Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
My hands plant on my hips. “What was that?”
“Damion and I are going to grow up and be like you and Daddy. We’re getting married.”
***
Alana
Nine years later—age sixteen
“I’m not going to prom.” I sip my chocolate shake. We’re at Shake Shack, which used to be our favorite place to spend Friday nights, back before he was always on a date, and I was always studying.
“Why not?” Damion asks.
“I don’t like the pressure.”
He laughs. “Pressure. What pressure? It’s a stupid school dance.”
“Who’s with who and all that stuff.”
“You’re with me. Problem solved. No pressure at all.”
My heart does this fluttery little thing. “You’re going with Stephanie.”
“No,” he says. “We should go together.”
“I’m not keeping you from being with the prom queen.”
“I need to be prom king like a need a hole in the head. I thought Jeffery asked you to go? He’s captain of the football team.”
I fiddle with my straw. “He keeps pressuring me.”
His brow arches. “Like he wants between your legs?”
“Jeez. You’re such a guy. Yes. He wants to have sex. Doesn’t every guy?”
“Yes,” he says. “I’m taking you to prom.”
“You have a date.”
“With you.”
“We don’t date. We agreed. That would ruin our friendship and be weird since we live next to each other.”
He draws a d breath and lets it out. “Whose idea was that?”
It was mine, and he knows it. We both know it. It had come about one night a year before, when we’d almost kissed. I’d been certain we’d date, breakup, and hate each other, and I’d told him so. He’d agreed. Maybe a little too easily. I’ve lived to regret turning down that kiss he’s never offered again.
“I just don’t want us to ever hate each other.”
“Do you really think that’s possible?”
“There’s more of a chance if we cross that line. Take Stephanie to the prom.”
“And you’ll do what?”
“I’ll go with my football player boyfriend.”
“And you’ll say no to fucking him.”
I blanch at the use of the F-word. “Probably, but I can’t stay a virgin forever.”
His expression tightens. “I can’t have this conversation with you. Let’s go.” He stands up and starts walking toward the door.
I don’t get up and he leaves without me.
***
I don’t see Damion again until prom but I dress in a sexy black dress, with a deep cut back, with him on my mind. Jeffery, the boyfriend and football player, is all about the dress and me. I should be pleased. He’s good-looking and enviable as a date, but I walk into prom looking for Damion. Me and him and our dates come face-to-face. He’s in a tuxedo looking hotter than he’s ever looked and his eyes burn into mine, anger in their depths I don’t understand.
“Alana,” he greets, his arm around Stephanie, who is blonde and all cleavage even at our young age. He’s sleeping with her, of course.
“Hi, Damion,” I say and turn to Jeffery and away from him. “I’d love some punch.”
That’s how the rest of the night goes. Each encounter with Damion is hot and cold, until I’m outside making out with Jeffery just to survive the idea that Damion is making out with Stephanie. I don’t sleep with Jeffery, though. I just don’t. I’m sure Damion does plenty with Stephanie.
The next morning, I roll out of bed tired and hurt over the boy next door who is my best friend, just my best friend, but I feel so many things for him, I barely understand. It’s so confusing. I pad my way into the kitchen and do what I’ve done since I was a little girl. I start baking my way into happiness. I make chocolate chip pancakes. I’ve just finished the first batch when I find the note from my parents: We went to a business breakfast in the city. Can’t wait to hear about last night. —Mom
There’s a knock on the door and I don’t even bother to look in the mirror. It’s probably a package. I open the door to find Damion standing there, his hair rumpled, his T-shirt snug over his really nice chest.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought we’d exchange prom notes.”
“No, I didn’t sleep with him. Now go home.”
“Good. And no.” He sniffs the air. “I smell food. I’m hungry.”
His “good” has pleased me for no real reason so I admit, “I made chocolate chip pancakes. I have extra.” I open the door and let him inside.
***
two years later—age eighteen
“What’s wrong, honey?”
I draw in a breath and shake myself back to the present. I’m at the kitchen counter, staring at the stack of pancakes with chocolate chips in them in front of me. Damion loves chocolate chip pancakes. I make them every Saturday and he comes over no matter who his new girlfriend is at the time. But his newest—Cara, who isn’t that new anymore, doesn’t love it or me. Which is silly. Damion and I are just friends.