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Quite a lot has changed in Shadyside since last year, something Deena Johnson tries not to feel too particularly smug about if she can help it. Sure, she might’ve broken the curse that had the town in its grips for the past three hundred years but the people of Shadyside had to make the sudden wealth of possibility work for them and no one wants to be around someone constantly patting themselves on the back. Or so she’s told anyway, because Deena thinks she probably deserves a few back pats, all things considered. When she’s not pinching herself, that is, trying to figure out if all of this is real, that she’s really this version of herself rather than where she’d expected to be whenever she thought about this time in her life. Weeks away from graduation -that part had always factored into her mental image of what the rest of Deena Johnson’s super sad and pathetic life was going to look like. Practically everyone in Shadyside at least got a high school diploma, provided they showed up to class and didn’t die before the ceremony.
But, no, she’d imagined herself counting down to graduation with the same indifference in which most things were approached, no doubt listening to Kate talk about her college plans, Simon trying to wheedle her into sticking around and starting some sort of drug empire with him instead -both things that Deena is certain Kate would’ve excelled at in equal measure. And while she’d given anything to be able to lounge around her bedroom listening to Kate and Simon bicker and tease, she wonders what they would think of her now, this Deena Johnson, with her own college plans and bag more than half-packed, ready to put Shadyside in the rearview mirror. Or if they would be surprised to see Samantha Fraser sprawled across her unmade bed, hair in a ponytail, wearing one of Deena’s band shirts and graciously little else, ankles crossed as she flicks absently through one of Josh’s coding books that somehow ended up in here.
As far as changes go, this might be one of Deena’s favorites, the fact that she gets to have Sam here with her like this so that she can sit at her desk and pretend that she’s doing her homework while Sam hangs around, the air of ease that has settled over these moments throughout the past several months. There’s no longer that part of Sam that seems jittery and anxious, one eye on the clock even as she would tangle her fingers in Deena’s hair and pull her close, half certain that at any moment someone was going to miss her, realize that they weren’t where they were supposed to be, figure out exactly where they were instead. Now, there’s no furtive glances, no pseudo-convincing lies told her to her mother about where she’s doing homework and with who. Now there’s just Sam, looking for all the world like she belongs there among Deena’s pillows and blankets and Deena who would be slightly more insistent about the fact that she did if not for the new and terrifying and thrilling realization that neither of them do, thanks so much, see ya never, Shadyside.
Though, perhaps the most notable change comes when Sam puts aside the book and sits up, saying, “I think we should go to prom” and Deena doesn’t immediately laugh in her face.
But she’s sure that her expression is incredulous nonetheless, that she lets out a slight scoff at Sam’s comment.
Too much change at one time isn’t good for anyone, after all.
“Prom,” Deena repeats, glad at least that she doesn’t have to keep pretending to be writing her final history essay anymore. “You want to go to prom?”
Sam just grins at her, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say to someone. And, probably, it is. Deena had just never imagined it would be a normal conversation for them. Among other things, she’d simply assumed Sam had looked at her once upon a time and thought well, she certainly is hot but not the type of person who hangs around a senior prom.
Or so Deena would assume, anyway.
“Yeah,” Sam says and damn it Deena can’t concentrate because Sam is smiling at her like that with her one dimple and the peek of her clavicle and how is someone supposed to focus at a time like this? “Don’t you think it would be fun?”
“Not really,” Deena says, turning around in her chair so that she’s fully facing Sam, her elbows folded across the back. “Prom? Really? That thing that killed those kids a few years ago?”
Now it’s Sam’s turn to scoff, to roll her eyes. “I don’t think prom killed them.”
“Do you really want to take any chances?”
Sam quirks an eyebrow. “I have you to keep me safe,” she retorts smugly.
Deena frowns, momentarily foiled.
Sam doesn’t waste time seizing on Deena’s silence to continue to make her case. “I think it would be fun. If we went together. It’s the kind of bullshit high school thing couples do all the time.”
