft off-the-shoulder puffy sleeves and matching satin gloves up to her elbows. Her hair is perfectly styled and her makeup is shimmery and pink and I just frankly want to dump the punch bowl over her head because it’s just not fair that someone can look that much like a literal angel on Earth.
