QUACK

Last Tango

"Your name is where my heart begins."

           - Nerina Pallot, "My Last Tango"

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When I wake up, visions and hopes about tonight are caught between my lips, and when I yawn, they call come flying out. I sit up in bed and see my prom dress hanging at the back of my bedroom door.

Unbidden, I feel a rush of emotions, all tied to Ethan and Winter Formal.

I am afraid I have deluded myself into thinking that tonight, Ethan will be different. That he would want to hold my hand without wanting to wash up right after. That he’d want to take pictures and acknowledge that I’m in it with him and not some prop. That he’d dance in a room of full of people without having a total meltdown. That he would be in a sea of girls dressed in tulle and silk and satin and not be compelled to stroke the different materials. That he’d be a regular guy going to the school dance with his girlfriend. That he’d acknowledge me as such.

I flop back onto bed and bury myself beneath pillows and sheets, begging for sleep to take me away until this whole thing blows over. No such luck, as somebody knocks on the door and calls my name.

“Sash?” Dad says, and I mumble in response, my voice muffled by the sheets. I hear him come in and stand by the foot of my bed. “Mrs. Courtly is on the line. She said something about needing music for tonight.”

I turn my head to answer, still not inclined to get up. “We hired a DJ for tonight. He’s due about two hours before the dance starts.” I hold back from saying that if I don’t go, this is not my problem.

Dad makes a thoughtful sound. “Yes, she did mention that. However, what your DJ didn’t say is his wife’s due date.” I can hear a smile to his voice. “She’s gone into labor, and it seems like he won’t be able to make it tonight.”

I stifle a string of curses with my pillow. Dad being Dad, he pulls the sheets off in retaliation and hands me the phone. He waits only long enough to assure himself that I won’t be rude to Mrs. Courtly, then leaves to make breakfast. I stay on the line briefly, listening as I am told to show up earlier with a mix CD for tonight.

I am barely able to hang up when the phone starts ringing in my hand again. When I pick up the call, nobody seems to be on the line. I say hello a couple of times and threaten to hang up when a voice says hello.

I feel my eyebrows shoot up. “Piper?”

On the other end, Piper clears her throat. “Hey, Sasha… I was wondering if you’re busy today.”

I think back to my conversation with Mrs. Courtly only seconds ago, and, on the heels of that, strain to remember the last conversation I had with Piper, before this whole thing happened. “I’m not busy, no,” I say casually. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d… go dress shopping with me… for Winter Formal. Later,” she says slowly.

“Why don’t you ask the others?” I say detachedly, although I already know why.

Piper’s family isn’t very well off. Her mother gave birth to her when she was young, followed by a string of hookups and Piper’s three half-siblings. I’m the only person who’s ever been to her house, a brownstone cramped and far smaller than ours. Whenever our other friends want to visit, Piper says something’s being renovated and the place is a total mess, and why don’t we go to Sasha’s instead? As far as Taylor and the others know, she lives with her father, whom nobody has ever met because he’s always overseas on business trips. In reality, Piper doesn’t even know who her father is.