Page 65 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“Found her!” Danny calls over his shoulder, waving his arms into the crowd.
I swallow hard as Joaquin emerges from the crowd next, just as flushed and sweaty as his teammate.
“Thanks,” Joaquin tells Danny, giving him a stiff pat on the shoulder. It’s a far cry from the last time the three of us were all together—Joaquin offering to sucker punch Danny in the nose for what he did to me.
Danny gives us both a nod, eyes lingering on me for a second longer than necessary of exes before he disappears into the crowd.
I glance over my shoulder as if I’m searching for proof that this is a mirage, but when I turn around, Joaquin is still there, breathless, and not a figment of my imagination. He closes the distance between us, his lips parted. “You brought Isabella here.”
My heart hammers, and my skin goes clammy under the intensity of his gaze. If I could shield myself from him, I would. But I’m trapped in his orbit. “Well, couldn’t have no one from your family here for your last game, so…”
He shakes his head, but not with anger like I’d feared. With confusion. “Why?”
“Because you needed something good,” I answer meekly. “And I know how much you’ve missed her, and your mom. And how much you’ll miss them, if you don’t see them this summer.”
“But…how? DC is like four hours away.”
“Only three. Unless you hit traffic.”
When he smiles, something inside me softens, gooey as a chocolate lava cake. It’s a brief moment where nothing wentwrong between us, and we’re just Joaquin and Ivelisse. Best friends.
I can see the gears whirring in his mind as he realizes that I must’ve driven her here myself, but I continue before he can interrupt with questions or concerns. “I really am sorry. For…well, everything. I know I said it before, but things were really heated and my point kind of got lost in all the yelling, so I wanted to say it again. I’m sorry for what I did.”
The confusion is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He nods slowly, breaking our eye contact to stare at his scuffed cleats. “I’m sorry too.”
I do a double take. “For what?”
“For not thinking about how you’d feel about me asking out Tessa.”
“You don’t need to ask me for permission before you date someone.”
“Yeah, but this was different.” He lifts his head and steps closer to me. “What happened with Danny and Tessa seriously hurt you, and I was too wrapped up in promposal stuff to care that this might’ve brought up some weird feelings foryou.”
Getting the apology I’d been wishing for weeks ago doesn’t feel as vindicating as I would’ve thought. Not only did I wreck things between us, but I’d left him feeling guilty over something I should’ve just been honest about from the start.
“It’s fine.” I shrug. “You were right, though. She has changed.”
We both zero in on Tessa in the sea of dancing, over-caffeinated bodies. Pulling focus, the way she always does. “She’s pretty cool,” Joaquin says.
“You could always ask someone else,” I blurt out. I may have screwed things up between them, but that doesn’t mean he can’t find his happy ending with someone new. “I can’t imagine anyone’ll say no to the champion shortstop.”
Joaquin shrugs off the suggestion. “I’m good.”
“Oh…” Relief washes over me, even though I know it shouldn’t. “Are you already going with someone, then?” I ask, though it’s none of my business. Barely a minute into talking to him again and I’ve become a mess of contradictions—my brain and my heart battling for dominance like him and Isabella warring over who controls the remote.
“Nah. Think I’ll just kick it with the team and their dates. You?”
“I’ve got a shift. So fun.” I throw in a nervous laugh that I pray will mask the obvious lie. My agenda for prom night is as barren as a desert. Even Tío Tony insisted I take the night off to “be a teenager.” Nothing screams teenage loser like sitting at home on prom night eating ice cream. “Maybe order a pizza afterward, if I’m feeling wild.”
This is the part where he’d usually rib me. Tell me not to get too crazy and order pepperoni, and we’d laugh until our stomachs ached. I never used to question myself before saying things to Joaquin. Now I don’t even know if I should be talking to him.
A gust of wind startles us both, blowing one of the curls that escaped my ponytail free. My heartbeat quickens when he reaches out for it, easily catching the brunette lock between his fingers. I’m buzzing, waiting for him to tuck it behind my ear like he has hundreds of times before, but instead he pulls away.
“Is this sauerkraut?” he asks, holding up his kraut-stained fingers.
Mortified, I shove the traitorous curl behind my ear. “Some guy accidentally dropped a hot dog on me.”
He frowns.
