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CHAPTER THIRTY SIX " GIVE EM NOTHING, THEY EXPECT NOTHING "
"Could you be anymore annoying?" She said to him angrily but hushed.
Steve chewed on his pencil, stopping when she acknowledged him. "I could actually. I'm trying to control myself."
"Well, I'm trying to study."
"Study, study, study," he groaned. Dylan flinched when she felt his hand under the table, inching higher. "That's all you ever wanna do. I've got some different ideas we could try."
"You're a perv," she joked, flicking his hand away and ignoring the heat it caused her body. "You know I've got to study. Finals are in two weeks."
"And senior prom is in one," he said matter-of-fact as if this would instantly stop her from rummaging through her notes and books. "Do you even have a dress?"
"Of course I—" Dylan paused, fear creeping into her thoughts. "I don't. I don't have a dress."
Steve looked smug. "That's what I thought. Who are you and what have you done with the Dylan Holland I know and love?"
She threw her book down on the library table. She wracked her brain for dress stores, where to get alterations done in less than a week, and her anxiety that she felt about only about exams before quadrupled.
"How are we going to carry on our reign as King and Queen when you've got your nose in a book and no dress?"
"Steve!" She was unamused with his current sense of humour. "I don't have a dress. I, Dylan Holland, do not have a prom dress."
"We've got to go to the store," Dylan said with urgency.
Steve just laughed which irritated her more than his pencil chewing.
"I got you a dress."
"What?" She said in disbelief. Dylan wondered if she heard him wrong.
"I got you a dress." Steve repeated. "It's at my house. Hung in my mom's closet. She's probably steamed it seven times now."
For a moment, Dylan was worried—what would it look like if Steve picked it out? What size would it be? But she trusted he knew her well enough it couldn't be atrocious and if Mrs. Harrington approved it would have to be some-what nice.
"You're crazy!" She began shoving her belongings into her book bag, not worrying about what got crushed, just that everything fit inside. "I've got to see this right now. C'mon, let's go!"
She threw her bag over her shoulder and pulled him by the hand. He stood with ease, ready to go hours ago. "Why didn't you just remind me? Why must you spring a heart attack on me?"
He chuckled to himself and stepped ahead of her, unlocking his car. She got in quickly beside him.
They arrived at his house, greeted at the door by Mrs. Harrington with offers of hot coffee and cookies she just made. Dylan politely declined and raced up the stairs, Steve behind her. She waited for him to go in first, not wanting to barge into his parents room.
Steve led her into Mrs. Harrington's walk-in closet and pulled down a black garment bag and slowly unzipped it, too slowly for her taste. Red lace peeked through the zipper.
And when the bag was removed and the dress was exposed, she liked it. Actually, she loved it. She had picked it out while window shopping on the strip months ago. She'd even gone in and tried it on and Steve has groaned and complained, pleading with her to hurry up so they could go and get food. But he had gone back obviously.
She eyed him suspiciously. "So you just play dumb, huh?"
Steve shrugged. "You give 'em nothing, they expect nothing."
"Yeah but first you buy me my Snow Queen crown, now you buy me my dream prom dress..." Dylan said with laugh. "I'm starting to expect a lot."
"Then I guess I gotta keep thinking bigger and better."
Dylan took another glance at the dress, the red fabric now pooling on his mother's white duvet. She shook her head. "You're such a little sneak."
"Are you happy with it?"
She nodded. "I'm more than happy. Thank you."
Dylan turned and kissed him, staying close even after they pulled away.
"I'd hate to ruin a moment," Steve breathed. "But I do think that's my thing."
He stepped back a pace. Dylan watched him, tilting her head in confusion. "I've got a confession."
"Well, spill." She urged, impatient, already overthinking.
"I got the dress for a reason, I mean in a way prom is our last hoorah, the last time we're Dylan Holland and Steve Harrington," he said, "I'm not going to college and this high school bullshit will be all over. I'm nervous."
"Oh." She thought she would feel surprised but she was expecting this.
"Yeah, I'm gonna stay here, get a job... eventually I'm sure my dad will force me into the company. That's the plan." He paused. "And you'll be in California."
"And what's the dress then? An attempt to soften the blow?"
"Kinda." He said, sheepish.
She forced at tight smile. She couldn't be mad—it was his life and his decision to make. But Dylan couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Everything had been perfect for months, of course it had to come to an end. It was the way things worked. She'd shoved this feeling down far, but now it had snuck up on her. The clock was ticking.
"I appreciate the gesture," she took the step forward to nuzzle her head on his shoulders, her next words becoming muffled. "But this sucks. Like really, really sucks."
He ran his fingers through her hair. "Hey, we still got a little while, right? We'll have a great summer and then we'll figure this shit out."
She nodded into the fabric of his shirt. He continued to play with her hair and Dylan let out a groan of frustration before pushing him away.
"What if instead I hold you up in my dorm like my very own trophy boyfriend?"
"While I don't fully object to having no responsibilities other than being your boyfriend, I don't think that'll work."
