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I knew there was a reason I liked you, he had said.
Wednesday’s eyes flitted over his face. It was strange enough for people just to tolerate her. For them to appreciate her? Unheard of.
She would have been content to continue sitting there on that velvet couch in the entrance chamber for the rest of the evening and wait the whole thing out. As far as Wednesday was concerned, she had surpassed everyone’s presumptions for her already—done up her face, hair, dress. She hadn’t snuck in via a back door but came in the way everyone else did, through that illuminated tunnel of gossamer that opened right into the hall for them to all see her. Still, Tyler probably expected to spend at least some time back on the dance floor with her. And now that he had done the indulgence of being honest with her, she had to acknowledge it was her turn to return the gesture. Wednesday shut her eyes briefly and then stood up, shaking her dress to give it some of its shape back after she had been sitting.
“I suppose they’ll be waiting for us out there,” she said. She glanced towards the dance floor and froze: the mood had changed in the time she had left. Students were no longer jumping and cavorting to an upbeat number extolling the virtues of parties and nights out. Rather, the Rave’n had come to an almost standstill as people paired off, swaying to a gentle ballad that warbled among them. The bouncy doo-wop rhythm passed through those gauzy curtains and into the vestibule Wednesday and Tyler were in, a combination of thrumming piano and men singing a steady continuo over another man waxing about his earth angel.
“Perfect,” Wednesday muttered to herself. A high school slow dance was just the spectacle a certain platinum-blonde, shapeshifting principal would love to squeal to her parents about. At least her family was used to seeing her normal style of dancing; that was nothing to write home about. Wednesday glimpsed behind her again. The couples roved slowly about. She could see Enid and the pilgrim, only a few feet away from Ajax and his date. A group of sirens, including Bianca, off to the side dancing together. Xavier sulking at a table.
“What’s the matter?” Tyler said, trying to guess what was on her mind. “You didn’t strike me as someone who cared what others thought of you.”
“Oh, it’s not my classmates I’m worried about,” Wednesday said, turning back to him. “But I would hate for Weems to think I was enjoying myself.”
Tyler tilted his head. “Would that be so bad?”
Wednesday inspected a random empty corner of the space in front of her. “If word got back to my parents, yes. They insisted I would like it here and I’ve already staked a claim that I would prove them wrong.” When Tyler didn’t respond, Wednesday went on, “You probably think I should try to get along with them.”
“No, I—“ Tyler shrugged and smiled a small, rueful smile. “With how things stand between my dad and me, I don’t think I have any authority to be lecturing someone else on their relationship with their parents.”
Wednesday wasn’t used to people not fighting her on this matter either. It wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it might be.
From the dance floor, MC Blood Suckaz was back on the mic as the music started to wind down; Wednesday turned to listen. “All right, all right, everyone—don’t let your partners go just yet,” he said. “I’ve got one more song for you couples and then we’ll pick it back up. Hope you all like this one.” A new song started with a haunting harmonizing vocal intro overtop some stripped-down instrumentals.
Tyler peered over her shoulder. “I don’t see Weems,” he said. “But you’ll probably be safe from her if we don’t move.”
Bemused enough to tear her focus away from the the other outcasts, Wednesday regarded Tyler with her eyebrows knitted. Boys were frustratingly contradictory sometimes, she was learning. “I thought you would want to dance,” she said flatly.
“I do. You didn’t take that literally, did you?” Tyler teased. He took a step toward her. Wednesday let him. “There’s plenty of room here.” Another step. He was now less than a foot away. Wednesday said nothing but studied him from up under her bangs. “Do you want to dance, Wednesday?” Tyler asked.
She looked to the side, thinking cautiously. “I only raised the issue because it seemed to be what your impression of what the evening was going to be,” she said finally. “Since you’ve done me the courtesy to let me handle my own affairs—“ It was the closest she could come to saying what was on her mind. Asking Xavier to the Rave’n, under not completely honest pretenses, had been easier than this.
Maybe because now she actually cared.
It was the sort of moronic notion Thing would tell her, Wednesday thought with disdain. Instead, she regarded Tyler again and took a breath, attempting to find the proper words. He mercifully stopped her.
“You can relax, Wednesday,” he said. “I think I know what you’re getting at.”
In spite of her relief, she couldn’t just let him claim victory so easily. “That’s a brave assumption to make.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
It was a challenge. Wednesday blinked and pursed her lips for an instant. He had her, but it wasn’t as if she was going to admit it out loud. Not now. For just a second, she dared to consider Tyler once more. He was grinning at her. The sight made Wednesday’s heart seize with a sensation she had never felt, and she had to avert her gaze quickly lest she be overwhelmed by it.
