Free Understudy by Cheyanne Young Page A

decorating. It’s fancy and it’s professional and it’ll be great experience for my future career.”
    “It’s fancy, eh?” He adjusts an invisible collar on his shirt and straightens an invisible tie. “Can I come too? I’ll dress all dapper and shit.”
    “Sure.” I almost leave it at that, but then I can’t help myself. “But only if you wear a tie.”
    We drift back into watching TV for a few moments. Derek straights up and turns toward me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to prom? Or is that just something you’re saying when what you really want is to go?”
    “No, I’m sure.” I say it like when you’re thirsty but you’re at a friend’s house so when they offer you a drink, you just say no because it’s easier. But I don’t exactly want to go to prom either, right? I mean, yes. I don’t want to go.
    But I would if he twisted my arm about it.
    I drop my handful of popcorn back in the bowl. I’m not hungry anymore. “I want to go to the exhibit. Plus you don’t seem like you’d want to go, so I don’t know why you’re berating me about it,” I say, letting my words trail off.
    Derek eyes me suspiciously. “I’d go for you.”
    “Oh, Gosh!” I say, in a high-pitched tween girl voice. “Aren’t you just the sweetest guy, evar !”
    He laughs at my crappy juvenile impression. “Okay, okay, we won’t go. I really don’t care for the selfish materialism that is prom.”
    “Look at you,” I say, poking him in the ribs. “All full of moral fiber.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
    “I’m sure. I hate dresses.”
    “Okay, because I don’t want this thrown back in my face later.”
    “I shall throw nothing in your face.”
    Derek sets the bowl on the coffee table like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just remove the one thing that’s keeping us from touching each other. With the melted butter smell gone, I can now smell his cologne, but just barely. And the faint scent of man makes me wish I could dive across the couch and bury my face in his chest. The small space between us feels like the Grand Canyon. Derek chuckles at something on the TV. His elbow is on the back of the couch, right next to my head. When he catches me staring at him, he rests his head in his hand and stares back.
    “I don’t want to be blamed for making you miss an important high school rite of passage.”
    “A what?” I hope he doesn’t notice how my voice cracked. It’s not what he’s talking about that causes my brain to short-circuit, it’s the fact that he’s right here, inches away from me.
    “Prom. It’s a rite of passage.”
    This subject again? I roll my eyes. “Yeah well so is losing your virginity and I didn’t check that one off either.”
    “Aww,” he says, like he feels sorry for me, but in a sarcastic way. He drops his hand from behind the couch and puts around my shoulders and squeezes me to him in a quick hug. And for a moment, my face is pressed into his shoulder and I inhale his scent and close my eyes. It only lasts a second, but it is everything I had imagined.
    When the hug is over, he leaves his arm around my shoulders and goes back to watching TV. I become astutely aware of every muscle in my body and it’s hard to breathe. His fingertips rest gently on my arm, like he’s putting an effort into not just resting his arm on me, but holding me. I concentrate on my breathing, trying to slow my racing heartbeat. His arm is around me. His ARM is AROUND me.
    A shudder of excitement ripples through my body. Derek clears his throat. Panic consumes me as I start to freak out and wonder if he can read minds and is about to tell me that I’m a psycho loser. “I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “But I can’t stop thinking about the fact that you’re a virgin.”
    My face flushes red. “Shut up.”
    He sits up straighter but keeps his arm around me. “I tell you what. Let’s go to prom and dance to some lame songs, and then we’ll come back here