The Anti-Prom by Abby McDonald Page B

of college like it’s my own green light on the horizon, but watching this girl now, it strikes me for the first time that it may never end; that the location may change, but my life could remain exactly the same.
    Something I read once pops into my mind like a warning.
You never grow out of high school.
    I shiver.
    When I get back to the lounge, the party is even louder. I perch on the edge of a couch in the common room area to wait. All eyes are fixed on a group of girls grinding in the middle of the room, but I keep a careful watch on the exits, cell phone in my hand, poised to make the call to Jolene and Bliss if I catch sight of Jason or — worse still — security. I can’t even imagine what my dad would say if I was dragged home at midnight from a college party wearing . . . 
this
.
    “Meg?”
    It takes me a second to realize someone’s saying my name, but still, I don’t look over. Who here would even know who I am?
    “Uh, Meg? It’s me, Scott. From the library?”
    I whip my head around so quickly, I almost tumble right off the couch.
    “Whoa.” Scott laughs, putting out a hand to steady me. “You OK there?”
    “Yes, fine,” I say breathlessly. He’s dressed in the same outfit from before: the graphic print T-shirt and a pair of black skinny cords, but in the midst of all the ridiculous costumes, he suddenly looks like a beacon of sanity. “Hi.” I try to recover, hoisting myself back up on the couch arm. “How’s it going?”
    “Stressed, hectic.” He gives a rueful grin, straightening his hipster glasses. “Figured I’d take a break from the all-nighter, try to relax for an hour or so.”
    “Good plan,” I agree. “Although, I don’t know how relaxing you’ll find it here. . . .” I pause, wondering if I sound like a loser, but he laughs.
    “Yeah, maybe not.” Scott glances around, but unlike the other guys in the room, he turns his back on the floor show and looks down at me with what I can almost convince myself is genuine interest. “So, how about you — did you find that guy you were looking for?”
    “Jason? Not yet. That’s where the others are. Looking for him, I mean.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover the low-cut neckline. I thought I felt self-conscious in my prom dress, but this much, much worse. Does he think these clothes are mine? And that I’m wearing them by choice?
    “Cool.” Scott nods slowly. There’s a pause as he studies me. “You know, I was thinking, after you left — it’s weird that I haven’t seen you around. It’s a big campus, but you usually run into everyone at least once. What are you, a freshman?”
    I feel a pulse of embarrassment. “I, umm, I don’t actually go here. I’m in high school,” I admit, my voice small.
    “Really?” He doesn’t seem fazed by the news, but I’m sure he’s just humoring me. “So what brings you all out here?”
    “It’s a long story.” I don’t want to bore him with the immature details, so I give a vague shrug instead. “It’s mainly their thing; I’m just the designated driver for the night.”
    Scott chuckles. “I know that one. My sister’s always calling me up, begging for a ride. Last week I wound up with a car full of fourteen-year-olds, driving to the city for some mall tour autograph signing.” He gives a rueful grin. “I’m counting the days until she gets her license.”
    I exhale, starting to relax. “So you’re from around here?”
    “Over in Adamstown,” he says, naming a town another hour away. I nod. “It’s kind of nice, being so close to home. But that probably sounds lame.” Scott sticks his hands in his pockets, as if he’s the embarrassed one now.
    “Oh, no.” I shake my head vigorously. “I understand. I’m trying to figure out where to apply now, but the schools I want are all so far away. Part of me likes the idea,” I add shyly, “of just starting over somewhere on the other side of the country. But, then reality sets in . . .”