Free The Anti-Prom by Abby McDonald Page B

is,” Bliss says slowly. “I just . . . It’s a big step, you know? I’d be destroying everything.”
    “I think they did that already,” I remind her, surprised that she’s wavering now, when all the hard work is already done.
    Then again, maybe this is why she asked me along, to show some steel when she’s set to wimp out. “Are you forgetting the whole limo thing?” I remind her meaningfully. “Think of this as karma. Making sure she gets what she deserves.”
    It seems to do the job. Bliss suddenly crosses the room and deposits the journal on the nightstand. “Karma,” she says, steely.
    “Payback’s a bitch,” I agree. “Although, I’ve got to ask: what do you even see in these guys?”
    Bliss just gives me a look.
    “No, really,” I insist, picking up a porn magazine between my thumb and forefinger and dangling it like evidence. “I want to know. Is it their conversational skills? Personal hygiene maybe? I’m just trying to figure this out.”
    “Maybe it’s none of your business,” Bliss snaps.
    “Except you made it my business when you came looking for me,” I point out. “So what’s the deal — did you really care about him, or are you just mad Kaitlin stole your trophy?”
    She doesn’t respond, turning away to rifle through some of the papers on his desk.
    “You shouldn’t waste yourself on these morons.” I sigh. It’s beyond me how Cameron and his jock crew are even considered hot, let alone worth all this energy. “There are some decent guys around, you know. They might not have the money and the car and be, like, sooo cool, but at least they won’t treat you like crap.”
    “What, like JD?” Bliss spins back to me, her lips set in a thin line. “And that kid who got busted for pot — what was his name, Marcus?”
    I narrow my eyes. “Hey, at least I was dating those guys because I wanted to, not just because it made me look good to everyone else.”
    “That’s for sure.” She gives a mean smirk. “But can you really call it
dating
if you just go down on them in the alley behind the Loft?”
    My temper flares. “Instead of what — giving head in the backseat of his SUV?” I give a bitter laugh. “You can pretend like you’re so much better than me if you want, but I’m guessing you give it up just because he lights some candles and calls you baby.”
    She flinches.
    “See?” I say, smug. “At least I fool around because I want to. You’re just afraid he’ll call you frigid if you don’t.”
    I wait for another bitchy remark, some of that famous condescending sarcasm. Instead, Bliss sinks onto the edge of Jason’s unmade bed, her shoulders slumped and an utterly miserable expression on her face.
    Oh, boy.
    “You’re better off without him,” I advise lightly, hoping we can skate over this part without some epic confessional session. “Anyway, you’re done with him now, remember? You don’t have to put up with that bullshit anymore.”
    “But, it’s done,” Bliss says quietly, tearing strips from the label of her beer bottle.
    “What do you —? Oh.” I stop, realizing what she means.
“That.”
    “That,” she echoes, looking very young. When she’s all dolled up with makeup and that hair, I forget she’s only what, sixteen?
    I sigh. Anger can only fuel you for so long. Sooner or later, the grief is going to bleed through. Now, clearly, Bliss is succumbing to the wretched, heartbroken part of her betrayal. Great.
    Crossing the room, I settle on the bed beside her and try not to think when Jason last got around to changing his graying sheets. “Are you OK?” I venture. Bliss isn’t exactly high on my list of deep and meaningful confidantes, and judging by the pained look on her face, I don’t figure on hers, either.
    “I’m fine.” She tries to brush it off with one of those fake smiles, but neither of us is convinced. “I guess,” she amends, “I will be.”
    We sit in silence for a moment, the noise from the party drifting in