There was a time, Deena thinks, where she would’ve thought about doing exactly that, though she never would’ve admitted it to anyone under pain of death. Her and Sam getting to enjoy these stupid high school rituals just like anyone else. It had felt like an impossibility, something she could run toward forever and never actually get any closer to making a reality. Like getting to actually call Sam her girlfriend around someone other than Kate and Simon. Like graduating and leaving Shadyside and doing something other than anticipating the day she would just die here. But now she’s got a college somewhere far from here anticipating her arrival in a few months. Sam, there beside her, her girlfriend, regardless of how many people she says it to. And that girlfriend wanting to do frivolous high school things just like anyone else.
And Sam must see something on her face, a crumbling weakness, because she shifts, sitting up straighter and folding her legs beneath her so that she and Deena are facing each other from opposite sides of the room. “It could be fun,” she says again.
Deena chews the inside of her cheek and some things never change at all, not really, because she’s still, in the very heart of it all, the Deena Johnson who would do anything for this person. “You want to go to prom?”
And somehow it doesn’t sound incredulous and horrified and skeptical. Somehow, it sounds like this is Deena’s idea, that she’s asking, hoping Sam might say yes.
Sam smiles and Deena is already shifting, getting up from her chair. “Yes.”
Deena kisses her and Sam laughs, her fingers tangling into the fabric of Deena’s shirt, kissing her still as they both fall backward onto the bed.
“I can’t believe you’re going to prom. You’re so whipped. I’m actually embarrassed for you.”
Deena doesn’t look away from her reflection, fidgeting nervously with the straps of the suspenders, adjusting them for what feels like the hundredth time when they look the same as they did the first time she did it. “Shut up.” There isn’t any real venom in her tone, she’s far too distracted for that.
This only makes Josh laugh, whatever point he’s trying to make clearly vindicated by Deena’s lack of response. “Seriously-”
Deena finally turns to look at him, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you even in here? I don’t remember telling you that you could come in my room. Ever.”
Josh doesn’t seem at all bothered by this fact, seated on the edge of her bed and nearly occupying the same space Sam had done days before when this whole ridiculous plot had been hatched in the first place. Deena wonders if it’s not too late for a repeat of that, actually. If she could trade Josh for Sam and just indulge in her favorite Saturday night routine of just being with Sam while the rest of the world goes on without them. But here she is, standing around in a button down praying that she remembers how to tie a tie, that her car will get them to Sunnyvale and back to the high school, that Sam won’t take one look at her and decide all of this is just a bad idea.
“Sibling bonding,” Josh says simply, like defeating the Devil wasn’t enough bonding to last them the rest of their lives.
Deena just sighs, pulling down on the bottom of her shirt in an effort to smooth it out. “Do I look okay?”
It’s just further proof that something seismic really has shifted in Shadyside that Josh doesn’t immediately latch onto the opportunity to dig into his older sister and give her the answer she should’ve seen coming a mile away. Josh’s face softens, his smirk fading at the sight of Deena’s expression, that hopeful twisting of nerves, the anticipation sparkling in her eyes whether she would fully recognize it in herself or not.
“You look nice,” he tells her simply. “Sam isn’t going to know what hit her.”
The words register enough to take some of the edge off the nervousness that Deena feels trying to swallow her, but not enough to make her pull her gaze from her reflection, from that stupid tie and all the rest of her. “Are you sure? Because-”
“Deena, yes,” Josh groans, getting off her bed and standing beside her, clapping his hand on her shoulder. “Sam is going to love it. And you guys should have a great time, okay?”
Pressing her lips together, Deena glances at him. “I’m not sure-”
But Josh just nods. “It’s okay to want to go to prom. With Sam.”
