I lower myself down on the edge of the chair in front of his desk. “Is it true? Is prom canceled?”
The wavy lines on his forehead deepen. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, um, it’s just a rumor,” I say, shifting back and gripping the arms of the chair. Possibly I should have asked someone other than Desmond about it. He’s not the most reliable source of underground information, unless it’s marching band-related.
Principal Slater removes a pen from the pocket of his dress shirt and clicks the tab on the end, drawing the point in and out. “Unfortunately, Tristan Fleming has resigned from his position as prom committee chair. He was unable to raise enough money, and based on last year’s ticket sales, there’s no way we could hold the event at the country club this year. The school district recently completed the construction of a new elementary school, and our budget is limited. Due to the lack of interest, we’ve decided to cancel this year’s senior prom.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, holding myself back from popping out of my chair. “Of course there’s interest. Who doesn’t like prom?”
“It’s not a matter of liking prom. It’s expensive. Dresses, tux rentals, tickets—kids don’t want to spend that kind of money anymore. They’d rather go to the store and buy the latest Xbox game or an iPhone.”
I hate to admit it, but Principal Slater is a little out of touch. Who goes to a store to buy stuff when you can download video games right onto your computer? But senior prom isn’t something you download—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime memory that can never be recreated if you miss it.
“Prom is universal,” I insist. “It’s a tradition dating back to…a long time ago. We can’t be known as the first class at Hamilton High to miss it.” I flip through the stack of shiny new ideas popping into my head. “We could find sponsors to cover some of the expenses. Or find a cheaper location if the country club is too expensive.” After a slight hesitation, I hear myself add, “Maybe I can work with the rest of the committee and find someone to take Tristan’s place.”
But my chest tightens at the thought of getting involved in a crusade to save prom. Desmond’s right. After Catherine and I became ex-best friends in middle school, I lost a shield of protection I never knew I’d had. I was teased for sitting alone in the cafeteria until I found a new lunch table, and no longer picked for the best spots in group projects or gym teams. Since then, I’ve avoided attention and learned to survive while staying out of the spotlight. Rack up multiple small achievements while the popular kids fight for bragging rights over a big win.
But if someone needs to light a fire to restart a committee, it can be me…for now. I can always ask Jane for help. As student council president, she has the experience needed to organize a big event like this.
Mr. Slater adjusts his glasses. “Are you sure? The prom committee is a lot of work, and we’re already months behind.”
I square my shoulders and assume a look of grim determination. “I can help out. We’ll catch up quickly.”
Still, he appears unconvinced. “You’re taking quite a few AP classes, aren’t you? And how many clubs have you joined this year?”
“I’m the vice president of six and the secretary of two. But I’m keeping up with my work. Last marking period, I had distinguished honors. I submitted my early decision form to Bucknell, so I just need to make passing grades through the end of the year. I can find the time for something as important as prom.”
Principal Slater folds his hands on top of his desk as he considers my offer. “I can give you a week to come up with something. Talk to Tristan about setting up a new committee, budget, event site, and marketing plan. I’ll look over your report, and we’ll take it from there.”
I consider running out of the office and never looking back. But then I remember how disappointed I was about not attending junior prom. I wonder who else has been dreaming of finding that perfect dress. Or hoping their secret crush will come through with a grand gesture and prompose.
“Yes. Fine. I’ll do it,” I say, wanting to cry inside. My schedule will need major rearrangement to meet his deadline. This part of senior year is supposed to be chill time—everyone else around here seems to be slacking off. I push to my feet and shoulder my backpack as a little voice inside wonders why I care so much. Sure, seeing Desmond and Carrie finally get together would be a stellar achievement. He stuck by me for so many years, along with Jane, my other BFF. But, chances are, I’ll end up sitting at home alone again this year. It’s not like I’ll have anyone special to go with. Still, the small wisp of hope inside me refuses to die. If I can make something memorable out of prom night, maybe I’ll find the perfect date. Owen’s face flashes in my mind, and I forcefully chase it away. He’s not an option.
“Next Monday, in my office, with a write-up.” Mr. Slater’s interrupted by the ringing of the late bell. “And I’ll sign a hall pass for you this morning, but in the future, Miss Hart, make an appointment and come speak to me outside of class time.”
After International Club, I rush home and type up my physics lab notes. Between pages, I run online searches, looking for potential prom sites, and fill out contact forms, requesting information from the bigger venues around town. Mom left a note on the counter, saying she and Dad are at an engagement shoot in the town park. I shudder at the thought of my parents forcing the poor future bride and groom to pose in front of the stone fountain with a perfectly timed sunset in the background. Although, when you’re in love, you probably want to be in my parents’ photos. When you’ve grown up with your own personal paparazzi, you start to dream of bright, sunny days with harsh shadows or locations with dim lighting. I was their test subject for years, through my incredibly awkward frizzy-haired, acne-riddled middle school phase, until I begged them to please stop taking pictures of me.
