Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  With a shrug, I turn back toward him, my smile in place. “Riley Hart.” Sure, it’s been a long time since we had a conversation about something besides prom, but she used to be my BFF. She knows lots of stuff about me. Stuff she could use to take me down. I’m shocked she hasn’t done it yet.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Riley Hart? Had you ever said more than two words to her before joining the prom committee?”

  Uh-oh. “Well, there was a time when we were friends.”

  He lets out a laugh before snapping his mouth shut. “Sorry, it’s just…you two seem like oil and water. I have a hard time buying that.”

  I agree, to be honest, but that doesn’t mean I want to share how horrible I was to Riley. Somewhere between admitting I was a total bitch and flat-out lying is a truth I can share. “We were childhood friends.” I shrug. “We grew apart over the years.”

  “Okay.” He pauses as if he’s trying to make sense of that, then wiggles his middle and pointer fingers at me. That’s one. I need two more.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  He leans back into the corner of the couch, one long leg thrust over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. “You’ve got natural talent, but you’re so uptight, you don’t really project the character you’re portraying. You need to let your guard down if you want to be able to convincingly become someone else.”

  “Okay, first—” I almost say I’ve been playing a character for most of the last five years of my life but stop short of that admission. My cheeks heat from anger and embarrassment. “My personal relationships are my business, and I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me.” But then the fight goes out of me. His assessment hit closer to home than I care to admit. With a sigh, I lean forward and shake my head, letting my long hair fall forward to partially block my view of him. And his view of me. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I have Owen and Hunter and my parents. I’m good.”

  He’s quiet for so long that I lift my head to turn toward him. He’s studying me with both amusement and something else I can’t quite place.

  “What?”

  “Just now. You. This is the most real I think you’ve ever been with me. I like it. It looks good on you.”

  I turn my face to hide my blush.

  The days are getting longer as the school year gets shorter. The sun is up well before we leave for school in the morning, unlike in winter. Owen and I have managed to keep up the charade of being in a relationship, and in some ways, our friendship is even stronger now that we’re no longer pretending between the two of us that there’s something more.

  “Have you heard anything yet?” he asks on our way to school Wednesday morning, the same question he’s asked the past two days.

  “Not yet. But we just auditioned a few days ago.”

  “Still, seems like they’d have some idea by now.”

  I blow out a nervous breath. “I have no idea how this works. It’s not like our school productions.”

  “Makes sense. Guess it’s like the difference between high school ball and pro ball.”

  “Probably.”

  He eases his Jeep into his parking spot near the front of the lot, where tall trees provide shade, keeping his Jeep cool even on the warmest days. His spot is painted in our school colors with his baseball jersey number in the center. As a fund-raiser, the school auctioned off parking spots and lets the seniors paint their spaces. It raises a lot of money for sports, but none for prom.

  “So, hey, not to be a pest, but have you heard anything more from the dress shop or anyone else about sponsoring the dance?”

  “Reading my mind again?” I ask with a smile.

  He grins at me. “Brilliant minds and all that…” He hops out and opens the back door to grab our bags while I climb down.

  “I have another confirmed yes from Wilson’s Creamery. No money up front, but he’ll split the proceeds from prom sales with us fifty-fifty. The T-shirt shop offered up two shirts for the prize pack that say Hamilton High Prom King and Prom Queen. I’m playing telephone tag with Riley’s mom, and I haven’t heard anything from Francine Baxter, but I haven’t followed up with her, either. I’ve been so wrapped up in the audition. Tell you what, I’ll make it a priority and get you a response one way or another by Friday.”

  “Thanks, Cat.”

  I reach over and give his hand a quick squeeze before we separate inside, going to our respective lockers. Jordon is waiting at mine, leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, as he studies his phone. His head lifts when I approach, a broad grin stretching his face.

  He wiggles his phone at me. “Told ya.”

  “Told me what?”

  “You’d get a callback.”

  I rush the last couple of feet to my locker and rip the phone from his hands. He has an email from the theater company with a list of names and dates. Sure enough, my name is on it. “No way!”

  “You didn’t get an email?”

  “Not last time I checked.” I dig around in my bag until my hand lands on my phone, and I pull it out, bringing up my email app. At the top of my inbox is a message from one Belinda Kubritz, director of Wicked, time-stamped ten minutes ago. A little paperclip icon is beside the subject line, indicating an attachment. With shaky hands, I open it and read the information regarding the callbacks with the song they want me to perform, along with some lines I should be prepared to deliver.

  My thumb hovers over the attachment before I click on it. It pulls up a page with Elphaba’s information, the song “Defying Gravity,” and lines from scene eleven, a scene with Fiyero.

  “Wanna rehearse tonight?” Jordon asks as soon as I’ve had time to scan the attachment twice.

