Lana's Ex Prom Date Page 2

  “Well…” he says, dragging out the word like maybe if he talks too fast he might drop dead. “You’re a cool girl, and uh—”

  “I am?” My face crinkles up and it occurs to me that maybe Toby has me confused with someone else. Someone actually cool.

  “Yeah, I mean, you seem like it.” He scratches his ear while he looks at me. Toby Fitzgerald is tall, among other things.

  “Um, thanks,” I mutter, turning to look straight ahead. This is officially the weirdest day ever. “I would tell you that you’re also cool but I think you know that.”

  He chuckles. “Thanks anyway. So yeah, I was wondering something.”

  Here it comes. I brace myself for whatever weirdness is about to come out of his mouth. Did he see me working on math homework and think I’m some kind of math genius? He could want tutoring, or maybe he thinks he can buy the answers off the final from me. Yeah, right. He’ll be sorely disappointed when he learns that I’m not all that great at algebra, geometry, or any other type of math.

  He swallows and looks over at me, his cheeks turning pink.

  And then I get it.

  It all crashes into me in like half a second and I feel so very stupid and also a little relieved. At least now I know Toby didn’t hear some awful rumor about me or something. He just wants to do what so many other guys have done in the past: ask me if Ashlyn might be interested in him.

  And the hilariously ironic thing is that I can already picture the sarcastic joke Ashlyn will say when I tell her about Toby liking her. Something about pretending to be straight just long enough to reap the benefits of dating someone as popular and rich as Toby Fitzgerald.

  I stifle a laugh. “You know Ashlyn is gay, right?”

  “Huh?” Toby’s brows crinkle and some of the color returns to his face. “I think everyone knows that. She’s your friend, right?”

  “Yeah she is, but now I’m confused. What do you want to ask me if it’s not about Ashlyn?”

  Toby shoves his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. As we turn the corner in the hallway, I catch the scent of his cologne. It’s kind of citrusy and totally perfect. Exactly like how you’d want your prince charming to smell.

  “I wanted to ask you on a date,” Toby says.

  The words don’t really register at first. When they do, I stop right in the middle of the hallway. Someone snaps at me for being in the way. Toby stops too, peering at me with hope in his eyes.

  “Is this a joke?”

  Normally, I’d never be so blunt, but I’m not an idiot and I’d rather not get into some kind of stupid situation where he’s only asking me out on a bet.

  “No,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’ve noticed you in class lately, and I just wanted to get to know you better. I know this might seem weird, but I thought maybe we could go out tomorrow night?”

  I lift an eyebrow.

  He grins. “If you end up hating me, that’s fine. Just one date and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  I glance around, knowing full well that my four minutes of time before last period is quickly passing by and detention is looming around the corner if I don’t hurry and get to class. “Did someone make you do this?”

  He flinches like I hit him or something. “No, no. I’m serious.” He holds up his hands. “I promise.”

  “Well…okay,” I hear myself saying. I’m sure there will be plenty of time in the coming hours to analyze this until I go crazy, but for now, I say yes. “I guess I can do that.”

  He beams. “Awesome. You won’t regret it.”

  “Okay,” I say, and now I’m smiling too.

  “Can I get your number?”

  I nod and he takes out his phone and soon I’m telling him my number and he’s putting it into the newest model iPhone that probably has a million other girls in there. And then we say an awkward goodbye and I sprint down the hallway to the gym, making it into the locker room just seconds before the tardy bell rings.

  My face is red, my heart is pounding, and I’m the only one who knows my being out of breath is not because I was running.

  It’s because Toby Fitzgerald just asked me out.

  Chapter 3

  I’m still in a daze when the final bell rings. I feel floaty, like I’m hovering a few feet above everyone else. Maybe that’s where the phrase “head in the clouds” came from. I feel like that right now.

  I didn’t even mind the arduous Thursday trip to the track in athletics class. Normally running around a stupid football field for eight laps is the bane of my existence, but today the time just flew by. I couldn’t stop thinking about Toby asking me out. About Toby getting my phone number.

  What if he calls me?

  Oh my God, what if he doesn’t?

  Ashlyn is standing outside the locker room when I walk outside. She’s busy looking at her phone so I bump her in the shoulder. She’s usually here before I’m out of class because she has history last period and doesn’t have to go through the effort of changing back into normal clothes like I do. We head out into the parking lot which is right next to the gym, so it’s a short walk. My throat is dry, my heart still fluttery. I’m dying to tell her about Toby but I can’t seem to get the words out. I’m afraid they’ll come out all wrong and it’ll be obvious I’m totally delusional and that it didn’t happen. Part of me kind of wonders if I imagined the whole thing, so maybe I am crazy.

  I take a deep breath and look over, realizing Ashlyn has been talking this whole time. Whoops.

  “Can you believe that?” she says.

  “No way,” I say, hoping that’s the right answer.

  She nods, so I’m guessing it was.

