86 | Special Guest Star

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Georgina Saber, the bane of Joanna's existence, leant towards Rosalie and put a hand to the gold foil-accented wallpaper next to Rosalie's head. She was looking sharp in that slick black tuxedo, her long, tight braid spilling over one shoulder and framing the deep smile lines on her olive-toned complexion.

Rosalie swallowed hard. It felt as though the blood in her system was draining and merging with the red carpet at her feet.

"G-Georgina," Rosalie stammered.

Behind her, caught in one of Dylan's playful headlocks, Joanna Spencer stilled. She looked up at Dylan, who froze, eyes wide and meeting hers with just as much horror. His grip loosened, and in an instant, Joanna straightened and spun around, her ginger curls slapping Dylan in the chest.

Rosalie thought her jaw might fall off from how tightly she clenched her teeth, lips spread into a painfully strained smile. "What a pleasant surprise. What're you doing here?"

Only Bradshaw kids were able to attend—them, and the dates of Bradshaw kids.

Who could Georgina have gone with? Rosalie thought, desperately trying to rack her brain for the list of upperclassmen lesbians.

Georgina smoothed a hand over the front of her vest, head tipped to the side, her psychotic smile masked as something "quirky". It just made Rosalie's head spin in a sludgy pool of discomfort. "I was asked to come, Rosie."

"By who."

Rosalie's eyes widened. Her shoulders stiffened, dangerously close to where Joanna was now hovering just behind her, partially obscured by Dylan standing guard between them. It was Rosalie and Georgina until that moment when all of Georgina's attention shifted.

"I could ask the same of you," she said. Her slow, eerie gaze casting a shudder up Rosalie's spine.

"No one," Rosalie said.

"Is that so? That's a lovely ensemble you have. Who inspired it, Zendaya?" Georgina said, her eyes sliding down Rosalie's frame and back up with a wink.

Rosalie's fists clenched at her sides. She never felt this urge before. It gripped her by the throat with its violent fists and shot her adrenaline through the roof. It was everything she needed to wind her foot back like she did the day she kneed Lennie in the family jewels.

But, then, Dylan was putting an arm out in front of her and grabbing hold of one of her fists. "Yes, and I'm often told I look like Zac Efron."

"A straight circus love story, how on brand," Georgina said, her smile tightening with her narrowed eyes. Rosalie's palm was sweating against her clenched fingers against Dylans' dry, coarse hand. "I heard a rumor that Rosie made quite a scene to get you here."

Rosalie really hoped Joanna stayed behind them, but alas, she could already see Joanna's ginger curls lingering at Dylan's opposite side.

"I did," Rosalie said. "And you still haven't answered Joanna's question."

Georgina was staring intently at Joanna until that moment. Rosalie's jaw clicked, her teeth squeaking from how she ground them together in frustration. Georgina took her sweet time looking Joanna up and down before licking her bottom lip on the way to reaching behind her to grab the hand of the person behind her. Rosalie hadn't even thought to consider that Georgina's date was even in line with her, but sure enough, she stepped to the side in her massive stiletto heels and revealed—

Arthur Hendrix?

"Art?" Rosalie said, too stunned to even be pissed.

The guy looked like a noodle in comparison to Georgina. He was sporting his Stud.Co. camera for the event and, to top it off, was wearing a tux. Considering everything Rosalie had heard, she expected Georgina to at least bring a Bradshaw girl.

Art looked like he was in pain. He grimaced rather than smiled and gestured vaguely to Georgina and said, "She, um, pinned me to my car in the parking lot. I couldn't say no."

"Aw, isn't that sweet? Match made in heaven," Georgina said, and slung an arm around Art's shoulders. She stood an entire foot taller than Art, whose entire face went red and Rosalie couldn't tell if he was flattered, mortified, or both.

"I might actually have indigestion," Joanna said, her voice hollow.

"I... thought..." Rosalie started, unsure how to finish the statement.

Thankfully—or perhaps, unfortunately—Georgina caught her drift. "What, that I was gay? I am, Rosie. It's why I picked the most feminine guy I could find in the Bradshaw parking lot."

"He's not feminine," Rosalie squeaked, voice breaking. She felt her face flush redhot when Art met her eyes. She floundered for a second and stammered, "N-Not that—that would be bad or anything. Art, come on, you can't just let her talk like that about you."

