Page 165 of Rock Bottom Girl

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You think you’re so cute and so charming. That doesn’t make up for how you treat girls.”

He blinked. “I think I’m missing something.”

I cut him off with a slash of my hand. “Don’t talk to me ever again.”

“Our class has 102 people in it. Odds are our paths will cross again. Like seven times a day,” he pointed out.

But I was immune to his funny guy, bad boy charm.

“From now on, we’re complete strangers. I hope you and Amie Jo will be very happy together.”

“I feel like I need a translator,” he confessed.

With a snarl, I slammed my locker shut and stormed down the hall.

Graduation couldn’t come soon enough.

70

Marley

Riding high on our victory, the Barn Owls descended on the girls’ locker room. Garment bags with Homecoming dresses hung from lockers, and steam billowed from the showers. Laughter and excited chatter filled the room, bouncing off concrete block and metal.

I showered as quickly as humanly possible, grateful that I’d thought ahead and shaved all of the body parts that required shaving this morning. I pulled on my navy halter dress in the privacy of a bathroom stall. As close as we all were now, I still didn’t need a bunch of perky teenage girls seeing my mostly naked body.

Back in my office, I dumped my cosmetics out on my desk.

“I’m here to do your hair,” Morgan E. said, reporting for duty.

She was already dressed in a suit with a sparkly blue bow tie and was wielding dry shampoo and hair spray.

“Have at it,” I said pointing at my head. I sat in my desk chair and faced the locker room while she tugged and twirled my hair into who knows what kind of a style.

Through my creeper window, I spotted Libby be-bopping toward her locker and held my breath.

She’d said she wasn’t going to the dance. No date. No dress.

What she hadn’t said was “No money for the ticket or everything else a dance required.” Ashlynn’s parents were hosting a team-wide sleepover after the dance in their finished basement. Libby planned to go home with Ashlynn’s parents and wait for the rest of the team. To me, that was unacceptable.

She frowned at the garment bag hanging from her door. Fingered the dance ticket stapled to the bag. With careful movements, she unzipped the bag, and part of the full black skirt spilled forth.

I bit my lip and hoped.

She glanced around and then pulled the dress out. It was edgy and fun, just like her. I’d found it on a rack in a department store when I’d been scouring the “you’re an adult and should dress like one” section for my own dress. Hers had a high neck and a full skirt. Pleather edged the skirt and waist and wrapped up around the neck. It was super hero meets skater girl. And it was exactly Libby. It cost twice as much as mine, and I cried when I bought it because it was so perfect.

Holding it, she turned and met my gaze. She held the look for a long beat and then mouthed “thank you” through the glass.

I held up my hands, fingers in the shape of a heart as my throat constricted. It was the best thing I’d done in a long-ass time.

“That was damn nice, Coach,” Morgan E. said through a mouthful of bobby pins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sniffled.

She snorted. “Okay. You’re all set. Slap on some makeup and get ready to party.”

“Thanks, Morgan,” I told her, feeling around on my head and finding my hair in a low, fluffy bun.

“Thank you, Coach,” she said seriously. “For everything.”