Deena swallows, twisting the tie around her fingers without actually doing anything remotely useful. Josh is right, she knows. Tempting fate, moving on…all the things Deena has felt like she wasn’t entirely entitled to do seem to be happening regardless. Because here she is, getting ready for prom. For graduation. For leaving Shadyside. Holding tightly to the people she loves, to her person.
And maybe Josh is right. Maybe it is okay to want this, to want any of it. To flex the muscles that had lain dormant for so long, when it was easier not to want anything at all.
Deena nods, slowly, opening her mouth to thank him, to question if he’s really onto something after all, when Josh says, “I mean it’s embarrassing. But fine.”
“Okay, thanks a lot.” Deena gives him a gentle shove toward the door. “Goodbye, Josh. Don’t wait up.”
Josh laughs, heading for the door. “Yeah, right.”
Deena rolls her eyes, her attention returning to her own reflection. She exhales, contemplating the tie once more. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Throughout Shadyside, Deena imagines that her classmates are getting ready for tonight, slipping into their dresses, helping one another with their makeup and hair, whispering with trepidatious hope that maybe the recent streak of luck that has leeched through the town will extend to tonight, to this moment, so that no matter what might happen next, they can at least have this. And, across the county line, she imagines Sam, standing alone in front of her bathroom mirror, donning her dress, styling her hair, ignoring the passive aggressive silence that no doubt pervades every inch of the place, ghosts of resentment that even breaking the curse couldn’t exorcise. It’s enough to get Deena to shove aside her own twisted nerves, to throw the car into park in the Frasers’ driveway and walk toward the front door, her hands curled into loose fists inside the pockets of her jacket.
The smile she plasters on her face in anticipation of seeing Ms. Fraser on the other side blooms into one much more genuine when Sam answers the door herself, stepping out onto the stoop. “Hi.”
And, well, Deena tries to respond. She really does. But it’s as though someone has shoved her finger directly into the power grid, sending all that electricity coursing through her -jump starting her heart but leaving her struck silent, thoughts and words in a tangle. Because Sam…Sam.
The first time she’d seen her, really seen her, had felt a little bit like this too. How Deena had just happened to look across the room and at Samantha Fraser and have the world upended around her. The certainty, the hope, that nothing would ever be the same for her again. Only now, the feeling is all the sweeter, because this is Sam, her Sam, smiling nervously back at her. Because Deena is the person that she wants to be on the other side of the door, the person whose hand she’s reaching for, her person.
“I…wow.”
And Sam, somehow impossibly, looks uncertain as she stands there on the stoop, her fingers going to tangle around the fabric of her dress. “Is it okay? Do you-”
“You look perfect,” Deena blurts out, before Sam can finish whatever she was intending to say. Because it was wrong, whatever it was. Because it’s more than okay. It is perfect. Sam in her blue dress, simple but still somehow enough to take Deena’s breath away, to rob her of any type of coherent thought she might be able to give. The fabric waterfalls past her hips, shimmering and soft, the thin straps settling over her shoulders in a way that immediately invite thoughts of the exact type of heathen activity Deena imagines Ms. Fraser loses sleep over. “You’re beautiful.”
Sam’s face reddens and she releases her grip on the loose fabric, letting it pool around her feet once more. “Thanks. I-” She looks up at Deena, seeming to fully see her for the first time since she’d opened the door and her eyes widen slightly, making no effort to hide how thoroughly she is taking Deena in. “You.”
“Me,” Deena says hopefully and suddenly she gets Sam’s nervousness, how differently it feels to be standing here like this, like she’s hoping Sam isn’t going to find her to be just a disappointment. Something not worth all this trouble. Maybe the suit was not the way to go after all. Maybe she should’ve tried to look more…more? Though the idea of standing here in front of Sam in the same sort of glittering dress feels even more ridiculous than she’d felt earlier trying to remember how to tie a tie and is all of this just some terribly awful idea? Why did she even think she could do this in the first place?