Art opened his mouth, only to be cut off by the chaperone at the checkin desk saying, "Next, please!"

Dylan gave a tug on Rosalie's hand. Rosalie kept her eyes pinned on Georgina until she was forced to turn around to face the woman at the desk, who Joanna was already frantically trying to get her table number from. Her foot was tapping, anxious and ready to flee at a moment's notice. Rosalie forced herself to linger behind with Dylan at her side.

They came together, after all.

The instant Joanna got her number, she was off and rushing for the dining room. At the archway, she glanced back at Rosalie and Dylan, who were giving their names to the lady behind the table. Rosalie spent the entire moment fully aware that Georgina's eyes were on her the instant Joanna was out of view. She looked over at Dylan, who gave her a sideways glance, lips pursed. He glanced sparingly to the side, in Georgina's direction, and Rosalie wished she could just scream, "WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO?!"

Instead, she turned to the woman behind the table with a smile and thanked her for the table number and for checking them in.

She took Dylan by the hand and dragged him towards the dining hall entrance.

The archway opened up to a balcony overlooking the event hall. The entire room was guilded with golden trimming and flanked on either side by rows of columns that held up the vaulted ceiling. At the railing, Rosalie stopped to map out the tables and search for their number. Among the tables, she caught sight of Joanna making a beeline across the dining hall before slipping behind one of the columns, vanishing from sight.

Dylan stepped up beside Rosalie and turned, facing the archway as he whispered, "I don't blame Art but I'm pissed."

"I know, same here," Rosalie confessed, her eyes on the columns. She waited for Joanna to resurface, and when she didn't, she sighed and figured that it was for the best. She turned to look at him and said, "Seems like Joanna's already in hiding. What do we do?"

"We... pretend that we're here as a couple?" Dylan said with a shrug, turning from the archway to meet Rosalie's eyes.

Rosalie stared up at him and tried to imagine what it'd be like to actually go to prom with Dylan Cox. Dylan was no Ashton Hartwood—the star quarterback of the Bradshaw football team and well-known and liked around Montgomery—but Rosalie couldn't help but feel fuzzy inside from the fact that Dylan actually agreed to her stupid plan. She was flattered, and flustered by the fact that Dylan smiled at her and took her hand in his.

"Come on. Might as well show her that Joanna's got two amazing straight friends," he said with a wink. He stepped ahead of her, offering her his arm. She studied it for a moment before trailing after him, linging her hand against his forearm.

"Y-Yeah, you're right," she said, cheeks pink.

As they descended the stairs, Rosalie searched the clusters of people from their class. There were over five hundred seats in that one atrium, and among them, she found her group already arriving at their designated tables. Each table was split into groups of ten, and at Rosalie's table, Ray and Juliana were setting their coats and purses down.

She glanced over her shoulder, where she could see Georgina standing at the top of the stairs, watching her. Rosalie narrowed her eyes and turned back around, her thick curls bouncing with each step. "I think I have an idea," she said, uneasily. She could already feel her stomach churning.

"Lay it on me," he said as they passed by tables filling with their peers. No one was the wiser of Rosalie's plan aside from Dylan who, at the end of her suggestion, paused for a moment beside one of the columns. The exact column they had watched Joanna disappear behind.

Rosalie could just barely see Joanna's pant leg, crossed at the ankles, around the side of the column. She resisted the urge to look back at Georgina, knowing full well that Dylan had his eyes on that she-devil as if their lives depended on keeping Georgina Saber in sight.

He squinted at Rosalie and said, "You two are... practically dating."

"I know," Rosalie said. "And I know it's a stupid idea, but I can't think of a better way!"

"A better way to what?" Joanna asked from the other side of the column, arms crossed.

"Convince Georgina that I'm... you know. Straight, or whatever," Rosalie said, or rather, muttered. She disliked the thought of convincing everyone that she was anything other than bisexual. It was only a recent discovery, but it felt natural. Like the "straight" category had been a stiff, uncomfortable turtleneck that she was now being forced back into by Georgina's sharp eye.

"I'll only do it if Joanna's comfortable with it."

She watched as Joanna's hair came into view. Joanna shrugged, her eyes on her hands. "We aren't dating—why should I care?" Joanna said, annoyed.

