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“He’s…” I glance at Fifi, who is now blinking lazily at my closet. “Complicated.”
Diane lifts an eyebrow.
“And occasionally sweet,” I admit.
She only smiles and heads for my closet.
We sort through my clothes together, ruling out anything too formal, too plain, too revealing. Eventually Diane pulls out a knee-length dress in a soft floral print with a gentle V-neck. It’s pretty without trying too hard—feminine, modest enough for a school dance, but still flattering.
She pairs it with simple gold earrings and low heels, then steps back, pleased.
I look at myself in the mirror and smile.
38
CARMEN
The school gym has been completely transformed for the night. Paper lanterns in soft pastel colors sway from the ceiling, fairy lights twinkle along the walls, and someone has gone overboard with the crepe paper streamers. A glittery banner reading SPRING DANCE sparkles above the makeshift stage, where a DJ is playing safe, upbeat pop songs.
We step inside, and Theo immediately spots his friends and takes off. Levi and I make our way toward our assigned station near the punch table, both of us already well aware of our duties because the PTA ensured every volunteer received the instructions twice.
No leaving your post. No unattended cups. Punch is strictly capped at one small serving per child. Bathroom breaks are permitted, but not at the same time as your assigned partner and only for three minutes at a time.
I understand the caution, truly, but these people do seem to be treating fruit punch like a controlled substance.
Heads start turning the moment we reach the table. A cluster of mothers near the wall are staring openly at Levi. I scan the group, biting back a smile. There is an impressive amount of lipstick, hair volume, and carefully chosen necklines for an event held beneath a basketball hoop.
Levi doesn’t seem to notice any of it.
He looks good tonight. Dark jeans, black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled. His stubble is neatly trimmed, and there’s a little gel in his hair, which tells me he has made an effort even if he would rather be shot again than admit it. He looks unmistakably him, but slightly more respectable.
We settle behind the punch table, and almost immediately a group of children races up and grabs plastic cups, pouring themselves generous servings before we can even pretend to have authority.
“You look real good tonight,” Levi says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
His gaze lingers on me with that steady intensity that still makes my stomach flutter. I’m supposed to be annoyed with him. I have a very serious conversation waiting for him after this dance. Unfortunately, knowing that does absolutely nothing to stop the warmth that moves through me when he looks at me like that.
I try not to smile too obviously. “Thank you.”
The children drain their punch in record time and one immediately reach for the ladle again.
“Hey,” Levi says. “One cup each.”
The boy, a scrappy little thing with wild hair, holds Levi’s gaze and deliberately pours himself a second cup.
“What did I just say?” Levi’s voice drops into that low, commanding tone that could probably make most grown men think twice.
The boy doesn’t even flinch. He finishes pouring his drink, flashes Levi a bright, cheeky grin, downs the whole cup in one go, and bolts across the gym, laughing the entire way.
Levi stares after him, looking genuinely offended.
“Little shit,” he mutters. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
The principal approaches us a few moments later, smiling politely as she reaches for an empty cup.
“Mr James,” she says warmly, nodding at Levi. “Glad you could make it tonight.”