Sam smiles, her eyes looking just a few shades darker than usual as she steps closer, laying her hand against Deena’s chest, fingers brushing against that stupid tie. “You.” She tips her head just enough that her lips brush against Deena’s with the word, too much of a kiss to give Ms. Fraser any sort of plausible deniability with her neighbors but not nearly enough for Deena’s liking. She closes her eyes, only just barely resisting the urge to pull Sam closer, to ruin both their hard work to make themselves presentable for the evening. Instead, she focuses on the whisper of Sam’s breath, the smell of her perfume, the brush of fingers right above her heart.
“You look perfect,” Sam says softly, echoing Deena’s words. “Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my distance from you all night.”
Deena smirks, her face growing hot, that heat spreading through her chest. “Well, I mean-”
“Maybe we should just go back to your-”
“Oh no,” Deena interrupts quickly, stepping back and fixing Sam with a stern look. “We are absolutely doing this thing. You wanted prom, you’re going to get it. So you’re going to have to control yourself.”
Sam laughs, reaching for Deena’s hand. “Well, if you insist.”
Deena twines their fingers together as they walk back up the driveway toward her car. She opens the door for Sam, her gallantry rewarded by a chime of laughter and a quick kiss to the cheek. Sam fidgets with the radio as Deena points them back to Shadyside, finding a Sheryl Crow song that makes Deena roll her eyes but in the spirit of the evening she decides not to find something far better. Instead, she just keeps her hand holding tightly to Sam’s, heart thudding in her chest with something that might be excitement. Or maybe it’s just that old Shadysider animal brained part of her already anticipating death and destruction -literal or otherwise- around every corner.
But hopefully it’s just the excitement.
Looking at Sam certainly helps, anyway.
By the time Deena pulls into the student lot behind the high school, the spaces are already full of cars and the thrum of music can be heard drifting out from the gym, clusters of students milling about outside or heading toward the school arm-and-arm with a date or in tight groups of friends. Deena switches off the car, exhaling as she stares at the building.
Sam slips her hand free from Deena’s, settling it against the nape of her neck instead, thumb brushing against the curve of her spine. “Good?”
Deena nods, nose wrinkling. “Yeah, of course.”
“If it sucks, we can just cut out early and-”
“I got you something,” Deena says, swallowing as she turns to look at Sam. “It’s probably…it’s okay if you don’t want to wear it or…”
Sam lifts an eyebrow and Deena sighs, reaching around into the backseat. “I know a corsage is probably, like, more traditional or whatever but…”
“We aren’t exactly traditional,” Sam finishes for her.
“Exactly.” Deena smiles, some of the tightness easing out of her chest. She turns fully back toward Sam, holding the red moss crown she’d carefully woven together earlier on her way to Sunnyvale. Her hands had seemed to move almost on their own, remembering someone else’s life from so long before, working to thread and bend and shape. And now, as she looks at the crown in Sam’s hands, she sees her, here in the passenger seat of the car, and Hannah, three hundred years before, smiling and bright in the firelight. “I…”
Sam smiles, her fingers gently brushing across the twists of red moss, eyes softening. Her own memories of Sarah -snatches of a life cut short, memories blunted and blurred by fear and panic and heartbreak- had never been enough to give her this, but Deena’s words have brought her to life anyway, this person who had never seemed entirely real before, who now feels like someone they almost maybe knew, once upon a time. “I love it,” she says softly. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure? Because-”
Sam cuts her off by leaning over the gear shift and kissing her, keeping the crown held protectively against her chest. Deena finds she can’t really argue with this particular persuasive technique, kissing Sam in a way she imagines they never would’ve dared last year, when even just sharing this space had felt too fraught. Now it’s easy, this kiss, this moment, this space belonging just to the two of them.
“I love it,” Sam says again, once Deena is left trying to catch her breath and slow the thumping of her heart. “And I love you. Thank you.”
It’s unfortunate, the way Deena feels like her brain is far too addled to speak. She can only smile in response, the tips of her ears hot, the rest of her molten and dizzy.
