Free Sing Me to Sleep by Angela Morrison Page A

just the outside.” It’s her gift that shines through me. That is the only really stunning thing I have. She squeezes again. “I’m so proud of you.”
    Scott’s waiting in the background. He does look nice in that tux. It accentuates his shoulders. Dang, those shoulders. Why do they get to me? He was going to get his hair cut for tonight, but I told him I wouldn’t go if he did. He so liked that. I hope I can control myself this evening. I don’t want to do something stupid and freak him out. He’s being so nice to take me.
    I finally shake the last hand, hug another old lady, and break away to change.
    My prom dress is cream-colored silky stuff, almost the same style as our gowns, except the skirt hits me a few inches above my knee and the scoop neck shows more than my clavicle. Meadow insisted. I’m glad the acne all over my chest is history. This outfit definitely wouldn’t have worked. I used a whole bottle of self-tanning lotion to get my legs tan. They turned out okay. My dress makes them look excessively long.
    My mom’s waiting around with Scott when I come out of the dressing room. She gets all teary and tells Scott we better be in by one.
    One? Like we’re going to be out that late.
    “Sure.”
    “And what are you driving?” She stands close enough to whiff his breath.
    I turn as crimson as our choir gowns. “Mom. It’s Scott. Give it a rest.”
    He laughs. “My dad’s BMW. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
    We get out of there, and I can relax into the firm bucket seat. The leather smells good. Something else does, too. I think it’s Scott. Aftershave? It’s kind of intoxicating. I reek like hairspray—or worse. That concert was hard work. But it’s not like Scott’s even aware I’m in the car. He’s way into driving. Guys are so easy to please. A powerful car at his fingertips, and Scott is in heaven.
    “Hey”—he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel—“grab that cooler from the back.”
    I’m disappointed. I didn’t expect Scott to bring booze. He’s so not like that. He knows I’m not. “I can’t believe you—”
    “Open it.”
    I lift the cooler out of the back, put it on the floor between my feet, and flip up the lid. There’s a large, pink cloth napkin on the top.
    “My mom made me put that in—for your dress.”
    I peek under the napkin. There’s a bottle of sparkling cider, plastic wine glasses, a couple of bulging wraps encased in plastic, and six big fat brownies. “What is this?”
    “Ultimate chick food—according to my big sisters. I wanted to take you out to a nice place, but with the concert—”
    I get a lump in my throat. “This is so sweet.”
    “Dig in. You must be starving.”
    I start with the brownies.
     
    We get to the hotel in time for pictures. “You better hurry.” The teacher who takes our tickets pushes us down the hall. “They close up in ten minutes.”
    “We get pictures?” How can Scott be so stunned? Even I know that.
    “I need to fix my face.”
    He frowns at me. “No, you don’t.”
    I quick put fresh lip gloss on while he pays the photographer.
    “So if they turn out, we can order extras?”
    “Scott! ”
    “Just checking. My grandmother might want a copy.”
    “She can have mine.”
    His face falls.
    “I didn’t mean you. I’m hideous in pictures.”
    “Twenty years from now, we’ll need these to prove to our kids that we actually went to the prom.”
    “Our kids?”
    He gets pink around his edges. “Your kids. My kids. Future hypothetical miserable adolescents.”
    “Like us?”
    The photographer motions us to stand in front of a cheesy archway wrapped in silk leaves and twinkle lights. She looks from me down to Scott. “I think we need a chair. You should sit, hon.”
    Scott glares at her. “No way.” He points to my legs. “I want those in the picture.”
    “You sneaky brat.”
    “I’ve never seen them before. Who knows when you’ll show them off again?”
    The photographer’s laughing at us