“You should know I’ve never done this before,” she warned.
“That’s okay,” he said. “It’s easy.”
With all the deliberation in the world, Tyler’s arm circled her as he finally closed the last distance between them. Wednesday registered his hand on her waist, pulling her gently flush against him until the ruffles on her dress swept his chest. Wednesday glanced at them. She had never been this close to a boy who wasn’t her family before.
She knew what she had to do now; she’d seen her parents in the same posture more than times than she bothered to count. But laying her arm atop Tyler’s to come up and settle on his shoulder appeared to her as if someone else was making her limbs move. Wednesday looked at her hand there, staring at it like it was Thing—disembodied. Not hers. Yet it was hers. Could she be sure? Impulsively, she tightened her hand. Beneath it, she discerned the crisp white fabric of Tyler’s jacket, his muscle underneath.
“Wednesday?”
His voice brought her out of her examination of her situation. Her eyes returned to his; they darted briefly down to their side, where his other hand found hers. At first his touch was tentative, a feather-soft brush that was scarcely there. He curled his fingers around her hand lightly, testing her. When she didn’t pull out of his grasp, they closed around her completely and raised their hands up as one, holding them there, together. Wednesday could only take this in for a moment before she realized Tyler had begun to slowly turn them on the spot. Bidden to follow to avoid tripping, Wednesday did the same.
“See, you’ve got the hang of it,” Tyler said after a few beats.
She frowned at him. “The artists of the medieval era were taken to using the danse macabre as an allegory to remind the people that one day they would die. This is only a step removed from that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well, I hope not.”
Wednesday didn’t smile at his joke, but he was undaunted. He was even happy. Why, Wednesday couldn’t figure—well, no, she could. But she couldn’t. Nobody in their regular mind would find this, her, a pleasure.
What was it with him? Wednesday reveled in her ability to compel people to keep their distance, but Tyler for some reason was immune to everything about her that normally sent people to the hills screaming. Not just that. He liked that quality about her. She’d never met anyone similar to him before. He was a normie, but compared to his peers, he was just as strange as she was.
She supposed it was about time she met someone worth her time.
It was a credit to him, Wednesday had to grant. Surely there was no one else she would have allowed to take her into his arms like he held her presently.
She barely let her own mother touch her. Now she was hand in hand, chest to chest with a boy she’d known for just a few weeks. Wednesday had thought the sensation would be repulsive, but more than anything, she was just…aware. Aware of the slight pressure of his hand on her waist, the subtle earthy scent of patchouli from the cologne he wore, the proximity of his face…For a split second her gaze settled on his lips. Any closer and he would have been near enough to kiss. The thought roiled her stomach and she looked away quickly before he noticed and got the wrong idea. Even if she could stand this dance now, she hoped anything more wasn’t what he was hoping for when this was all done with. She wasn’t ready for that, no matter what she believed about his curious disposition for her. She wasn’t sure he was either, no matter what he felt. Or said. Or did.
How her dear mother would have loved this picture of her, the thoughts running through her mind.
The music floated around them, urging them round and round. Perhaps it was its melancholy crooning that convinced Wednesday that this dance was bearable. After all, there was no better soundtrack to life than one that was a lamentation. If it had gone on longer, Wednesday wouldn’t have minded; it was a better tune than the cacophony usually played at these types of functions. Eventually it had to come to an end, though, and this one did with the same mournful notes it had started with, a lonesome guitar plucking the melody into nothingness. On the dance floor, the couples separated and clapped their appreciation for the opportunity of intimacy. In the vestibule, Tyler and Wednesday locked eyes with each other. His body relaxed and he slowly lowered her hand. He seemed like he didn’t want to let her go; his fingers lingered against hers and instead of simply lifting his other hand from the small of her back, he traced it forward to her side, a lasting touch, before letting it drop from her quite naturally. Though Wednesday had not smiled once, Tyler’s face lit up as they acknowledged what had just passed between them silently—Wednesday with some uncertainty and Tyler with gratitude.
“Thank you for the dance, Wednesday.”
She fidgeted, struggling with how to respond, whether she had liked what had happened. “If that’s what you wanted,” she said at last.
Tyler laughed. “Sure it was. I didn’t think I’d convince you at all. You don’t come across as the type who would want to tear it up on the dance floor.”
She spared him her attention for a moment and then surveyed the hall beyond their reception chamber, where the blue and white lights moved over the guests. A new song was playing. She smirked to herself, so Tyler couldn’t see. “That’s where you’d be wrong.”