Sam gently extracts a twist of moss, tucking it behind Deena’s ear, before she settles the crown carefully in her hair. It seems to belong there among the cascading golden waves, like the idea of anything else was too absurd to even consider. Sam flips down the visor, studying herself in the mirror, a soft smile on her features. “Perfect.”
“I love you too,” Deena says, her brain finally catching up with her, her thoughts clicking back into place as she looks at Sam and that circlet of moss in her hair.
Sam snaps the visor back into place, reaching out to let her thumb brush briefly along the curve of Deena’s jaw. “I know.”
Deena smirks, though she thinks it’s mostly for show. Mostly to hide the fact that inside she feels like fireworks. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Sam nods.
And, together, they walk across the parking lot and toward the high school.
Despite some of her more serious misgivings, several hours have passed without anyone being murdered and Deena is even, dare she say it, having fun. Mostly. She’s certainly not hating her life, not with Sam there beside her, tugging her out toward the dance floor from time to time or just there to make her laugh and make her forget that she’s spending a Saturday night in her high school’s gym. The music could be better, but Deena isn’t going to hold that against anyone.
Most of the other students barely spare them a passing glance, all too involved in their own memorable senior prom night to bother with taking note of Deena Johnson and that girl who maybe used to sit next to them in English class. So when TLC gives way to another slower tempo song, prompting a wave of couples to surge toward the dance floor lest they miss the opportunity to try and canoodle in full view of everyone, Deena doesn’t protest when Sam brightens and grabs her hand, tugging Deena up and out of her seat as well.
Sam slips her arms over Deena’s shoulders, smiling as Deena’s hands settle comfortably against her waist. “I love this song.”
“I know.” Deena smirks, rolling her eyes. “I’ve only had to listen to it a thousand times.”
“It’s a good song.” Sam hardly looks apologetic about this fact, fully satisfied with her insistence that they listen to “Fade Into You” whenever it plays on the radio, or putting the song on any mixtape she’s made for Deena over the past several months. Deena figures she can let it slide, if only because the song always elicits this same soft smile from Sam and she certainly doesn’t hate the way Sam’s fingers are curled around the nape of her neck, absently twisting a curl around her index finger.
And, okay, so maybe Josh wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe she is more than a little embarrassing, because here, this moment, slow dancing with Sam at her senior prom with some melancholic love song warbling from a beat up sound system, is actually kinda perfect. Embarrassing, but true. Because Deena thinks that even in her wildest imaginings, she might not have chosen this moment for them, especially not in Shadyside, but here they are, together, tonight, with Sam’s eyes settled on hers and she gets, just for a moment, what all those stupid rom-coms are always going on about.
As if sensing she’s caught Deena in a particularly weak moment, Sam says, “It hasn’t been fully awful, has it?”
“No,” Deena says, making sure to at least force a bit of annoyance into her tone. “It hasn’t been that bad.”
Sam smiles at her like she’s more than ready to call bullshit, but graciously allowing Deena this bit of dignity. “Thank you. For taking me.”
Deena ducks her head, the words and the intensity of Sam’s gaze suddenly feeling like the sweetest stranglehold, something she would so gladly die from. “Yeah. Well. Like I said…it hasn’t been the worst thing.”
They stay like that until the song ends and something more upbeat takes its place but still they’re slow to move apart, Sam keeping her head resting against Deena’s shoulder. “We can get out of here if you want.”
There’s something in the way she says it that suggests she wouldn’t mind if they did, that the night has already given them all the best parts of itself, at least as far as prom is concerned, so Deena doesn’t argue, even though it means finally having to move away from Sam, at least long enough to swing by the table to collect her jacket and head out into the parking lot. Outside, the night has deepened, the sky scattered with stars, and Sam rubs her hands up and down her arms, attempting to chase away the goosebumps that have prickled across her skin. “Remind me why we aren’t going somewhere warmer?”
