Find You in the Dark

Ray and Clare when they decide to come to these things, and sometimes a few other people. We all go together, it's a good time. And there's usually a party somewhere after.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Clay's mouth tightened at the word “party” and we both remembered his disastrous turn at the party over the weekend.
“Or maybe not.” I said quietly, letting him know that partying wouldn't be on the agenda. Clay smiled weakly. “Well, can I come with you guys?” He asked shyly. Rachel giggled. “Of course. You don't have to ask to come along.” Daniel nodded in agreement. “Yeah man. The more guys the better. These girls can get pretty crazy.” He grinned at Rachel who flushed.
    Clay smiled at me, putting the flier into his pocket. “Sounds cool.” My stomach siezed up at the thought of going to a dance with him. But I affected my best nonchalant smile. “Yeah, cool.” I replied.

    “So do you want to see the dress I picked out for formal?” I asked Clay two weeks later as we sat in my kitchen after school. Clay lazily flicked through my dad's Librarian Today magazine. Riveting reading, I'm sure.
    He looked up at me, and cocked that adorable eyebrow of his. “Isn't that bad luck or something? To see the dress before the night?” He asked. I laughed. “That's weddings, dork. The groom isn't supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding. I don't think there are any superstitions tied to formal wear.” He chuckled and closed the magazine, putting it back in the pile at the end of the counter.
    I loved having him in my house. I had eventually succumbed to parental pressure a week and a half ago, and invited Clay over for dinner. So my parents could interrogate, I mean meet him. It had started out fine enough. Clay had shown up promptly at 6:30 for dinner. I had opened the door and struggled to stop my jaw from hitting the floor.
    He had dressed in perfectly pressed khaki pants and a blue stripped button down shirt. His black curls were slicked back, showing off his incredibly handsome face. He held a bundle of beautiful flowers that looked like they had cost as much as a small village.
    “Hey, Maggie.” He said quietly after I had let him in the front door. He seemed really nervous, not that I blamed him. This whole thing reeked of awkwardness. “Those are beautiful.” I commented, indicating the ridiculously large bouquet.
    “They're for your mom. You know, to butter her up. Figured I needed all the help I could get. Lord knows I can't impress her with my amazing charm.” Clay quipped in that self-deprecating way of his. I had lightly punched his arm. “They'll love you as much as I do.” I told him and almost swallowed my tongue.
    Had I seriously just admitted to loving him? Dear God, I wanted to run out of the house and far away from the humiliation of the moment. But luckily, Clay was too nervous to catch on to my earth ending slip up. He had only given me a shaky smile and followed me into the kitchen where my mom was finishing up the chili she had made.
    My dad was getting plates and glasses out of the cabinets, but he looked up when we entered the room. “Mom, Dad, this is Clayton Reed. Clay this is my mom and dad.” I gently tugged Clay into the room by his shirt sleeve.
    He wasn't exactly digging his heals in, but it took some strength to get him moving. My mom turned around and bestowed on him her dazzling smile. She wiped her hands on a towel and came over to greet him. “Nice to meet you, Clayton. We've heard a lot about you.” Clay shook her hand and shot me a look.
    “I don't talk about you that much, geesh.” I muttered, embarrassed. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Young. Thanks for having me over for dinner.” He handed her the bunch of flowers. “These are for you.” My mom's eyes brightened. She was such a sucker for them. Clay had unknowingly made the perfect move. “These are lovely, Clayton. Thank you so much. Let me put these in some water.”
    My mom went in search of a vase, which left us with my normally mild mannered father who currently looked anything but mild. He was looking at Clay as though he were under a microscope. “How are you, Clay?” My father asked, shaking his hand. Clay winced as he pulled his hand from my father's grasp. Had my father seriously just squeezed Clay's knuckles together? Was he channeling Arnold Swartzenegger?
    Shit, this was going to be worse than I thought. “Fine,