“Um, no thanks, Tim,” I mumble.

Rack comes over. “Will you go dance?” she hisses. “What’s wrong with you?” I glance at Grimshaw.

“Go ahead,” Grimshaw says without looking at me. “Dance.”

So I dance. Tim takes my hand, and I follow him doubtfully into the middle of the mass of bodies. Just as I get the hang of faking it, a slow dance starts. Again, I watch what other people do, and we start to slowly revolve around each other, me with my hands on his shoulders, Tim with his hands on my back, telling me how hot I look in my pink dress.

“The band’s really wasted,” he shouts in my ear. “I got them high before they went on. Out in the parking lot.” He looks around the gym, very pleased with himself. “I made bank, too. Everyone’s really wasted.”

I try to position myself so as to keep an eye on Grimshaw. She’s not even bothering to hide her bottle.

“What is it with you two?” Tim asks me.

“Nothing. I’m just a little worried about her, that’s all.”

“She looks fine to me.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I’d like to get to know you better,” he says in a smoky voice. He moves his hands from my back to my hips and draws me in closer. “Relax,” he whispers in my ear. “Just go with it.” I have never much liked anyone’s hot breath on my neck. But there is so much else going on that I really don’t need to precipitate a scene with the king of homecoming, who seems to feel that it’s his prerogative to put his hands wherever he wants and grind any part of his body against any part of mine. And it might be, for all I know. Everyone else is doing it.

At intermission, a ceremony takes place. Everybody gets down on one knee, and Rack puts the crowns on our respective heads again. I’m not into it, though, especially when Tim grabs me, bends me over backward, and practically drowns me in his salivary juices, while the crowd cheers. For the rest of the night, Tim monopolizes me. We dance every single dance.

At one point, Rack comes up to me and gushes, “Oh my God, you and Tim look so good together.”

Angel’s right behind her, iridescent in sapphire. “You’re both so tall,” she says.

“And smart,” Rack says. “You probably have a lot to talk about.” I smile weakly at them. As far as I can tell, the only things Tim and I have in common are everyone else’s assumptions. Besides, he has soft hands. I’ve always had a prejudice against guys with soft hands.