The next. Rosie in the hallway, grabbing a jacket that was torn by the seam.
My hands trembled so much that the photos vibrated against the envelope.
“No.”
The voice was right next to my ear.
Steven’s hand closed around my wrist, firm enough to stop me, but with the delicacy necessary for no one else to see.
His smile was gone. His eyes were something he didn’t recognize.
“Shut up for the sake of your daughter,” he whispered. Please. You’ll understand right away.
Steven didn’t flinch.
I stared at him, the boy who had just bowed before my daughter and whom I hoped would not be the one to break her heart.
“Let go of me,” I whispered.
“I will. In a second. But you have to trust me.”
“Trust you? Trusting you for what? For this?”
I put the pictures back in his pocket.
Steven didn’t flinch. He just held my gaze, firm as a stone.
“Please,” he said. Wait a minute.
“If you hurt her,” I whispered, getting close enough so that no one could hear me, “I will make sure that you regret having uttered her name. Do you understand me?
She had no idea. No idea what was in his pocket.
He shook his head, slowly and sadly. “You don’t understand. Not yet.”
Then he let go of my wrist and walked away from me, straight onto the stage.
I stood up halfway through the chair, heartbeating hard against every bone in my body.
On the other side of the room, Rosie stood by the dance floor, fanning her cheeks blushing with one hand. He looked at me and waved at me.
She had no idea. No idea what he had in his pocket. No idea what I was going to do while he was heading towards that microphone.
And I, her mother, the only person who was supposed to protect her, couldn’t move her legs fast enough to stop her.
They moved before he finished nodding his head.
I pushed forward, my shoulder hit someone’s elbow, his gaze fixed on Steven’s back as he climbed the stage steps. He stopped up and looked back, toward the crowd, just once, raising his chin toward two boys near the edge of the dance floor. They moved before he finished nodding.
“Move, please move.”
Two of his teammates stood in my way, hands up, with a kind but firm gesture.
“Ma’am, please.”
“Get out of my way.”
“He told us to watch you,” said the highest quickly. Just wait. Please. Trust him for a minute.
Trust him? For what? To break my daughter’s heart? To make it everyone’s laughing stock?
He looked me in the eye. “Please. Wait.”
Then, he inserted the USB memory into the laptop.
I thought of Rosie three weeks ago, sitting at the kitchen table, with the invitation in hand.
“Steven’s always been nice in the hallway, Mom,” he said. “Once, in ninth grade, he told Madison to leave me alone.”
I had heard “good guy” and translated it to something else.