Rosalie bristled. She knew she shouldn't argue over things like this—not now, in the middle of prom weekend—but she couldn't help it. Joanna's comment brought about their entire conversation out in the courtyard after Rosalie's promposal. Did that mean nothing to Joanna?

"Of course we're dating," Rosalie said, unable to mask her own annoyance. Joanna glanced at her—or rather, past her. Rosalie looked over her shoulder to the stairs. Georgina wasn't where Rosalie remembered, nor was she close enough to hear Rosalie when she spun back around and said, "And of course I'm going to ask for your permission. This involves you, too."

"Of the things I tolerate, cheating isn't one of them," Joanna said. She pushed off of the column and spared a sour look in Dylan's direction. "Sorry, but you don't have my permission. Think of something else."

"But—" Rosalie started. Dylan held her back with a hand on her shoulder. It took all of her power not to shake him off and throw her hands in the air.

"You're right. We'll think of something else," he said.

"What, that we just... don't hang out all of prom?" Rosalie said. She felt her anger swelling to her cheeks. She met Joanna's eyes, and Joanna simply stared at her, expression dull and unaffected by the sharp edge in Rosalie's tone. "I want to dance with you! And, like, sit with you."

"It's the thought that counts I guess? I don't fucking know?" Joanna said, shrugging, as if it really didn't bother her.

Just tell me the fucking truth, Rosalie thought, fists clenched at her sides.

Dylan turned Rosalie around and gave her a firm shake by the shoulders. Her blood was running white hot through her veins, and it sent her vision spinning when he shook her. "It doesn't matter, alright? Girls can dance with each other, right? They do it all the time, gay, bi, or straight. And she can still sit next to you and talk to you and whatever, alright?"

"Who made you an expert on gal pals?" Joanna scoffed.

"You did," Dylan said, sharply, and Joanna startled like whatever he just said offended her, her ancestors, and her dog. He pointed a finger at her and said, "And this is what we've been fucking training for."

"Training?" Rosalie squeaked.

Dylan pounded a fist into his opposite palm and said, "Yeah, to beat the living shit out of Georgina—"

"O...kay, yeah, no, that's not happening tonight," Joanna said with a nervous laugh. Dylan looked confused, as if he was two seconds away from saying, "Tonight is the perfect night to get arrested for assault." Rosalie glanced between them, entirely too confused by the implication that they indeed had a plan to put Georgina in her place.

Somehow, it didn't seem all that sound of a plan.

"Please don't get into another fistfight," Rosalie sighed.

Joanna crossed her arms. "That's not the damn plan, alright? Dylan, pretend to be an upstanding citizen and take Rosalie's purse to the table."

"Why me?" he said.

"Because I've gotta talk to her, God, enough with the questions," she said, shooing Dylan along.

Rosalie handed her purse over at which point Dylan asked, "Do I kiss her on the cheek or something? That's what couples do—"

"No! Get the fuck otta here, dude!" Joanna said, waving both arms in the air like the furious goose Michael Lancaster chased after in the Bradshaw parking lot.

Rosalie threw her head back and laughed, and continued giggling as she watched Dylan hurry off. Joanna put her hands on her hips, tossing the hem of her tailored coat back as she did so. Rosalie's smile, however, withered when Joanna turned her glare back onto Rosalie with every intent to bitch her out.

"It was just an idea," Rosalie insisted.

"I don't give a shit," Joanna said. Rosalie clamped her mouth shut. Joanna sighed, rolling her eyes over to the spot where Georgina and Art were sitting—or rather, taking their name tags and moving them closer to Rosalie and Joanna's table. Rosalie and Joanna both sneered at the sight. "Look, I get it. And the plan did have some integrity or whatever, but I don't—fucking Christ," she said, a hand in her hair.

"What is it?" Rosalie said, her worry etching painful lines into her chest. She laced her fingers around her necklace.

"I'm not a jealous person, alright?" Joanna started, and Rosalie's heart thudded in her chest. "But if we're actually dating—"

"We are. Actually dating," Rosalie said.

"Then don't fucking suggest kissing other people, alright?" Joanna hissed, and Rosalie was certain she hadn't meant it to come out so harshly, but it had. Rosalie swallowed hard. She wished she hadn't even suggested the idea. She was surprised Dylan even semi-agreed to it.

Guilt settled in her stomach like a solid brick.

She swallowed hard. "Alright. I won't. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Rosalie said.