“Because Seattle is awesome,” Deena says, taking her jacket and draping it over Sam’s shoulders. “Great music. Also, you know, scholarships.”
Sam pulls the sides of Deena’s jacket around herself, nestling her cheek against the collar. The gesture is small, something Deena wonders if Sam is even aware she’s doing at all, so reminiscent of Sam doing the exact same thing when they sit together on the couch or against the pillows in Deena’s bed.
Once they’re back in the car, Deena turns on the engine to let the heater run. “So.” She glances toward Sam out of the corner of her eye. “Home? I mean my home, not-”
But Sam shakes her head, toying with the cuffs of Deena’s jacket. “No, I’m not ready to go home yet.”
She doesn’t bother to clarify and for one overwhelmingly bright moment, Deena can see them years from now, home together, in a place where both their clothes are in the closet, shoes by the door, Sam trying to compromise with Deena’s decorative choices, Deena trying not to tear her hair out every time Sam puts Tori Amos on. No having to say goodbye at the end of the night or feeling like they’re getting away with something when Sam stays the night. Just their own space, forever, she hopes.
“Diner?” Deena asks, lifting an eyebrow.
Sam grins, nodding. “Diner.”
The Shadyside Diner has long been a staple of their time together, even before they’d officially crossed the extremely terrifying threshold into something more than just friends who occasionally -or more than occasionally- thought about kissing each other in the backseat of Deena’s car. As one of the few places in Shadyside open all hours of the day and actually managing to keep those doors open despite the rest of the shuttering businesses all up and down the street, the diner often wins by default, drawing in customers after another pummeling at a Shadyside football game or at the tail end of a high school party. Deena is certain that by the time prom officially ends, the diner will see a surge of Shadyside students ready to counteract the spiked punch with greasy piles of food, but for now the diner is more or less quiet. Not empty, necessarily, but with few enough people that everyone is happy to mind their own business in their own private world of coffee refills and hashbrowns. The waitress sets them near the back of the restaurant by the window overlooking the parking lot, the shades already drawn for the night, the orange glow from beyond a fuzzy blur against the slats.
Deena slides into one side of the booth, only to have to keep sliding over when Sam scooches in beside her. “What, that side isn’t good enough for you?” Deena bumps against her playfully, but Sam doesn’t make any effort to go to the other side of the table, or even give Deena a centimeter of more space.
Not that Deena minds.
Of course she doesn’t.
She wouldn’t expect Sam to believe her for a second.
And Sam clearly doesn’t, making herself comfortable with her shoulder against Deena’s. The red moss crown is sitting crooked on her head, her hair falling in golden waves down her shoulder and the bare square of back exposed by her dress and Deena is even more appreciative of their waitress for sticking them in the farthest corner of the restaurant, where no one is likely going to notice if Deena’s fingers brush against Sam’s back or slip briefly into her hair to straighten the crown.
The waitress drops the menus onto the table and leaves with promise to return with coffees and Sam toes off her shoes as soon as the woman is out a sight, sighing. “My feet are killing me.” She closes her eyes, tipping her head back against the vinyl backing of the booth. “Please never let me wear heels again.”
“They looked good, though,” Deena says, as though her memory of the aforementioned heels has anything to do with the footwear itself and not how Sam’s legs had looked even longer while she was wearing them. “You looked good.” She kisses Sam’s cheek.
Sam flushes. “Worth it then, I guess.”
The waitress returns with the steaming cups of coffee and despite the manufactured chill in the restaurant, Sam slips out of Deena’s jacket, laying it carefully across the back of the booth beside her. She cradles the mug instead, watching the curls of steam. “Isn’t it weird to think that this might be the last time we ever eat here.”
“I didn’t know you had such fond feelings for this place,” Deena remarks, handing Sam the sugar. “We can always stop on the way out.”
