Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Pie slaps my chest playfully. “Shut up. That’s so gross!”
“I’ve been missing prom, Pie. I need this in my life.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.”
“You’re not listening.”
She huffs out a breath and plants her hands on her ruffled, glam-skirt hips. “Pell—”
“Pie.” I make serious eyes at her. “I’m being very serious now. I need prom. My life will not be complete.” She giggles. “Would you please go to prom with me?”
She tilts her head, two seconds away from giving in.
“We’re all dressed up. You look like… you’re ready for… a mermaid Bon Jovi concert.”
She nearly spits on me.
“And I look like… well”—I smile smugly and shrug—“your date.” I offer her my arm.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re going to dance with me?”
I sigh.
“Pell! If we go to prom, we have to dance. And it’s not even like we can leave, anyway.”
“What do you mean we can’t leave?”
“Look. No doors.”
I look around and, sure enough—even though this is a ballroom, and every ballroom I’ve ever been in always had several ways to get in and out—there are no doors. “Huh.”
“Yep. See? We’re meant to be here. It’s a gift, Pell. Like our bar date in Granite Springs.”
Kind of a bad example. That date flipped our world upside down. But… she’s looking around with excitement in her eyes. And, well, she does deserve a nice night in the hallways. Plus, we’re already here and if we were really needed in some other part of the sanctuary right this moment, wouldn’t the hallways just kick us out?
For sure, they would not hide the doors if they didn’t want us to stay.
Pie turns to me and mouths the words, Dance with me.
I’m cringing. But, obviously, I’m going to give in. But just as I open my mouth to say OK, the music abruptly changes to a drumbeat and a deep bass rhythm. ‘I Love Rock ’N’ Roll’ begins to play and every girl in the room squeals with delight and starts rocking their hips and snapping their fingers, singing along.
Pie looks at me, her sky-blue eyes lit up. “I know this one!” She rocks her head a little, imitating the girls all around us, then tugs on my hand as she sings along. “One dance!” She makes praying hands, clapping the tips of her fingers. “Please! Just one. Then we’ll go do important grown-up stuff.”
Here’s the problem with ‘I Love Rock ’N’ Roll.’ It’s a fist-pumping, scream-the-words-off-key, anthem song. Not a dancing song. But I let her drag me into the crowd and watch her transform back into the teenager she probably never was.
She recites the lyrics to me—and I swear, I have never seen her this happy. This carefree. This… young. I mean, I know she’s twenty-five human years old, and that’s very young, especially compared to me. But this is a different kind of young.
This is… youthful. And innocent.
It’s not even like I noticed that she was world-weary, either. Until now, that is. Until I see her how she should’ve looked at seventeen. And now there is no way I will deny her this night. Even if she wants to make me dance to Joan Jett.
“‘Come on’”—Pie is swaying her shoulders and beckoning me with a crooked finger as she and all the teenage girls around her belt out the words—“‘dance with me.”
I’m just reaching for her hand, ready to just… whatever. Whatever she wants, I mean. Because she’s mine, and we’re here, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing and… yeah.
Whatever she wants.
But then she squeals again. “Oh, my God! Look!”
She’s pointing across the room. I see a crowd in the corner and I squint, trying to see what’s gotten her so excited.
Pie takes my hand and pulls on it as she jumps up and down. “It’s a photobooth! Only not the cheesy kind of photos with gross animated backgrounds. But the cool kind that only come out in black and white!”
A photobooth.
“Please, please, please, Pell!” She’s making praying hands again, clapping her fingertips. “Can we take a picture? We need mementos.”
“A keepsake,” I murmur, more to myself than Pie.
“Yes!” She practically squeals this.
“It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before. I’m not sure that a photograph of me actually exists in this world. Or… any world. I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever posed for one.”
“So this is”—she sighs—“your first photograph?”
“Yeah. I never saw the point.”
She twines her fingers with mine and gazes up at me adoringly. “That’s because you’ve never had someone you wanted to share a past with.”
Which makes me smile. Maybe even melt a little. Because she’s right. Being with someone you love isn’t just about the present and the promise of a future. It’s about sharing a past.
I gaze down at Pie just as adoringly. “We absolutely need a photobooth picture.”
“Yeah.” She tightens her grip on my hand and pulls me off the dance floor just as Joan Jett, and every teenage girl in the ballroom, belts out the last verse of the song.