“We’re not? Oh. Well, cool.” He waited a second and then said, “Why not?”

I hadn’t thought this through very well yet. Should I tell him the truth, or lie? He might not be my idea of the perfect guy anymore, but he’d been pretty nice to me since I got here. He should at least know how I felt.

“Well, see—”

“Excuse me. May I cut in?” Melissa tapped Sean on the shoulder.

“By all means.” I smiled at her. “Go right ahead.”

Okay, part one of the night accomplished. I’d told Sean about the weekend and he wasn’t completely heartbroken. Maybe I should be depressed about that, but I wasn’t going to bother. He’d never really been able to commit to the idea of going, anyway, and he was obviously happiest around all his friends and potential girlfriends. Maybe he wasn’t ready for just one girl yet—and if he was, it wasn’t me, because I wasn’t the girl for him, anymore than he was the guy for me. I felt badly about it, but I guess that sometimes you have to spend a lot of time with someone to find that out.

Now, for part two: Find Conor and talk to him and tell him he was right. That I couldn’t spend all the time in the world with both of them. That I had to choose. That you didn’t hang around a ton with one guy, but go away for the weekend with someone else (much less his younger brother).

I didn’t see Conor on the dance floor, but it was pretty crowded, so I waited a minute or two until the song was over. Sean and Melissa were dancing, and they looked sort of cute because he was so tall and she was so short.

When the song ended, I looked around for Conor again. Nope.

I walked around the outside of the room, past the Sno-Cone cart and all the chairs, and the clumps of people talking and laughing. I went out into the entryway, wondering if he’d left. Then I headed down the hallway toward the bathrooms, thinking I might as well fix my hair and redo my lipstick before I made my big confession. (Living with Gretchen for a month was definitely having an effect on me.)

On the way down the hall, I stopped to peek into another large room. It was a den, with tall bookshelves, dim green lights, and—

Conor.

Conor was in there talking to the girl he’d come with, and they were leaning against the desk, deep in what must be a very private conversation. Their heads couldn’t have been more than two inches apart. I was trying to decide just how bad it was when Conor turned in my direction; he must have sensed someone in the doorway.

I immediately held my tiny purse in front of my face, as if that would shield me. Then I raced back down the hallway for the front door. I grabbed my jacket from the coat check girl, threw a five-dollar bill at her for the fast service, and raced for the front door.

Unfortunately the ice sculptures in the entry had started to melt, because they were positioned right under a bright chandelier, and there was water on the hardwood floor.

So I wiped out and fell down in the middle of my dramatic exit.

As I’ve said maybe a few times before? Cursed.

A few people rushed over to see if I was all right, but I jumped up and hurried out the door.

Chapter 19

Why did it have to snow tonight? I was thinking as I stomped down Summit Avenue in the slush, my puffy coat over my shoulders, my dress slightly torn where I’d slipped and caught it on my shoe.

I wasn’t wearing the right shoes in which to stalk off angrily. The shoes had these little pointed toes and these little spiky heels. I was getting snow on my feet and ankles, because not everyone had gotten around to shoveling yet—why would they? It was still snowing. I needed snow boots, not pretty, delicate party shoes.

Shoveling. Why did I even have to think of shoveling, which made me think of Conor, and that day I ran out and nearly tackled him with my hug.

Well, so much for Groundhog Getaway. That wasn’t going to happen. And neither was anything with me and Conor.

Why had I even come? I didn’t do well with fancy parties. Exhibit A: junior prom, where I thought I had a date but it turned out he liked someone else.

Exhibit B: Snow Ball. Where I also thought I had a date, and I did, but I didn’t like him, and the guy I did like showed up with another date.

And they were brothers. Did it get more bizarre than this? Well, probably. But I’d rather be pelted with actual snowballs than go through this night again.

I felt Cinderella-like, nearly losing my shoes with every step. If I had glass slippers, they would have frosted over by now.

So far I’d been passed by one car of guys that honked at me and yelled something, and another car of guys that had whistled—either at me, or the little old lady who passed me going the other direction. She’d given me quite a look, like everyone knew that you didn’t just walk down Summit on the last night of Winter Carnival in a fancy outfit, as if there were a St. Paul city ordinance against it.

This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of my life. My teensy-tiny purse wasn’t big enough for a cell phone, so I hadn’t even been able to call anyone yet.

Beside me, a car pulled over to the curb, and I pulled my jacket more tightly around me. Leave me alone! I thought. Can’t you see I’m completely miserable?

The horn honked but I ignored it. Maybe I should switch to side streets, I thought. Fewer cars, less harassment. Or maybe I should find a phone and try calling Gretchen. If I cut over to Grand Avenue, I could probably find a coffee shop or a restaurant that was still open. They’d have to take pity on a poor girl like me. Broken-hearted, and steeped in slush. And without my cell.

I heard the car door slam behind me and kept walking. As I heard footsteps behind me in the wet snow, getting closer and closer, I suddenly got nervous. I glanced over my shoulder.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Conor said.

I just kept walking.

“You know, you on the side of the road, vaguely wandering, me driving past.” He jogged a little to catch up to me. “So, nice night. A little snowy, maybe, but it is the theme and all. Kevin’s parents probably arranged it somehow.”

I laughed, but then stopped myself. “Are you here to rescue me or something?” I asked.

“No. I’m here to see if you want a ride home,” Conor said.

“That’s what you always say,” I complained.

“Hey. I’m all about the rides home,” Conor joked.

I turned to him and felt a small smile creep up at the corners of my mouth. “Ha ha.”

“Well, it was funny,” he said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“No thanks. I mean, thanks but no thanks,” I said, giving him a meaningful look. The last time I’d tried to give him a ride, he’d nearly sprinted away across the parking lot.

“Are we just going to stand here all night quoting each other?” Conor asked. “I mean, not that the material is bad, but I was kind of hoping we could get beyond that.”

“Conor! I can’t let you give me a ride—”

“Why not?” he interrupted.

“Because—”

“You don’t like my truck,” he cut in. “I know. It is old, and it is loud, but—”

“No, because—aren’t you supposed to be at the party with someone else? You should really get back there,” I said. “You completely ditched your date. And even though I really really like you and I’m happy to see you, I just don’t think it’s very fair to her that you ran out.”