I know she sounds like a horrible person, but deep down I believe my sister really only thinks she’s looking out for me. Sandy wants what’s best for me, just like I want what’s best for her.
Of course, my sister has a funny way of showing me she cares. She’ll tear down everyone around us bit by bit in order to raise us up. She’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
Some people see value in status, in objects, in possessions. That’s my sister. She measures your worth by the car you drive and the clothes on your back. It’s not her fault, that’s how we were brought up.
I just haven’t always seen the world or the people in it the same way my sister does.
“Right, thank you for that powerful motivational speech. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Pointing over my shoulder with my thumb, I start to walk backwards. “I’m going home to get ready for tonight, I’ll catch you later, San.”
“Wait,” she says, holding out her hand. “You’re still going tonight? I thought you weren’t because you don’t have a date.”
“I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?” Shrugging a shoulder, I start walking backwards. “Besides, I did rent that tux, I’d hate to see it go to waste.”
“Sure, it would be a waste.” Sandy smiles, watching me as I go. It’s a fake smile. She doesn’t mean it.
I can always feel her eyes, I can always feel her eyes. It doesn’t matter where we are, but I know when she’s watching me.
I’m not sure if it’s the twin sense, or just the fact that she can rip you open with one good, heavy glare. She watches me walk down the hall until I turn the corner, and out of her line if sight.
The burning sensation dissipates as I break that tie between us.
My tux is waiting for me at home, hanging on the back of the closet door. A small plastic box, holding a purple corsage, is sitting on my dresser next to it. Picking up the box, I twist it around, and look at the flower inside.
It’s supposed to be Dalia’s corsage. I bought it for her. I spent half an hour trying to pick out the perfect one. And for what? For nothing. She won’t even give me the time of day to explain myself or tell her I’m sorry.
I didn’t even do anything.
Holding the flower over the trash, I almost let it go. And then I change my mind. I’m not giving up on this, on her, on anything that I want. I’ve never been someone who backs down, and I’m not going to start now.
Slipping into my tux, I gel my hair, and spray my neck with some cologne. I’m going to the prom anyway, stag, and I don’t even give a shit. I’m leaving my options open.
Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe I’ll get a chance to right all of the wrong she feels.
The sign above the door reads, Winter In May. There are snowflakes dangling from the ceiling, and fake snow sprinkled around the floor. Long, flowing strings of garland, full of big silver flowers and sparkling leaves, drape from one corner of the room to the next.
The tables have dark blue covers, and more bright white snowflakes speckle the open space between the plates. It’s fucking ridiculous, if you ask me.
No one is asking you.
Standing in the doorway, the music thumps through my chest as I look around the room. A few of my football buddies are standing against the far wall waiting in line with their girlfriends for a photo.
The smiles I see aren’t excitement for a photo to remember the night. The smiles are for the simple fact they’re getting some ass tonight.
Moving my eyes back across the room, most of the tables are empty. Everyone is either dancing or in the photo line. I wave at a few friends, looking past them, hoping she’s here.
And then I see what I want, the whole reason I’m even standing here right now.
Dalia.
Fuck, she looks so damn beautiful. Her dress is red with a flower pattern tracing the right thigh and across the front edge. The dress is covered by a sheer black fabric, giving it a shadow that flickers as she moves.
Stunning. That’s the only word that comes to mind. The only word that rightfully describes the beauty on the other side of the room.
My heart starts to race as I watch her closely. Her slow movements. The way she gently touches her lips with the pad of her finger. The way she holds her belly right before she giggles, and how her head falls back at the same time. The delicate swipe of her finger as it pulls a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and how her eyes pay attention to whoever she’s talking too. It doesn’t matter who you are, she’s looking at you.