Daphne
Halsey’s latest song blasts next to my ear. I reach over to my nightstand, feeling around for my phone with my eyes still shut. What possessed me to tell my parents I’d help out at the bookstore the day after the homecoming dance is beyond me. I silence the alarm and roll back over, covering my eyes with my hands.
The only good thing about last night is that I hadn’t been out late. Even though Scarlett had begged me to come hang out with her at Beau’s for a while, I couldn’t stomach being around anyone. I don’t know what the point of coming home had been because I was up half the freaking night running through the miserable experience that was my first—and likely last—school dance.
The past few weeks have served me my first tastes of high school drama—and it sucks. Last night was definitely the worst incident yet. The second I’d seen Micah with Alora, my face had gotten hot, then the heat had spread rapidly down to my chest and out to my limbs. It’d made me feel awful and ugly when I should have been having the time of my life in my pretty outfit. In the span of a few seconds, confusion, jealousy, embarrassment, and yes, even rage had flowed through my veins.
I nibble my lip, not ready to get up yet, so I force myself to reassess what went down last night now that my head is slightly clearer.
It’s entirely possible that no one else noticed anything out of the ordinary when Micah walked in with Alora. That sick feeling in my stomach had been reserved for me alone. Our classmates are used to seeing them together. It’s unlikely it raised the slightest question with them, not unless they’d caught one of my recent hallway PDAs with Micah. He’d been so cautious about who was around every time he’d kissed me, though, so I hadn’t heard any talk at all. No one had said a word to me about it.
What they most assuredly did notice was my make out session with Griffin in the middle of the dance floor. I don’t know what I’d been thinking except … hurt. And I’d wanted to lash back.
My face flushes, remembering how surprised the poor guy had been, and then how into it he’d gotten. Because, oh man, not only had his tongue and hands been on me, his dick had also wanted in on the action—there’d been no hiding that.
I grit my teeth together and suck some air in. The whole scene with Griffin was probably not one of my finer moments. It’d felt right at the time—I was upset and looking for some way—any way—to show Micah that he hadn’t hurt me. That his asshole behavior hadn’t mattered to me. That watching him with Alora hadn’t stung worse than being shoved into a swarm of angry bees.
Once I’d gotten home, I’d lain here wondering what on earth I’d been thinking. Now, I have to explain to Griffin how I’d used him to get back at Micah. And… had it really made me feel better?
No. It hadn’t. Micah’s dismissal of me will weigh heavy on my mind for a long time.
But if he’s really done with me, what the hell was with him in the parking lot? He kissed me, dammit. Was he so drunk he forgot he’d broken my heart? I sincerely doubt it.
I cringe, remembering the way my hand had felt hot after I slapped him. How I’d screamed at him. And then that bit about me believing the pretty little lies I was telling myself? What the hell did he mean by that? That what we had was real? That I mean something to him?
It’s probably wishful thinking to even go there—hoping all of this was a horrible mistake.
In the midst of all my wallowing and debating with myself, I realize if I don’t get up, Mom or Dad will be up here to ask if I’m still coming to help them out today. Rolling from the bed, I scramble to the shower. I’ve kept it together pretty well, but when I step under the water, all the tears I’ve held back since getting home last night slip silently down my cheeks.
I just want Micah. I want to go back in time to last week and figure out what I’d done wrong.
When I finally get dressed and ready, I wander down the stairs to find my parents have already eaten and are getting ready to head to the bookstore.
Mom gives me an excited smile. “How was the dance, sweetheart? Did you have fun? You didn’t come say goodnight before you went upstairs.”
“Um. It was fine, I guess.”
Dad shifts in his seat, looking up from his phone. “That didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“It was a dance. You know I’ve never been a huge fan.” I shrug, snagging a grape from the bowl in the middle of the table and popping it into my mouth.
Mom frowns. “But you were so excited when you left.”
“It wasn’t quite what I thought it would be. It was fine. The decorations we did turned out great. The lunchroom was completely transformed.”
“Did you dance with anyone?” Dad crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. He can smell BS a mile away. I’ve never been the one to sling it in his direction before.
“Yeah, you know, like, in a group.” I huff out a breath and bend over to grab my Vans from where I’d left them under the table. Slipping my feet into them, I pick up my keys and crossbody bag. “I’m going to head over. I’ll open for you so you can take a few more minutes.”
I pivot on my heel and am about to make my escape when Mom blurts out, “I heard Alora Berridge was homecoming queen.” She clears her throat. “And Micah Robertson was king.”
I freeze, then glance over my shoulder. I can practically feel the blood drain from my face as I give a swift nod. “You heard right.” With that, I take off out the door.
The last thing I need is pitying looks from my own parents.