Three tense and tempting weeks later, the night of the dance is one of those incredible winter evenings when the sun it out, the air is warm, but the breeze is cold enough to make you want to stay close to others.
I've spent the entire day winding tighter and tighter. I'm waiting, even though I don't know what I'm waiting for. And I'm expecting the worst. Something is coming. The question is, what?
Chase stuck close all day at school yesterday, and I could tell he was worried too. But we didn't talk about it. Pretended we were dating and weren't watching how everyone reacted. Weren't waiting for the countdown to reach zero and for the Shades to rise out of nothing and devour us.
"Charming," I mutter to myself, realizing that, once again, instead of applying make-up, I'm staring at myself in the mirror and remembering this week from hell.
Beyond grunts or snippy sarcasm when she's forced, Amy hasn't spoken to me since the dress shopping.
