Myer's assumption about Adam is perplexingly spot on. The image of it is in the slight bemusement apparent in his slightly glazed eyes, his smile ever present but not, perhaps, the most interested when it comes to clothes and fashion and any of the one hundred things to preoccupy girls. The feeling is mutual, of course, and high school is an exercise in marrying widely differing hangups. Just like the book said, Adam reminds himself, girls are from another planet.
He watches the happy couple drift onto the dance floor, in a swirl of Jessica's dress and Myer's guiding hands. He's chattier with girls than Adam remembers, but it seems to work for him. Jessica is pretty and amused and she has really tiny wrists as she loops her arms over his stiff shoulders. Happily, Adam is interrupted before curiosity can fully morph into voyeurism.
"Are you going to dance with me at any point tonight?" Maryann is shorter than Adam, but she's got presence and a booming voice when she wants it. He figures it's kind of her not to make a scene.
Adam swallows. "Yes. Maybe?"
"Ugh. You're supposed to be the fun date. The one who'll dance and be funny and--" She makes a vague gesture, shoulders sagging under the weight of disappointment. "You know. Fun." The word stretches out, emphasis on the last consonant, like his music teacher in third grade, before it was deemed Adam didn't really have any talent to speak of.
"I'm sorry I'm not performing according to your expectations." Adam has had many years to perfect passive-aggressive retorts he's still too scared to use in the privacy of his own home. School, however, is fair game, and Maryann is pressing and pressing and he can't deal with her. He doesn't even feel sorry (well, maybe just a little bit) as she storms away. He pictures Delilah Westbrook watching him from across the room and feels like an ass.