‘Oh, please,’ I said. ‘Ryan was with me. He drove me home.’
‘Which – no offence, Ryan – was also a bad idea.’
‘Connor!’ I began. ‘If you were concerned about me, you could have called Ryan. Or me, for that matter.’
‘I was too busy throwing up myself. All I was able to do was tell my mum that I thought you might be sick.’
‘You know what Miranda’s like!’
Ryan kicked me gently from across the limousine. I looked up and caught his eye. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
‘I wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out in your room and choke on your own vomit.’
I literally bit down on my tongue and counted for ten seconds. Then I composed my face into a grateful smile. ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Connor. Thank you.’
‘Where’s the other bottle?’ asked Amy.
Matt removed a medium-sized bottle of vodka from the inner pocket of his tux. Amy reached out for the bottle, but he pushed her hand away gently.
‘Let me,’ he said.
Amy laughed and hiked up her dress, revealing her lacy, black garter.
‘Close your eyes, boys,’ said Matt.
They didn’t.
Matt slid the bottle of vodka under Amy’s garter and checked that it was snug against her thigh.
‘How does that feel?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said, pulling her dress back down.
‘Why are you wearing a bottle of vodka under your dress?’ asked Ryan.
Amy raised her eyebrows. ‘How else are we going to smuggle alcohol into the ball? They’ll check your jackets and our bags. But there’s no way they’re going to check my thighs!’
Mr Peterson, the deputy head, was standing at the entrance to the school canteen, flanked on either side by Mrs Link and Mr Chinn. The two men were dressed in the same suits they wore to school every day. Mrs Link, however, was dressed in a pink cocktail dress that showed rather too much of her ample bosom and the crepy skin of her neckline.
‘Link is looking rather glamorous tonight,’ Ryan murmured, raising an eyebrow.
Matt laughed. ‘I think I might have to ask her to dance. Imagine being pressed up close against those.’
Connor made a puking sound. ‘Enough.’
The canteen had been transformed from the usual yellow plastic tables with moulded white chairs and harsh fluorescent lighting to something actually quite striking. If you had a good imagination – or had had a few drinks – you might be able to make believe you were in a restaurant in a luxury hotel rather than a glammed-up school canteen. The tables were covered with heavy, white linen tablecloths, and each table had a simple glass vase with a single pink rose. Pink and white confetti was sprinkled across the table like cherry blossom. Shadows flickered on the walls and the ceiling; hundreds of white tealights placed in pink holders were dotted around the room, giving the whole place a rosy glow.
‘This looks amazing,’ I said to Amy, who was part of the leavers’ ball committee.
‘Doesn’t it?’
Out of habit and nostalgia, we chose our usual lunch spot by the exit. A table for six. I looked around. The tables were mostly full. Year Ten prefects were our waiters, coming around to take our orders. Ryan and I both ordered the only vegetarian option on the menu – some sort of pasta dish. The meat-eaters had a choice of fish, chicken or beef. As I watched my friends order their meals, I leant back in my chair feeling utterly content. This was perfect. School and exams were behind me, I was sitting in a pink and white dream with all of my classmates, sharing a table with my best friends, sitting across the table from the best-looking boy in the universe. Later on, I hoped, we would dance. I glanced up at Ryan, who was smiling at me with his big, happy grin. I didn’t allow myself to think any further forward than that night. I wanted to enjoy the feeling of contentment, the thrill of the here and now.
‘I can’t believe that this is the last time all of us will be together,’ Megan was saying. ‘In September Matt and Amy will be going to college in Truro and . . .’
‘Stop,’ I said. ‘No nostalgic comments. That can come later. Let’s enjoy being here all together tonight.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Connor, raising his glass of fruit punch. ‘Here’s to the end of school, the best friends a guy could wish for, and a brilliant future ahead.’
‘Aww,’ said Matt, leaning in to hug Connor. ‘You’re so sweet.’
One of the Year Ten prefects arrived back at our table with a tray of bread and soup. Our first course. Surprisingly, it looked nothing like the watery gruel served up at lunchtime on a daily basis. The bread rolls were different shapes: some were round wheat rolls, others were star-shaped with walnuts, and others had little pieces of tomato and olive in them.
‘If they can produce food like this, why have we eaten crap for the last five years?’ moaned Megan. ‘It’s the same cooks.’
‘They had a way bigger budget,’ said Amy. ‘Like ten times what they get to spend per head on a school day. And the menu had to be approved by the leavers’ ball committee.’
‘Well, they did a good job,’ said Ryan. ‘This actually looks edible.’
Amy smiled happily. She and her drama-club friends had spent hours organising the ball.
‘But the big question is where do we go after the ball?’ said Matt.
The dance was in the drama hall. Like the canteen it was decorated in pink and white, but rather than candles, the room had been rigged up with disco lights and a strobe. A cover band was supplying the music for the first hour and then a DJ for the rest of the evening. Amy and Matt went straight on to the dance floor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Chloe Mason heading our way. I tensed up. With only a few hours left, I did not want to have to share my time with Ryan. But then she slipped her arms around Tyler Cook and dragged him out on to the dance floor.
‘Come on,’ said Ryan, reaching for my hand.
His hand felt warm and strong. The band was playing an upbeat rock song, too fast for slow dancing, so we just danced next to Amy and Matt. Connor didn’t dance. Ever. Ryan kept repositioning himself so that he was facing Connor.
‘It’s not nine thirty yet!’ I yelled in his ear. ‘You’re not on duty. You can enjoy yourself for a bit longer.’
‘Sorry. Force of habit. And I am enjoying myself.’
The cover band started playing a song I recognised from the radio and pretty much everyone came on to the dance floor. The door to the corridor was open, but the drama hall was hot and stuffy. Megan pushed her way through the crowd to join the rest of us.
‘I can’t persuade Connor to dance,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what he’s afraid of. All he has to do is shuffle from foot to foot. That’s all Matt is doing.’
‘I am not shuffling from foot to foot,’ said Matt.
‘Silly me. You’re also making infinitesimal movements with your arms. So while it looks like they’re merely hanging by your sides, they’re actually dancing along with the rest of your body.’
‘OK, so show me how it’s done,’ he said with a laugh.
Megan liked to put on a show. She gyrated her hips, wound her arms into the air and sang along with the music. Matt started copying her.
‘Let’s get some fresh air,’ I said to Ryan. ‘It’s too hot in here.’
We walked through the lobby and out into the cool, night air.
‘And where are you two going?’ Mr Chinn asked, startling us.
‘It’s hot inside,’ said Ryan. ‘We just need some fresh air to revitalise ourselves.’
He gave us a look that suggested he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of revitalising yourselves with contraband refreshments?’
‘Certainly not, sir,’ said Ryan, his expression wide-eyed and innocent. ‘I don’t use alcohol or tobacco if that’s
