Alice never thought this would happen.
All of this — attending prom, in a dress, with her lifelong crush — should remain in the realm of her imagination, spurred on by the very vivid dreams she’s had for as long as she could remember.
It should never get out. It should never be real, because Alice might float away with her stomach filled with rocks and throat with lumps if it continues for one more moment.
Actually, she still can’t believe this is happening. Like the school gym around them is about to fall apart in pieces and turn to TV static, like Grace herself is about to turn into something from her worst nightmares, like Alice will wake up suddenly on the first day of her freshman year.
She’s slow–dancing at her prom with Grace Chasity, goddamn Grace Chasity who got her so fucking in love with someone she could never have, and her dress fits perfectly, and it’s all too good to be real. It’s the climax of a coming–of–age movie, and the main villain is about to make a grand entrance.
“Are you really leaving?”
The stars from the projector circle around them, wrapping like the world’s shittiest, coldest blanket.
Half of Alice’s mind is already in her dad’s car, on the way to Indiana, half of it still here, with her feet on the floor of Hatchetfield High’s gym, watching as red and purple and blue stars dance across Grace’s face.
Alice’s main villain is Hatchetfield itself.
(Maybe it’s Alice, working against herself. Maybe it’s Grace. Maybe it’s her mother.)
“Yeah.” She says, quietly, in the direction of the ceiling. Guilt wraps around her throat like a snake around Eve, but on the surface, there’s a profound feeling of knowing this won’t last. “It’s for the better, Grace. I’ll be better out of Hatchetfield.”
“I know.” She mumbles, putting her head in the crook of Alice’s neck. It’s exposed — something Alice could never imagine Grace doing — and the stench of floral perfume she poured on herself earlier hits her in already–teary eyes.
Alice can feel the wetness hitting her clavicle, sliding down under her dress. Her heart aches, but she just lets the rhythm sway them together as some shitty music blares from the speakers.
This was never meant to last. All of this — the prom, Grace letting herself dance with Alice, so close together they almost merge into one being, Alice and Deb’s relationship, Alice being in Hatchetfield. She was just not meant to be there, like God made a fatal mistake and accidentally placed her in this life, where she stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd.
For once in her life, she doesn’t feel like there are a thousand eyes staring at her from every direction. Just her, and Grace, and the rumble of music beneath their feet.
“I’m sorry.”
Grace doesn’t reply. Her shoulders aren’t jumping anymore, at least, but she's so silent it's almost uncanny.
“I’m really sorry this has to end like this, Grace.”
The other girl finally peels her wet, sticky face away from Alice’s chest. The light make–up she had on, just lashes done by Alice herself in her dad’s car on their way here, has run down her face, creating little dark rivers on her cheeks, smearing as Grace rubs her face.
(Alice can try to convince herself she doesn't want to gently wipe it off. She knows what her stupid, lizard brain really wants.)
She looks up to Alice. Her eyes are dark and big and so glassy they look like a doll’s and God, just please let her die without everything hurting like now.
“It’s not like we ever had a chance, did we?”
Alice’s stomach hurts like Grace just stabbed her there with the sharpest knife in Hatchetfield.
She nods.
“Never, Grace.”