They both fell quiet. Joanna spared several quick glances in Rosalie's direction as Rosalie stared back, astonished by Joanna's reaction. She wasn't quite sure why she expected something different. She supposed she never pegged Joanna as a particularly... possessive person, despite how much that term correlated with jealousy.

Joanna started towards their table, stiff, arms crossed. Rosalie jogged to catch up, hair bouncing behind her. She grinned and said, "I guess I didn't peg you as possessive."

Joanna bristled, seething, "Gross! No, I'm not—you can do whatever the fuck you want!"

"Right," Rosalie said, pleased. She clasped her hands behind her back and said with a sly grin, "As long as it doesn't involve Dylan."

Joanna sneered at her, but from the cheeky hint to it, Rosalie could tell that Joanna was just as amused as she was—albeit annoyed. Rosalie didn't blame her. She despised the own sour parts of her that flared up at the thought of Arden Dodge and Joanna together. Or even, for that matter, Georgina Saber and Joanna together.

They approached the table where Dylan was chatting with Ashton. After briefly meeting Ray and Lennie's eyes, both of whom gestured discretely in Georgina's direction, Rosalie caught sight of Joanna meeting Georgina's eyes from across the table. Georgina had found her spot at the table directly behind Joanna's seat and, once there, Joanna put her middle finger to her mouth and licked a stripe up to the nail.

One instant Georgina was sitting there, and the next she was reaching for Joanna's arm. Rosalie was certain she never saw anyone move as fast as Lennie Pittmen did in that instance. He cut between them and grabbed Georgina by the wrist.

"Don't even think about it," Lennie said.

Commotion at their table stilled, all except for Joanna, who pulled her chair back. The legs of the chair scraped noisly against the ground until she dropped down and crossed her arms. Rosalie could only stare at the sight of Georgina shoving Lennie's hand off of her, eyeing every last one of them at the table, and turning away. Across the table, Juliana had a hand clasped over her mouth, and Ray looked like she wanted to punch Lennie for nearly starting a fight.

When Lennie walked back to Ray, Joanna stopped him with a curt, "I don't need your help, Pittmen."

"Joanna—" Rosalie started, throat tight.

"Won't happen again," Lennie said, to which Ray replied, "God, you're such a dramatic bastard, Leonard."

Lennie's cheeks turned pink as he stammered, "I-I told you not to call me that." It was enough to diffuse the tension, if only for the moment.

Rosalie let out a startled laugh as Ashton roared, "Leonard?! Oh my God! Wait till Lancaster hears this—"

Lennie groaned, an arm hooked over Ray's shoulder. He half-tried to stop Ashton, but the guy was already gone, yelling Michael's name over the crowds. He turned to Ray and said, "You did that on purpose."

Ray beamed, shrugged, and pulled her chair back. She turned to him with a cheeky grin, leant in, and said, "Maybe," in a sultry, cheeky tone. Rosalie settled into her seat between Joanna and Dylan's chairs as the two bickered a few seats away. On Joanna's other side, Alyssa and her date's spot remained empty all except for her purse and jacket. Rosalie reached over and plucked her name tag up, twisting it nervously between her fingers. She wanted terribly to bite her thumbnail until it fell off, if only to distract her from the tickle crawling up her spine whenever she was certain Georgina was looking at them. Every time she turned around, though, Georgina's eyes were on her phone.

She glanced over at Joanna, who was scowling at the table. Rosalie dropped her eyes to Joanna's hands, which were clenched over her thighs, one foot propped up on one of the table spokes, knee bouncing.

Dylan pulled back the seat beside Rosalie and sat at the very edge of it, leant over the table with a hand out to Joanna. "Hey, you good?"

"Yeah, I'm fantastic—" Joanna started, the sarcasm dense enough to knock them both upside the heads. Rosalie thought she did, in fact, get hit in the head because of the sound of someone shrieking Joanna's name in a shrill, preppy voice from several tables down.

All three of them flinched—four, to be exact, because Georgina was on her feet in an instant. Joanna jumped up after her, eyes scanning the room. It was definitely impossible, though, to miss the bright, blush-pink ballgown shashaying in their direction.

"Darling, what're you—" Joanna started.

"You aren't supposed to be here," Georgina said.

They both looked at one another, scowling, as Darling Lavier squeezed between two chairs, her ballgown

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