I finally looked his way. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced toward the door, where the last person had just filed out. “I guess this whole year you’ve seemed a bit untouchable.”

“What do you mean? We dated. How is that untouchable?”

“You were . . .” He hesitated like maybe he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. “You weren’t real. It’s like you were the representation of what a girlfriend is supposed to be.” He pointed at my binder. “The representation of what a school president is supposed to be. Picture perfect. Never a misstep. You could write the handbook.”

I cringed.

He finally stood. “It’s not a bad thing. But this is better. . . . It’s nice. Makes me want to ask you out again.”

“You already did ask me out again, and I told you I don’t do repeats.” I threw my pen at him as he headed for the door.

He laughed. “You’re only proving my point.”

I sighed and looked around the now-empty table. I’d sat here all year and what had I really done? In my binder I flipped to the tab that read Prom. The sign-up sheet for band auditions was still there. Twenty acts. Some were soloists, a couple of duets. The show choir had even tried out. There were nine actual bands. I wasn’t sure which one was Nate’s but I’d figure it out. Maybe they had a garage practice I could crash.

I could hear the music when I stepped out of the car. The beat of the drums reverberated through my chest as I walked up the driveway. I pasted on a smile and stepped through the side door. No one saw me at first and the song kept going, its beat reaching all the way to my toes. The song seemed catchy. The lead singer had a good voice and was very charismatic. My eyes were drawn to him as he bounced around, singing into a microphone. I repeated his name several times in my head so I would remember it—Marcus.

I hadn’t stood there long when the drums stopped, Nate catching my eye with a questioning look. The other instruments kept playing but one by one each person stopped and eventually all eyes were on me.

“This is a closed rehearsal,” Marcus said. If he knew who I was—the girl who had indirectly insulted his band just a couple of months ago—he didn’t let on.

“I know. I was hoping to talk to you about possibly playing for sober grad.”

He laughed once. “Is this a joke?”

“No.” I held a clipboard as if that would make me look more professional, but I realized it probably also made it look like he was one of many bands I was considering. He was the only one. “You tried out for prom.”

“And you and your friends passed. I think we’ll pass this time.”

So he hadn’t forgotten.

The other members, even Nate, nodded in agreement and the bass player said, “The sound equipment you guys had set up that day and at prom sucked. Hard. Metallica would’ve sucked playing on your equipment.”

“Who’s Metallica?”

Marcus grunted. “You’re the person in charge of music? Seriously, what have we done to deserve this form of punishment? How are you qualified to pick a band?”

“I’m not. At all.”

He opened his mouth as if he were going to argue but then paused before saying, “Exactly.”

“But I liked what I heard tonight. Will you play for sober grad night? Please. I came here to personally extend an invite.”

He looked me up and down and I wished Nate would say something, stick up for me, but he seemed to be letting Marcus call the shots. I didn’t blame him. “I don’t know. I have to talk to the band. Maybe.”

“Will you text me and let me know?” I handed him a card with my number on it.

He stared at it then shoved it in his back pocket. “Gia Montgomery is giving me her phone number. Wow.”

“If you guys won’t play . . . maybe you can refer us to a band that will because, as you pointed out, I am so not qualified to pick one.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” I reached out to shake his hand and he gave me a fist bump. “How long have you all been playing together?”

“Two years.”

“Do you write your own music?”

“We do.”

“Well, I can tell you work hard. Thanks again.” I headed for the door.

“Bye, Gia,” Nate called. I smiled and left. When I was almost to my car, I heard someone call after me. I turned around to see Marcus stroll up.

“Hey, we’ll think about sober grad, okay?”

I smiled. “I know, you already said that.”

“But this time I mean it.”

“Oh.”

“See ya.” And with that he walked away.

CHAPTER 31

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t invite Claire and Laney over to help me get ready for my date with Hayden. If this was a real date. His sister had basically forced him to ask me to the play. She was most likely still working on her agenda of keeping Eve away from him. I even thought Bec might tag along with us, but when he showed up Friday night without Bec and kissed my hand at the door, I began to think that maybe it really was a date.

“You look gorgeous, as always, Gia.”

“Thank you. You do too.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?”

“I did handpick you out of a parking lot to play my date. You think I would’ve handpicked just any guy?”

“Well, now here’s where that sends a mixed message. ‘Handpicking’ implies there were many to choose from. There was just me. So yes, I think you would’ve picked just any guy.”

“Then I guess I was lucky you were gorgeous.”

“Yeah, you were.”

I shoved his arm and he laughed.

There was no other physical contact all the way to the theater, and when I had convinced myself again that he had just invited me along as a friend, we entered the low-lit theater and he linked hands with me. My heart gave a jump of happiness. He pointed out some seats in the middle section and we made our way there. We were sidestepping down the aisle when someone called his name.

We both turned toward the voice, and Spencer, his friend from the party, waved. “Is there an extra seat down there?” he asked.

Hayden nodded and Spencer joined us, taking the seat on the other side of Hayden when we sat down.

“Hi. It’s Gia, right?”

“Yes. Hi again.”

Back to Hayden he asked, “Did you see Eve?”