  I don’t know how Bennet does it, but he’s always at his car before we are after school. His last class is way across the building, too, so I guess he speed walks out of here or leaves early or something. I don’t really care how he does it, but I’m grateful that he’s usually here waiting on us because it gives him time to start the air conditioning in his old Ford Mustang. It’s already mostly cooled off by the time we climb inside. Ashlyn and I take turns alternating between who sits shotgun and who has to squeeze into the tiny backseat. Today is my turn to get in the back. I don’t even know why they put two seat belts back here because two normal sized humans simply can’t fit in this teensy seat. I sit kind of sideways, my butt on the passenger side, but my feet over on the driver’s side floor.

  “I can’t wait for Friday,” Bennet says, exhaling. He taps the steering wheel with his thumb, inching forward a little in the parking space even though we can’t move yet because too many other people are in the aisle trying to leave too.

  “Me too,” Ashlyn says. “I’m ready to stay up all weekend and binge the new season of Orange is the New Black. You guys in?”

  “I guess,” Bennet says.

  “I’m busy,” I say, figuring now is as good a time as any to tell them my news. “I have a date.”

  Bennet and Ashlyn whip around in their seats to look at me. Their heads bash together and they both yelp in pain, glare at each other for a second, and then look at me again.

  “You have a date?” Ashlyn says. “With who?”

  “Toby Fitzgerald.”

  Bennet laughs first, and then Ashlyn joins in. “Right,” she says, shaking her head as she turns back to face the front. “You had me going for a second.”

  “I’m serious,” I say, leaning forward. “I have absolutely no idea why, but he talked to me in homeroom and asked me out tomorrow night.”

  “I didn’t even know you were friends with him,” she says, her face pinched together in thought. “That’s cool, I guess.”

  “We’re not friends. I don’t even know why he would ask me. It’s weird, but I’m excited.”

  “Hey, at least one of us should be dating someone,” Ashlyn says with a lovesick sigh. “I’m so sick of being single.”

  I expect Bennet to agree with her right away because he also hates being single. Instead, he glances at me in his
rear-view mirror, his eyes the same shade of green as the potted ferns on his gran’s porch. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” I say dismissively, but he’s still looking at me.

  “We don’t even know this guy. He could be a total douche, that’s all I’m saying. You should be careful.”

  “Toby Fitzgerald is hardly a douche,” Ashlyn says. “He’s hella popular. His hair style probably cost more than my mom makes in a week. If anything, he should be careful around Lana.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Bennet’s jaw hardens and the tires squeal a bit as he pulls out onto the highway. “Whatever,” he says, turning up the radio. “Do whatever you want.”

  ***

  “It’s a good thing he didn’t ask you out yesterday,” Ashlyn says while she digs through my pitiful closet. It’s eight o’clock and Bennet has been at his own house for the last hour. He got sick of hearing Ashlyn and me talk about my date with Toby tomorrow, so he decided to tough it out at his house where he can’t watch any TV because his gran has a ton of Thursday night shows he watches and their living room TV is broken so she watches it in his room. He also can’t get online anymore because they recently had to ditch the internet bill when it got too expensive. The fact that he left us to go home says a lot. Guess I can’t blame him; gushing over boys isn’t really his thing.

  “Why would it have been bad if he asked me yesterday?” I ask.

  She turns toward me, a devilish look in her eyes. “It was April first.”

  “April Fool’s Day,” I say, a nervous flutter filling my stomach. “Thank God he waited until today.”

  She nods and pulls out a dark green shirt, holds it up to me and then grimaces. “We forgot to do any pranks yesterday. We’re getting lamer in our old age.”

  “Hey, you and Bennet are the old ones,” I say with a laugh. “I’m a spring chicken.”

  The truth is that they’re both eighteen and I still have two months until I become a legal adult. So they aren’t exactly old, but I like to pretend they are about two seconds away from being in an old folk’s home.

  “Lana babe, you have nothing to wear.” Ashlyn drops an armload of my clothes to the floor, and then plops down on my bed, sighing in defeat.

  I frown at the clothes that I’ll have to clean up later. “Okay, I’m supposed to be the one freaking out here, now you.”

  Ashlyn sighs. “You’re doing a terrible job of it, by the way. Do you realize that in less than twenty-four hours you will be out on a date with Toby?”

  “I do realize that,” I say, laughing. Somehow seeing her all nervous for me is making me a little less nervous. “It’s not really a big deal. He’ll realize I’m boring and lame and he won’t ask me on a second date. Easy peasy.”

  “You are not boring and lame,” she says, fixing me with a serious look. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Then explain to me why no guys want me?”

  “Toby wants you.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean. No guys before Toby have ever wanted me.”

  Digging through the clothes on the floor, I pull out my dark wash jeans that have little rips and tears along the front. They are a knock off brand I got at Target, but they totally look like the expensive brand from the mall. I toss them on the bed and find a black tank top with a lace neckline. “What about this? It’s casual and cute.”

  “Sure,” she says, lying back and covering her eyes with her arm. “You’ll look great.”

  I toss a pair of yoga pants at her face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She sighs and stares at my ceiling. “I don’t know. I’m just sick of being single.”

  “You are sounding exactly like Bennet,” I say, throwing another pair of pants at her. “And you know how annoyed we get when he whines about being single.” She laughs.

  “I know. I try not to care that this small town has no gay girls in it, but I do. All around me, everyone is dating and I’m just…stuck.”

