Last Dance by Caroline B. Cooney

overwhelmed by bouncy bubbly creatures like Pammy who attached themselves to boys for each waking minute. He was puzzled by girls like Beth Rose who expected you to mind read instead of just saying out loud what she wanted.
    Lee had decided to stay out of the whole boy/girl scene. Who needed all those complications? If a date introduced anything into your life at all, Lee thought, it was just plain old trouble.
    Kip’s kiss had been on the cheek.
    She smiled and walked away.
    The white lacy blouse was cut very low in the back. Her shoulder blades made two faint shadows on her pale skin. The bright skirt swayed. It had a satiny lining, and even though the band was playing as loudly as any band could, Lee fancied he could hear the swishing as well as see it. He watched Kip walk right up to the group that included her boyfriend—or, as she put it, the male person with whom she had come—and manage to laugh and joke with her friends, pull out a questionnaire, and exchange a silly hug with another boy over an answer.
    For the first time in his seventeen years Lee considered the possibility that maybe a girl could be worth complications.
    Emily’s family rule was seatbelts first. She had started life in a big white plastic baby seat, and moved on to the seatbelt of the middle backseat of the car, and only as a kindergartner graduate to the front seat and the big seatbelt. To Emily it was unthinkable to sit in a car without fastening a seatbelt.
    Christopher’s car had bucket seats, and as her hands located the straps and began locking them in, he did the same—but he fastened his seatbelt into her buckle and took her buckle out of her hand and pushed the metal tip into his fastener. They were overlapped now. Not tangled, but difficult to undo because they were angled backward.
    Christopher said, “Same kids going to be at this dance who were at the last one?”
    “Pretty much.” She was very uneasy. I shouldn’t be in this car, she thought. She said, “My boyfriend Matt—I think I’d better call him. You know, why don’t you…just…why don’t you just take me back home, Christopher? Just go around the block.”
    Christopher looked amused. “I’m your neighbor,” he said. “What are you getting worked up about, Emily?”
    She flushed. A boy who lived only a few blocks away from her was thoughtfully driving her to a dance. A resort where he worked every day, where all her friends would be.
    Christopher smiled at her. “I can’t drive you home, Emily. Your parents don’t want you there. You and I will dance the night away instead.”
    It was important not to be rude. Smiling back, Emily said, “Actually I’ll be with Matt all evening. I mean, it’s nice of you to drive me over, but—I tell you what, Christopher, why don’t we stop at this drug store, and I’ll call Matt on the pay phone.”
    “You have a dime?” Christopher asked, still smiling. There was something wrong with the smile. It was too smooth.
    “Uh. No. No, I don’t. Could you lend me a dime?”
    “No,” Christopher said, still smiling, “I couldn’t.” He drove past the pay phone, and his right hand came down and stroked the seat belts, as if to check that Emily was securely fastened down. Matt did that all the time, and it made Emily feel so safe and special. But this was different. This was as if Emily were his prisoner, and he was checking the ropes.
    Emily stared out the window. They passed a little group of shops, one of those patches of stores that crop up in suburban areas: shoe store, pharmacy, bank, Zip Mart, and law offices. The Zip Mart was open. It would always be open. She would be safe in there.
    Safe? she thought. Safe?
    Now Emily, aren’t you getting a little dramatic? Nothing is happening.
    Christopher said, “Got you all roped in, don’t I?”
    He patted the crossed seatbelts.
    She tried to smile at him. After all, he was being extremely nice to her, going out of his way like this, ruining his Saturday evening.