Alone in the house, I reheat a bowl of chili, add chopped onion, pour the mixture over a plate of spaghetti, top it all off with shredded cheese, and carry it up to my bedroom. I switch on my monitor and eat dinner while waiting for Immortal Quest to power up. When the welcome screen appears, I strap on my headset and log on to Q-Chat for the first time in weeks. Sure enough, I find a message from Owen, aka HouseofLock.
HOL: Heard you’re trying to save the prom.
ESG: Not me. I’m hoping Jane can make it happen. I’ll assist.
His reply is instantaneous. He must be finished exploring the latest Immortal Quest release he told me about this morning.
HOL: Why not you? I can help.
I squint at the screen. Owen Locklear wants to help me run the prom committee? I wonder if Catherine the Great is putting him up to it. I’m about to shoot down his suggestion, but my fingers pause above my keyboard. If I did step up and he had my back…no way. Owen isn’t mine. Not in a dateable sense.
But does that even matter anymore? He’s my friend, and it would be fun to work on a committee with him before we part ways at the end of the school year.
ESG: With your help, I might be able to pull something together.
HOL: Count me in. We should do something different. You know, not a typical boring prom. Like no tuxes.
ESG: Tuxes are mandatory. It’s the only time I’ll see you dressed up. Ever.
HOL: I’ll wear my jacket backwards in protest.
Picturing Owen zombie-walking with his arms shoved in a backwards jacket makes me laugh. And I’m secretly swooning, because that would be totally adorable. When he pauses our conversation, I log in to the game and find him busy fighting a mob of green aliens. When the bad guys disperse, another message appears on the chat screen.
HOL: So, what about it? A backwards prom?
ESG: Sure. We’ll use the reverse spelling and call it a Morp.
HOL: I like it. Project Morp is on. Let’s go slay some aliens in Sector 10.
Chapter Three
Catherine
Still two months until prom
“Cat, there you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Owen Locklear
, my boyfriend of the past three-and-a-half years, corners me at my locker. A handful of students scurry down the hall on their way out, leaving me and Owen as the last people in the senior hallway, a gloomy corridor in an aging establishment built for the baby boomer generation.
“Hey, Owen. Sorry, I stopped to talk to Ms. Perry for a few minutes. What’s up?”
He gives me a curious glance, his blue eyes bright with mischief, before leaning back against the lockers and throwing me that grin of his that used to convince me to do just about anything. Lately, though, it only makes me suspect he’s up to something. “I have an update for you…about prom.”
I shove a piece of hair from my face and slam my locker, the metal reverberating against my hand, before spinning to stare at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You were right. Slater wants to cancel it due to lack of interest.”
“Well that’s totally insane. Of course people are interested. It’s tradition. It’s our senior prom, Owen.”
“That’s what I said, plus I have epic plans for the night.” He runs a hand through his messy dark brown hair, his signature move when he’s nervous about something. It used to be endearing, but in this instance, it only reinforces my suspicions. “Some of us are talking about planning an alternate event, a backwards prom. Morp, if you will.”
“Mor what?”
“Morp. It’s prom spelled backwards.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I mean no backwards prom. That’s ridiculous. Are you sure about prom being officially canceled? I mean, I heard it from someone who heard it from Tristan, but maybe someone’s messing with us. Like the ultimate senior prank.”
“I heard it from someone who got it straight from Slater’s mouth.”
I sigh and lean against my locker to stare up at him. Owen and I are a staple of Hamilton High. Since the day our parents arranged for us to attend Homecoming together freshman year, we’ve been the “it” couple. I adore him. I mean, how can I not? He’s the perfect guy—funny, hot, athletic, perfectly chiseled jaw, and about as considerate as they come. Perfect on paper, anyway.
Our relationship should have been a natural evolution of a friendship that started in diapers. A friends-to-more tale with a happily ever after. Real life doesn’t live up to the hype movies and books create, though.
We were each other’s firsts, but I think that night, more than anything else, was the beginning of the end for us. Our long-term friendship and deep trust in each other made it easy to take that step together. But after…we both admitted we anticipated something more than awkward fumbling and deflated expectations. Maybe the whole “getting it out of the way” thing was the wrong frame of mind. But you don’t get a do-over on your first time.
I do adore him, but just not in the way that a girlfriend should adore her boyfriend. These days, I think we’re holding on to our relationship for our parents’ sake more than our own. Or at least I am. Plus, it’s easy to navigate the social pitfalls of high school with Owen by my side. How messed up is that?
“If there’s no prom, then I won’t be Prom Queen. That’s not going to go over well at home. First I lose out on head cheerleader to Jessa Chang, and now this.”
“Who’s to say Morp can’t have a king and queen? And Jessa only beat you because of the sympathy vote.”
“Her dog died, Owen!”
“Six months ago!” He bumps me with his shoulder, which comes to my chin. Owen’s five-foot-ten frame isn’t necessarily tall, unless your girlfriend is five-foot even. “You were still the better candidate. So what were you talking to Perry about?”
Slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder, I start toward the exit, Owen falling in step beside me. We pass a closed door with the muffled sounds of the jazz band warming up behind it. “She wanted to talk to me about a musical in Cincinnati she thinks I should try out for.”
