The Rules of Us by Jennifer Nissley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Jennifer Nissley
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Fiction about Friendship
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I KNOW CARLA GETTING up to dance with Bea Nabarro has nothing to do
with us.
Nothing.
But.
There they are. Carla Kaminski. Beatriz Nabarro. A flailing
approximation of some dance everybody’s been copying off social. Which,
by the way, is all prom is. Approximations. Flailing. My dress tighter and
pinker, the back dizzyingly lower, than anything I’ve ever worn. And the
DJ’s pumping his fist and the music hurts my teeth and carrying these cups
across the gym without getting splattered has sweat pooling under my pits,
but somehow every song that’s played since we arrived has been okay—
verging on tolerable. And I actually kind of love sweating. I love this dress.
Funny how high triumph can fling you.
Back at our table, I flop sideways into Henry’s lap, sloshing punch all
over us.
“Jillian!” Henry squawks. Light strobing off the dance floor catches the
edge of his enormous tortoiseshell glasses. His dad’s. That’s why they don’t
fit. “I’m on the hook for excessive damage.” He smooths his vest, one of
several components that apparently make up a tux, our decision to attend
prom so last-minute that we got stuck with whatever the mildewy shop on
Booker had left over. Ergo, his bow tie isn’t quite the same pink as my
dress. More bronchial. And off by just the teeniest bit of a centimeter? I
plunk our cups down to adjust it for him, and he smiles. The first Henry
smile I’ve seen all night. “Thanks. How red does this stuff taste?”
“Hmm…” I tip a drop over the soggy paper rim and smack my lips.
“Gory.” Henry laughs.
Scooting lower, I rest my head on his and survey the prom committee’s
efforts. Unlike the seniors, who get everything—prom at a fancy hotel in
Albany with glittery fish tanks, a lobby practically shrink-wrapped in gold
leaf—juniors have festivities confined to the gym. Our school’s cathedral to
forced teamwork has been transformed with sloughs of blue streamers and
lights so billowy that you almost can’t see the hairs shellacked into the
floor. Could be worse. This is Elmerville, after all. Upstate New York. If not
for prom, we’d be celebrating at Applebee’s.
I nudge him. He’s blinking into his punch.
“To our emergence from the flames of essay hell,” I say. Henry toasts
like he kisses. Fly-by gentleness that makes every part of me blush.
No need for Carla whatsoever.
Henry sets his cup on the table, which isn’t ours, just abandoned
enough to feel like it, strewn with plasticky aquamarine plates and
anonymous tux jackets, the tablecloth splotched with grease from the buffet
we missed because Henry wasn’t ready when he said he’d be. Nested on a
nearby chair are a minimum of five pastel purses, each large enough to
conceal a single tampon or vape pen. Henry sinks against me. I rest my chin
in his dark hair.
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