Sam rolls her eyes, adding sugar to the steaming mug. “I mean, no, we don’t have to do that.” She picks up the mug but doesn’t take a drink, turning her attention toward Deena instead. “Just, you know, the whole idea of it. Leaving Shadyside.”
Even hearing Sam say the words makes Deena want to smile, like someone has just chimed a bell and promised to slip her a treat. Leaving Shadyside. Magic words she’d put as much faith in as any other spell. Something that only worked for other people, surely not her, so why bother. But now it’s not just something she and Sam are talking about in the abstract, prefacing all their statements with what if we or wouldn’t it be great if we could… Only Kate had ever had the guts to fully claim it, the idea that leaving Shadyside was a possibility, an inevitably. The sound of her voice, the sureness and conviction, is just one of the many things about her that Deena hopes to carry out of this town with her, the memory of Kate and that laundry list of ambitions tucked carefully next to her heart.
“I’m sure they have plenty of shitty diners in Seattle,” Deena remarks and Sam stares at her, unimpressed. “Okay, okay,” she relents. “Yeah, it’s weird. I mean…it’s good though, right?”
“Yes, absolutely, yes,” Sam says fervently, nodding, and Deena feels that brief flicker of panic that had started to uncurl in the center of her chest slink back into the shadows. “I can’t wait.” She lets her hand rest against Deena’s cheek, kissing the corner of her mouth far too quickly. “You know that. I just can’t believe it’s…actually happening.”
Deena lets out a soft laugh, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” she mutters. “I just keep waiting for…” She trails off, not entirely sure what she’s waiting for exactly. Someone to call with the news that the entire admissions board had realized that Deena Johnson didn’t belong anywhere near a place of higher learning? The car to break down or simply burst into flames the second they cross the county line? The future that she’s finally been letting herself imagine twisting into the version of her life she’d seen for herself after Sam had moved to Sunnyvale and every thought she’d ever had that the world might not suck so bad had quickly vanished and left her with the overwhelming certainty that if the world didn’t suck, you’d never prove it by her.
“An undead killer with an axe?” Sam fills in, lifting her eyebrows.
Deena smirks. “Maybe not something so literal.” This time anyway.
Sam kisses her, her thumb stroking the curve of her jaw. “I don’t care about this diner or Shadyside or any of it,” she says softly. “I want to run away with you.”
Deena exhales, closing her eyes and letting her forehead rest against Sam’s. She’s worried if she tries to open her mouth, she’ll say something terribly embarrassing or worse, so she just nods, trying to swallow around that embarrassing tightness in her throat.
“Okay, good,” Sam says decisively, regrettably moving away. She picks up the menu, studying the options that likely haven’t changed since the diner first opened its doors. “I can never decide if I want breakfast or actual food when I come here.”
Deena doesn’t bother to adjust the distance between them, simply draping her arm over the back of the booth so that her fingers can brush against Sam’s shoulder. She glances toward the menu like she might actually consider getting something different for the first time in Shadyside history. “I’m pretty sure breakfast food is actual food.”
“You know what I mean,” Sam says, as though this somehow makes her sentiment make any more sense than it previously had. While Sam contemplates the menu like she’s never been here before, Deena toys with her hair, twisting the strands around her fingers, reveling in the closeness between them, the soft 60s pop hits playing quietly on the crackly overhead speakers, the warmth of Sam’s skin and the smell of her perfume. These are the things she wants to take with her when she goes; otherwise, Deena knows she would be perfectly content to never set foot in Shadyside again.
By the time the tired looking waitress reappears, Sam has apparently lost the “actual food” argument with herself and orders French toast, though she does seem slightly envious when Deena goes for her usual burger and fries plus strawberry shake. “You can have your own straw,” Deena says off the slight furrow in Sam’s brow, once the waitress has disappeared again.
“How chivalrous.”
“I know, one of my many charms.”
