Page 55 of American Hellhound
“Hi, Vince.”
“Hey,” he repeated, beaming at her, face flushed from exertion. His eyes sparkled, and Maggie really wished they didn’t, or that he’d at least direct that sparkle toward some other girl.
There was nothingwrongwith Vince Fielding. He was polite, and pleasant-looking in a normal, sixteen-year-old boy kind of way. He liked Maggie –likedher, and not with an ounce of teenage coolness. Liked her so much, in fact, that he didn’t seem to care what she thought of him, and instead steered his charming efforts toward Maggie’s parents. He was fond of agreeing with her mother; agreed that Maggie ought to stand up straight, sleep in curlers, and speak charmingly of her cotillion classes which were, after all, “preparing her for a bright future.”
She hated him a little bit.
“So. Um.” Vince hiked his backpack up higher on one shoulder and fiddled with the strap, eyes cutting down to his toes, shy now that he had her undivided attention. “The winter formal’s coming up.”
Oh no.
“Yes,” she said, careful to keep her voice even. “In two months.”
“Right. But.” He took a huge breath and let it out in a rush that ruffled her hair. He’d had peanut butter for lunch, she could tell. “It’s never too early to start thinking about it, right?”
“Vince–”
He must have heard the rejection in her voice. His head snapped up, gaze pleading. “Okay, just hear me out. Real quick. Please.”
“I–”
“I already asked your folks if you could go and–”
“Whoa,” she said, louder than she’d intended. “You already askedmy parents?”
“Well yeah. I know that they–”
“Stop.” She held up her hand to stave off his forming protest. “This is why I don’t want to go with you: youasked my parents first.”
He released a shaky breath; more peanut butter. “It’srespectful. I want them to respect me.”
His face broke her heart a little. Cracked it. But she didn’t feel bad enough to stop. Because Vince? He didn’t have to live under Denise Lowe’s thumb. His entire existence wasn’t reduced to pleasing a woman it wasn’t possible to please.
“Yeah, well, maybe that would be something you ought to worry about if you and I were together. This isn’t Victorian England – if you want to ask me out, then do it, and we can ask my parents afterward.”
He stared at her, breathing through his mouth. “So…”
“No, Vince. No. My whole life is tied up in cotillion, and teas, and dress-shopping. If I’m gonna go to the winter formal, I want to go as me. Not as my mother’s daughter.” She shook her head. “Going with you would be like having a parent-approved chaperone taking me. No offense.”
God, she was abitch.
Vince was crestfallen. “I…Okay. Okay, I’m sorry, Maggie.”
She felt horrible.
But.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said, giving him a ghost of a smile. She reached forward and squeezed his forearm. “But trust me: when you like someone, it’s aboutthem. Not whatever anyone else thinks.”
Thankfully, he didn’t follow her when she turned and continued on toward her locker. Her stomach ached, that familiar cocktail of guilt and regret. But she couldn’t change what she’d said, and didn’t want to. The second she turned eighteen, she was blasting her way out of her house; she couldn’t afford to become entangled with anyone who thought she should be content to stay there.
Her locker, as usual these days, was currently propping up Cody Brewer’s sizable shoulder as he made out with his latest conquest, one of the pep squad girls. Cody was the star wide receiver on the football team, tall, buff, squared-jaw, and the biggest, most unapologetic manwhore in the school. Maggie always wanted to hold that against him, but he was too funny and honest about it. He broke lots of hearts, but the girls should have known better; he never pretended he was looking for anything aside from a good time.
“Move, Codes,” she said without rancor, knocking his huge elbow with her own.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered as he pulled back from the pep squad girl’s mouth with a lewd pop. “You’re fucking up my game, Lowe.”
“Please. You have no game. Just a big–”