  “Ashlyn, I’m sorry,” I sit next to her. “I won’t go out with Toby. It’ll be stupid anyway.”

  She sits up. “No! No, no, no. I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I’m really happy for you, seriously. One of us needs a date every now and then, you know? I’m just also sad for myself. I’m sad and happy.”

  “You’ll find someone,” I say, trying to sound encouraging because I really mean it. “You’re like the hottest girl I know.”

  She smiles in this way that looks like a frown. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

  “I know, I know,” I say, taking a bow because I’m a total loser.

  She laughs and throws a pillow at me. “Let’s practice your makeup so you look super hot tomorrow.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Ash, you know I don’t wear makeup. I’m too damn lazy and have absolutely no skills.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “That’s why we’re bringing your mom into the equation.”

  I groan.

  “Oh come on,” she says, pulling me to my feet. “Your mom’s a stylist. She’ll know exactly how to do your makeup.”

  Mom has always been begging me to let her do my makeup. I always refuse because I know how talented my mom is and I’d rather not know what I would look like with makeup. I’m a simple person. I wake up five minutes before we leave for school each morning. I don’t want to put on makeup.

  But as much as I hate to admit it, Ashlyn has a point. If Toby is taking me on a date, I should probably look as good as possible for it.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let’s go make my mom’s day.”

  Chapter 4

  It’s a little insane how great I look. I’m struggling between falling totally in love with myself in makeup and wanting to rush to the bathroom to wash it off, saying “This isn’t me! I don’t really look like this!”

  It’s Friday. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling exceptionally delusional right now. My date is in an hour and I’m freaking out.

  Last night, Ashlyn had talked me into asking Mom to do my makeup, and she insisted on waiting until today so we could do it at her salon because she didn’t have many supplies at home. Mom’s been a hair stylist my whole life, but for most of it she worked at various salons, all run by people she didn’t like very much, or people she did like but they couldn’t keep her on because the economy sucks. So, after being laid off the third time in a year, Mom decided to open her own salon back in January.

  Sarah’s Hair Boutique is the nicest thing we own, and we don’t even own it, not really. Mom rents a space in a shopping center that’s just outside of the busiest part of town, but the location isn’t too bad. They’re building a new highway right in front of the shopping center that will be open later this year, and everyone says it’ll bring a ton of traffic our way.

  The salon is a narrow strip that’s almost uncomfortably narrow. Mom made it work though, because it’s the only space that fit her budget. We have two styling chairs with big mirrors for the hair styling up front. There’s a cute couch I found at Goodwill for people to sit and wait. Down the hallway, there’s two smaller rooms that were offices for the tax preparation people who worked here last, and Mom turned them into massage rooms. She has two masseuses work here and they have their own clients and pay Mom a commission to use her space. We’ve decorated the rooms to be serene little oasis places and even though I can’t afford my own massage, sometimes I just go lay in there and stare at the soothing lights on the ceiling and listen to the calming music and pretend I’m as relaxed as I would be with a massage.

  Beyond that, there’s Mom’s office and a bathroom. We spent two weeks working our butts off to fix the place up. Ashlyn and Bennet helped me paint all the walls a nice tan color and the trim is a dark espresso color. We installed new wood flooring from these snap together pieces we got at Home Depot, and Mom found cute décor pieces on sale extra cheap at the outlet mall. In all, the place looks really nice, even if it is small. Now Mom has her own
employee, another hair stylist, and she’s promised to be the kind of boss she always wished she had. We’re not exactly drowning in money right now, but we’re hopeful that Mom will earn more money as time goes on.

  Mom’s specialty is hair, not makeup, but because she’s very talented in all things cosmetology, she’s somehow managed to make me look, well, hot.

  “What do you think?” Mom says, stepping back from me so I can look in the full-length mirror in front of my chair. Mom looks a lot like me, although she’s chubbier. It’s a fact she talks about a lot—always telling me to watch out because one day I’ll be fat like her. I don’t think she’s fat, really. Just not thin.

  Though our features are similar—dark eyes and a pointed nose and flat, boring lips, Mom’s hair changes all the time so we rarely look alike. Right now she’s sporting a black angled bob that kind of looks like crap because she didn’t flat iron her hair this morning. It’s all frizzy and out of place and the exact sort of thing her old bosses hated. They wanted her to look perfect all the time so the clients would be confident in her abilities. Mom always said her clients already know her abilities are great, so why should she bother looking perfect? Her work spoke for itself.

  And it totally does right now. I can’t stop staring at myself.

  “It looks great, Mom,” I say, forcing myself to smile over the butterflies in my stomach. “Thank you.”

  “Well, it’s not every day your daughter goes on her first date,” she says, flashing me a smile before turning to pack up her suitcase of makeup.

  I’m about to object when I realize she’s right. This is my first date, technically. I’ve had a few relationships over the years with boys from school, but I guess none of them count in the whole scale of things. They didn’t have cars and we didn’t go on dates and it never lasted very long. Bennet has hated all of the guys I’ve liked over the years, and his judgement is pretty good, so I guess I’ve never dated anyone of any quality. Toby is of the best quality.