  “Sure.” Then I remember the promise I just made to Owen. “Oh, wait, I can’t. I’m sorry, I have to work on getting donations for the prom.”

  “Do we need to make another visit to Francine’s Frocks?”

  “Yeah, but this is something I need to do with some of the girls. I have an idea.”

  The bell rings and we scurry in opposite directions on our way to our first classes. I slide into my seat before the tardy bell rings and send off a quick text to Jessa, Natalie, and Hannah, asking them to meet me at Francine’s after school today.

  “Oh wow, this would look amazing on me,” Jessa says, holding up my dress, the gold one that I have my heart set on.

  “I don’t know,” I say, “red’s more your color.”

  “I know. But I always wear red. This…this is different, unique.”

  “I’m planning on getting that one,” I say, knowing she’d never be caught dead in the same dress as someone else at her senior prom.

  “I saw it first.” She glances at the tag.

  Unlike us, her family struggles to make ends meet. I know the dress is out of her range.

  Instead of groaning at the price, though, she asks, “What’s the current tax rate?”

  “Five something, I think,” Hannah says.

  After a few more seconds, Jessa swings around with the dress in her arms and walks to the checkout desk without even bothering to try it on.

  No way. She doesn’t have that kind of money. But she reaches into her purse and pulls out a wad of crumpled cash. Like, actual dollars. No one pays with cash anymore. Ms. Baxter takes the dress and hangs it on the rod before placing it inside a protective black bag. Then she folds it in half and hands it to Jessa, who holds it in her arms, wearing a satisfied smirk.

  Ms. Baxter hums around her shop, helping the rest of the cheerleaders select and try on dresses. My eyes scan the store for something else to wear to the dance, but they keep landing on the gold dress. There’s no way Jessa and I can wear the same dress to prom. Or can we? She’s taller, more statuesque than I am, but my coloring is better suited for gold than hers.

  It’ll signal the end of our friendship, though. A friendship only in the loosest of terms. Friendship is supposed to be a two-way street, but Jessa is all about Jessa. She’s the one who demanded I cut Riley from ou
r social circle or face ostracism myself.

  A blue peacock dress draws my attention. It’s pretty, but not stunning.

  “That Riley chick is going to ruin prom. First a barn, now a tent in a field? Really?” Jessa says.

  Hannah responds with something I can’t hear.

  “Whatever. She’s still a loser. I can’t believe she thought she had the right to sit with us in middle school.”

  My shame at dumping Riley is replaced by a smoldering anger. Riley isn’t a loser. By any stretch. What the hell. I grab the gold dress, along with a few others to hide it, and head to the dressing room to try it on. It fits perfectly, except for the length. Something I’m used to. My skin nearly glows against the opulent color.

  I poke my head out of the dressing room, and I’m relieved, but not surprised, that Jessa’s gone now that her purchase has been made. Hannah and Natalie are still in the shop, looking at dresses. Burying the gold one beneath the others, I step out and wait for the girls to enter the stalls to try something on.

  Natalie glances at my armload, her eyes taking in the blue one on top. “Oh, that’s pretty. Are you going to get it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “If you don’t want it, can I try it?”

  “Of course.” My heart beats a little faster, wondering if I can hand it to her without revealing the other one, but she reaches over to grab it from me, the rest of the dresses tumbling to the floor.

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.”

  I shoo her away. “No, I’ve got it. I can’t wait to see how that dress looks on you.”

  Once she and Hannah disappear into the dressing rooms, I take the gold dress and put it on layaway—step one in operation Francine’s Frocks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley

  Four weeks until prom

  “Did you find a date? Or a dress? Or both?” Jane stops me in the hallway after class, and I can tell by her bright expression that she has news to share.

  “None of the above.” My eyes dart around the corridor, scoping out possibilities like I’m expecting a date to magically appear. “What about you?”

  Her smile is enough of an answer. “Jeremy asked me yesterday. You don’t mind, do you?”

  I hug my books tighter to my chest. One of my best possibilities just went up in smoke. But Jane’s my friend, and she’s much more interested in Jeremy than I ever was. “Why would I mind?”

  “Because he was flirting with you at the party and the barn cleanup day.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Jeremy flirts with everyone, but if you really want to go with him—”

  “I don’t. And yeah, I noticed his high-powered flirting.” I manage a short laugh. Sure, he talks to a lot of girls, but still, he did seem like a definite prom possibility.

  Jane bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’ll find a date. There’s always someone available. Try to decide soon, and we’ll start dress shopping. Hannah said the cheer girls already staked their claims on the hottest dresses at Francine’s.”

  I step around a cluster of wide-eyed freshmen exiting the auditorium. “Do you know of anyone looking for a date?”

  Jane eyes up the freshmen and shakes her head. “You could always ask an underclassman. I’m sure one of the junior guys would go with you. