Under The Texas Stars

Phoebe

The smell of Aqua Net and cheap floral perfume in the girl's bathroom was enough to make my head spin, or maybe that was just the corset of my dress. 

My mom, Amanda, had insisted on the dress. It was a pale, dusty rose—a color she called "romantic" but I felt looked more like a bandage. It was modest, with a high neckline to hide the fact that I didn't have much to show off, and a skirt so full of tulle I felt like a walking loofah.

I leaned into the cracked mirror, pushing my heavy, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose. My hair, usually thrown into a messy "I've been studying for six hours" bun, was curled into stiff, sausage-like ringlets that felt heavy against my neck. I looked like exactly what I was: a girl who spent more time with her nose in a calculus textbook than in a vanity mirror.

"Phoebe, stop poking at it," Lizzie said, appearing behind me and adjusting her own sleek, red silk dress. She looked like a movie star. She always did. "You look beautiful. And you're here with Ryker Blackwood. Do you realize every girl in this gym is ready to pelt you with their corsages out of pure jealousy?"

"He's only here because I asked him as a friend," I reminded her, though my heart did a little traitorous skip at the mention of his name. "And because Nate probably would've made his life hell if he said no to me."

"Nate didn't make him do anything," Miranda chimed in, applying a thick layer of lip gloss. "Ryker's a big boy. If he didn't want to be here, he'd be out at the Quarry drinking a beer on his bike. He chose to put on a tie for you, Pheebs. Enjoy it."

I tried to believe them. I really did. For years, Ryker had been the shadow in the corner of my life that I couldn't stop watching. He was two years older than me and Nate's absolute best friend. They had grown up on our family farms, climbing the same oak trees and getting into the same trouble. But while Nate was the boy-next-door type, Ryker was something else entirely. He was the guy who had grease under his fingernails and a growing collection of tattoos that he usually kept hidden under flannel sleeves. He rode a Harley that sounded like rolling thunder, and every time he pulled into our gravel driveway, I would find a reason to be by the window.

Asking him to prom had been the bravest thing I'd ever done. I'd practiced in the barn for three days, talking to a disinterested cow, before I finally cornered him while he was helping my dad, Tony, fix the tractor. I'd played it off as a joke, a "hey, since you're home for the summer and I don't have a date, want to go as friends?"

When he'd shrugged, wiped his forehead with a dirty rag, and said, "Sure, Phoebe. Why not?" I thought I had touched the sun.

I walked out of the bathroom and back into the gym, which had been transformed into a "Midnight in Paris" theme that looked more like "Saturday Night in Oak Creek." The crepe paper was sagging under the Texas humidity, and the DJ was playing a slow country ballad that made all the couples cling to each other.

I scanned the crowd and found him standing by the punch bowl. He looked uncomfortable in his black suit jacket, his shoulders too broad for the cheap fabric. His dark hair was pushed back, and a hint of the ink on his neck peeked out from his collar. He was staring at his phone, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else on earth.

"Hey," I said, walking up to him. My heels clicked loudly on the hardwood, and I felt like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

Ryker looked up, his blue eyes unreadable. He gave me a small, tight smile—the kind you give a younger cousin at a funeral. "Hey. You okay? Your mom was worried you'd tripped in the bathroom."

"I'm fine," I said, blushing. "Do you... do you want to dance? It's a slow one."

Ryker glanced at the dance floor, then back at me. I could see the hesitation in the way his jaw tightened. "Tell you what, I'm dying for some air. This tie is choking me. How about I go grab us some waters from the cooler in the back, and we can dance to the next one?"

"Oh. Sure. That's fine," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "I'll wait by the bleachers."

He nodded, already turning away. I watched him walk toward the side exit that led to the parking lot. He walked with a certain swagger, even in dress shoes, a confidence that seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The song changed to a fast pop track, then another slow song. My feet were starting to throb in the dyed-to-match pumps. I looked toward the exit, wondering if he'd gotten caught talking to someone.

I decided to go find him. Maybe he couldn't find the water, or maybe he was just taking a breather. I pushed through the heavy double doors and stepped out into the cool night air. The parking lot was filled with trucks and the occasional sedan, the stars overhead bright and indifferent to the drama of high school.

I heard voices coming from behind a large equipment shed near the edge of the lot. I recognized the low, gravelly rumble of Ryker's voice immediately.

"Man, I'm telling you, I deserve a medal for this," a voice laughed. It was Beck, one of Ryker's friends who had graduated with him.

"Shut up, Beck," Ryker said, but he didn't sound angry. He sounded tired.

"No, for real," Liam chimed in. "How's the 'friend' date going? Did you have to hold her hand or does she just carry her SAT prep books around the dance floor?"

I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it would break. I should have turned around. I should have gone back inside and pretended I never heard a thing. But I stayed, rooted to the spot by a sick kind of curiosity.

"It's whatever," Ryker's voice drifted over, accompanied by the flick of a lighter. "Nate's been riding my ass about making sure she has a 'memorable' senior year. The girl has no life. She's constantly buried in those books, and she looked so pathetic when she asked me. I couldn't say no. It's a charity case, basically."

"She's a total nerd, Ryker," Beck snickered. "She's got that 'little sister' energy that just kills any vibe. I don't know how you're standing it. She's annoying as hell."

There was a pause. I held my breath, praying—begging the universe—for Ryker to defend me. To say I was smart, or kind, or that he actually enjoyed my company.

"She is annoying," Ryker finally said, his voice cold and flat. "But it's one night. I'm doing my time, then I'm back to my life. Believe me, this means nothing. I just feel sorry for her. Once she graduates and heads off to some college for geniuses, she'll be someone else's problem."

The world didn't stop. The crickets kept chirping in the Texas tallgrass. The music from the gym still thudded in the distance. But inside me, something shattered so loudly I was surprised they couldn't hear it.

The "charity case." The "annoying nerd."

I looked down at my dusty rose dress. The tulle I'd thought was pretty now felt like a shroud. I looked at the corsage on my wrist—white carnations Ryker had probably bought at the grocery store on his way over.

I didn't cry. The tears were there, hot and stinging behind my glasses, but I refused to let them fall. If I was a "genius" like he said, then I should have been smart enough to see this coming. I had been a project to him. A chore. A way to stay in good graces with my brother.

I backed away slowly, my heels silent on the grass, until I reached the doors. I didn't go back into the dance. I walked straight past the gym, out the front entrance of the school, and called Matt.

Matt picked up on the second ring. "Pheebs? I thought you were at the dance with the Biker God."

"I need a ride, Matt," I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. It was hard and hollow. "I'm at the front loop. Please."

"I'm five minutes away. You okay?"

"I'm fine," I said, staring up at the Texas stars. They looked smaller now. Dimmer. "I'm actually better than fine. I'm finished."

As I waited for Matt's old truck to pull up, I reached down and ripped the white carnation corsage off my wrist. I dropped it into the dirt and ground it under the heel of my shoe until the white petals were stained brown and unrecognizable.

Ryker Blackwood thought he knew who I was. He thought I was a girl he could pity.

He was wrong. Summer was coming, and by the time it was over, I was going to make sure that the next time Ryker Blackwood looked at me, "pity" was the very last thing on his mind.