“Wow, Cat, that’s awesome.” He gives me his most charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Based on all the school productions I’ve seen you in, you’d be amazing.”
“Thanks, but I don’t know if I’ll even get cast. And if I do, it’ll interfere with my mom’s plans for me to take college courses over the summer.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Owen holds the door open for me, and I step outside into the bright afternoon sunshine. Grabbing my sunglasses from my bag, I push them on and wait for him to join me.
He lets the door close behind him and glances up at the sky, the smattering of freckles across his face appearing more prominent. “It’s your life, Cat.”
“You, almost better than anyone, know how my mother can be.”
“I—”
“Hey, Catherine, Owen,” Jeremy Davis, a guy from Owen’s baseball team, calls from across the parking lot.
We nod and wave as we continue to Owen’s Jeep. A breeze blows through the lot, rustling the new leaves of the sweetgum trees planted throughout, bringing a sweet fragrance as it scatters my hair.
“I support you, no matter what. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I push my hair out of my face and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, my lips brushing his stubble.
“In the interest of your legacy as Prom Queen, I’ve decided to join the planning committee. Gotta make sure this thing happens right.”
He pulls out his remote and clicks it, the doors to his black Jeep Wrangler unlocking. He opens the back and stows my bag along with his, then opens my door for me. After giving me a hand in, he runs to the other side and hops into the driver’s seat.
“I think it would be fun if you joined, too. We could really use the help.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I have time for one more thing. Especially if I decide to try out for the musical.”
He glances over at me, then backs out of the space, heading toward the exit. “Riley’s going to lead the committee, but you could help with a subcommittee or something. The prom fell apart because Tristan said no one was stepping up to help him out. This might be our only chance.” His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter than normal, the only indication he’s anxiously awaiting my response.
Riley Hart. The last person I want to spend time with. In fact, I have to wonder if this whole thing isn’t somehow her doing to keep me from being Prom Queen. It’s not like I wouldn’t deserve it after middle school, but that doesn’t mean I need to play into her trap. None of this is something I can discuss with Owen, though. He may know me better than almost anyone, but this shame I keep well-hidden.
I need to say something to get him to back off, though. “I’ll think about it.”
He grins broadly. “Cool. First meeting is Saturday morning. I’ll pick you up.”
“I said I’d think about it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get everything done as it is. Finals are coming up, I still need to plan the end-of-year cheerleading bonfire, since Jessa decided being head cheerleader is just a title that means she can delegate everything, and I have to find someone to run lines with and practice the musical numbers, all without my mom finding out.” I take a deep breath to refill my lungs after all that. It really comes down to my mom more than anything else. Because if she discovers I’m planning a future as a drama geek instead of as a partner in her law firm, I’ll be disowned.
Owen pulls up in front of my house and turns the Jeep off before hopping down to grab my bag out of the back. “Okay. I get it. You have a lot on your plate. But this could be really fun.” He leans down to give me a quick kiss, almost as an afterthought, before hopping back in his vehicle and roaring around the corner.
With a sigh, I head up our front walk and let myself in the house. “Dad? You here?”
“Hey Kitty Cat, up here.”
I inwardly groan at the lame nickname he’s called me since I was, like, three. Thank God he doesn’t say that around any of my friends, or I’d never hear the end of it. I drop my stuf
f by the door and hike up the stairs to find him in the spare room, painting the walls.
“What are you doing? Didn’t you teach today?”
“I did. But final period was a school assembly, so I left early. Decided to do some redecorating. I’m going to turn this into my study.” He rubs a hand across his chin, the whiskers of his goatee rustling beneath his fingers. “I’m going for something to stimulate my senses.”
I take in the persimmon-colored paint along the edges and the drips decorating his old jeans. “Well, this is definitely…stimulating.”
He nods, grinning. “I was invited to participate in a research grant on isotopes. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that. I might need something more to help jumpstart the creativity.” He tilts his head to the side, studying his handiwork.
I gently pat his shoulder. “Good luck with that, Dad.” Then I head down the hall to my bedroom, where the lavender walls are bathed in late-afternoon sun, making them appear brighter, like an Easter egg. I wonder if I should paint my room, too. I’ve outgrown this color, along with the pink and white furniture and the posters of Shawn Mendes. My room screams “a tween girl lives here.”
I walk to my closet and part my dresses, revealing my secret stash of old Broadway CDs from Grandma Reed. Little did she know that bequeathing me her prized collection when she entered an assisted living facility would kick off a decade-long-and-counting addiction to musical theater that must be kept hidden from her daughter-in-law.
I dig through the stack until I find the soundtrack to Wicked and pop it into an ancient Sony Walkman I picked up at a yard sale—the only thing I have that will play these discs. Sitting on my bed, I listen to the entire CD before replaying “Defying Gravity” until I have the lyrics down. Now all I need is to find somewhere besides the shower to practice singing.
Well, that and the stones to defy my mom and actually audition for the musical.
Prom-Wrecked Page 2
