Page 70 of The Two of Us

17

THEN (AGE 16)

The school buzzes with excitement. Who knew school dances would play such a huge role in the happiness of teenagers? But then again, we’re a tiny, tiny school so we pretty much blow everything out of proportion to make our lives seem more exciting. In the weeks leading up to prom, you couldn’t walk to class or enjoy your lunch without being a witness to countless over-the-top prom proposals. Promposals, as we call them. Every day the banners get bigger and the screams get louder. On Monday we were hyping up Levi Clemson who’d showed up with a life-sized bear holding a sign that said “Prom would be unBEARable without you”’ and by Thursday he was overshadowed by Stacy Adams, the senior editor of the school newspaper, who’d taped photographs of her and her boyfriend over the length of an entire hallway. Her sign said, “Can you picture us at prom together?” What’s become clear to me is that prom puns are where the magic happens.

I have no qualms with asking Brandon to prom myself, but he’s made it clear it’s something he wants to do himself. So when he asks me to hang back and show up to the lunchroom ten minutes later than usual, I can’t help the anticipation that bubbles in my stomach.

The bell between periods rings and I linger at my locker, giving Brandon enough time to set his plan in motion. I smile to myself, reorganizing the books inside. I reach for the pocket-sized microfiber cloth at the back of my locker to clean the mirror on the door and a figure is reflected behind me.

“Vanity doesn’t suit you, Mouse.”

I stare daggers at Ambrose. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. “What do you want?”

He uses my mirror to search for gunk in his teeth. “I saw Blandon in the lunchroom and you weren’t trailing behind his feet. I figured I’d set out to look for the lost puppy before he put up flyers.”

“It’s Brandon. And you’re an asshole.”

He grins and I hate that such an annoying face can be so beautiful. “I know.”

I slam my locker shut, leaning against it. “And where’s your master? She might set you upon a pyre if she sees you talking to me. I’d be happy to provide her with two coins to place over your eyes for the boatman.”

His laugh is genuine and I bite down on my lip to keep from smiling in response. Ambrose is contagious like that. There are few things in this world that fill my heart with as much joy as hearing Ambrose laugh. Really laugh. It’s something that doesn’t occur very often these days.

“Listen,” he says, growing serious. “You think you could give Cat a ride home today? I have a last-minute tutoring session and my mom is caught up at work.”

“Sure.” I shrug. “What about your dad?”

Ambrose’s eyes harden at the mention of him. “I’m not asking that asshole for help.”

I’ve never understood how Ambrose came to feel such a strong hatred for his dad. His parents are still married and they argue all the time, but that’s just it—they argue. Nothing else. I get that it must be frustrating to hear all the time but it doesn’t seem to me like the blame should fall on one parent more than the other. Even Cat doesn’t let the fighting faze her anymore.

I push aside the fact that we’re no longer friends, the fact that Ambrose makes me feel like chopped liver on the best of days and take a step toward him, lowering my voice.

“Are you okay? I mean, really okay?”

His face goes blank before returning to its usual I don’t give a shit state. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

I shake my head in disappointment. “Good talking to you too, Ambrose. And cover that hickey on your neck, it makes you look trashy.” I start walking away.

“You know you don’t have to rush into anything you’re not ready for, right?” The only reason I turn around is because I hear something I’ve never heard in Ambrose’s voice. I can’t quite place it but it’s somewhere in the realm of fear and worry.

“What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Mara.” The way he says my name makes me feel a way that a girl with a boyfriend should not be feeling. And yet, here we are. “You’re telling me Brandon hasn’t brought it up with prom being only a week away?”

The anger that builds in me is so quick I wonder if it was always sitting there just waiting to be unleashed. It’s a blazing fire that grows by the second and the idea that Ambrose would try to give me advice, like he hasn’t kept me at arm’s length for years, makes me want to drag him into the flames with me. I look at the time on my phone. I’m supposed to be walking into the lunchroom in one minute.

“He didn’t have to bring it up,” I say. “I already did.”

Ambrose’s spine stiffens. “What?”

“I said—”

“I heard what you said.” He’s close now. When did he get so close? His body radiates anger. Or maybe it’s me. It’s probably both. “And you’re not sleeping with Brandon.”

Thirty seconds.

Ambrose is the king of making me feel invisible. He’s shown minimal to zero interest in my life for years. Who does he think he is, making such a demand? “I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Why do you even care?”

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