Sam looks somewhat skeptical but rather than raise these doubts, she just leans her head against Deena’s shoulder, holding her hand beneath the table. “Tonight was fun, right?” She asks softly, her knee brushing Deena’s.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m glad you talked me into it,” Deena admits, rather than go back to her answer from earlier, the well it wasn’t so bad, certainly wasn’t fighting off undead killers level of awful anyway. “I’m glad we went.”
Sam nods, keeping her head on Deena’s shoulder. “Me too.”
When Sam yawns, keeping her head pillowed on Deena’s shoulder, Deena nudges her gently. “Don’t fall asleep before the food gets here.”
“I won’t,” Sam assures her, “I was just thinking.”
When Sam says nothing more on the subject, Deena gives her another nudge. “About…”
“About leaving,” Sam says. “About how anywhere has to be better than here, right? But only because I know we’re going to be leaving together. I think that’s part of why I’m just ready, you know? It doesn’t feel like I’m leaving anything behind when we’re leaving together.”
Deena smiles against Sam’s temple, nodding. “Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel. Though, I mean…Josh…”
Sam gives a half-hearted shrug. “He can come too.”
“No, he can’t,” Deena says firmly, earning a laugh from Sam. “He can find is own city.”
“Somewhere warm. So then we can visit.”
Deena scoffs. “Any other requests?”
Sam sits up, smirking. “Tell him to do plenty of research on the local curses so we know what we’re getting ourselves into.”
“Can we not just request no curses?”
Sam gives her a placating pat on the shoulder. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Deena is about to assure Sam she’s not crawling through any more ancient tunnels, so she’ll have to handle these aforementioned curses all on her own, but the waitress arrives with their food before she can get the words out, probably saving them more than a few strange looks. As it is, the server hardly glances in their direction as she sets the food down on the table, disappearing once more as soon as she’s ascertained that everything looks right. Deena’s stomach growls, eager for the melting cheese, the golden fries.
The same fries that Sam immediately reaches for, snagging off her plate. Deena tries to swat her hand away, though it does her no good, Sam already out of reach. “Hey! You could’ve ordered your own real food, you know.”
“You said we could share,” Sam protests, not looking at all sorry as she eats her ill-begotten French fries.
Deena pulls the plate out of reach when Sam starts eyeing the rest of the fries on the plate. “I’m pretty sure I did not.”
Sam attempts a pout but Deena shakes her head, reaching for the ketchup. “That doesn’t work on me anymore,” she assures Sam. “I’m immune.”
This is, of course, a lie, but Sam so graciously does not call her on it.
Just like Deena pretends not to notice when she steals another fry or two, lips quirking in a victorious smile as she leans back against the booth. “Thank you.”
Sam looks far more beautiful than anyone should in this situation, Deena thinks. Under these fluorescent lights, in the back of a diner that probably hasn’t changed at all over the past fifty years. But somehow, Sam looks perfect, there in her prom dress, hair falling in waves, the crown crooked once again. Deena sets the ketchup bottle aside, moving back toward Sam instead, sliding her arm back around her shoulders. She draws her closer, Sam tipping her head back expectantly, that smile softening as Deena’s lips brush against hers. “You look beautiful,” she whispers, though there’s no one else around who might hear anyway. “Did I tell you that?”
Sam nods, her eyes half-closed. “You can tell me again.”
Deena’s fingers brush against her cheek, the curve of her jaw, the steady beating of her pulse point. The blush has made Sam’s cheeks rosy, matching the pink of her parted lips. Suddenly it seems like a terrible idea that they did anything other than head straight back to the house after leaving the school.
“You’re beautiful.”
Sam smiles, closing the distance between them, the kiss enough to make Deena forget about everything else.
“We should take this back to your house,” Sam murmurs, her gaze settling on Deena’s. “The food, I mean.”
Deena smirks. “It’s like you read my mind.”
And so they do, sliding the food into the Styrofoam to-go boxes brought by a confused looking waitress. The food is definitely cold by the time they finally get around to it but Deena can’t exactly bring herself to mind.