Our Beating Hearts

30

THE DRIVER CAN'T FIND THE restaurant. He rolls down the divider, peering at us in the rearview mirror.

"The American Grill?"

"The American Grill Bistro," Niall says.

"And you're sure this is the mall?"

"Positive." Niall extracts his arm from behind my back, leaning forward in his seat. "North Point Mall, the American Grill Bistro."

We circle for a few minutes until the driver gives up and lets us off at Macy's. Walking through the mall in formal wear is surreal. There are old ladies smiling at us and little kids staring, and one dude even snaps a picture.

"Creeper," says Michael.

Niall takes the lead, guiding us past Forever 21, where I happen to get all of my underwear prom. But we get all the way to Sears, and there aren't any restaurants. Niall looks perplexed. "It was definitely down this way.

Definitely."

"Should I check the map?" Luke asks.

"It should be right here."

We all stand there for a minute in our dresses and tuxes. It's a little disorienting. Like, I'm a suburban boy-I know malls. But this isn't my usual mall, which means it's like stepping into a parallel universe. I watch Calum chew on his lip while Niall stares at the directory. "Maybe we should eat at the food court," Luke suggests.

"No, wait," Calum says, hand flying to his mouth.

"Are you okay?"

He nods slowly. "Let me just . . . I'll be right back," he says, furrowing his brows-and then, a moment later, he disappears around a corner.

Niall drifts back toward me, looking distraught. "I swear, I made a reservation. I talked to someone.

On the phone," he adds.

"Niall, it's fine."

"I did, though. I promise."

"I believe you," I say, scanning the floor for Calum. There's a Starbucks and a set of escalators and dozens and dozens of people. But she's nowhere.

"I want a massage chair," says Michael, staring into Brookstone.

"I'll be your massage chair," says Luke.

"You did not just say that." I scrunch my nose at him. But he just squeezes Simon's Michael's shoulders, and then tugs him closer. Michael smiles and leans back.

"Hey," Calum says breathlessly. I look up with a start. And he's a sunbeam. He has his smile cranked up to a million, and his eyes are bright and crinkly. "So, Niall," he says.

"Hood."

He takes both his hands. "We have a reservation."

"We do?" He looks hopeful. "Where did the restaurant go?"

"It's not a restaurant," Calum says.

I look at him. "What?"

"I mean, it's sort of a restaurant . . ." He looks like he's ready to burst. "But it's in there." He points to a spot behind his shoulder.

"That's the American Girl store," says Luke.

"Yes."

"As in dolls."

"Yes." Calum's eyes are twinkling.

"I don't get it." Michael looks baffled.

"Well," he says, "it appears that Niall made our prom dinner reservations at the American Girl Bistro."

Niall shakes his head. "No, it's the American Grill Bistro."

"Okay." Calum cocks his head. "But the American Girl Bistro has a reservation on file for a party of five, and it's under your name, so . . ."

"Oh." Niall's eyes go wide. "Fuck."

Luke face-plants into my shoulder, almost sobbing with laughter.

This whole place is pink. Blindingly bright pink. Everything-the walls, the tables, the fake flower centerpieces.

"I love it here," I say.

Calum grins at me. "Of course you would."

There's an old-timey soda fountain up against one wall, underneath a twinkly lit ceiling, and light fixtures shaped like giant pink flowers. And everywhere I look, I see American Girl dolls. I think we're the only people here who didn't bring our sidekicks. It's the cutest thing in the world, though. The dolls sit in booster seats, clamped onto the tables, and the waiters bring them tiny cups of doll tea.

"I remember when this store opened," Michael says. "I was obsessed with American Girls."

Luke raises his eyebrows. "You're still obsessed."

"Not with all of them." Michael swipes him. "Just Rebecca."

"I think you can rent dolls," Luke points out. "For the meal."

"I'm renting a doll," says Michael.

"Guys, I'm so fucking sorry." Niall covers his face.

Calum grins. "Are you kidding me? This is the greatest prom dinner ever."

"Agreed," Michael says. He clasps his hands together.

The hostess seats us at a long table in front of the soda fountain counter, with pink polka-dot chairs and intricately folded white cloth napkins. The first thing Michael does is ask her about the rental dolls-and then he, Calum, and Luke end up following her back to the hostess stand. The boys return moments later with pink booster seats and a pair of blond dolls who look disturbingly like Taylor Swift.

"Calum's still deciding," Michael explains. I glance back at the hostess stand, and Calum actually winks.

At me.

When he finally comes back, he's hugging a black doll with pigtails. "I'm naming her Hermione," he announces.

Luke gasps. "It's finally happening. Calum's becoming a Potterhead."

"Something like that." He looks straight at me.

I end up seated between Doll-Hermione and Niall, across from Michael and Luke-while Jennifer stares dazedly at the menu, looking tense and miserable. My eyes drift back to Calum, who tucks his chin in his hand.

So I just sit there and look at him until the edges of his lips tug upward. Which makes it even worse.

Because every time Calum smiles at me, it feels like getting stabbed.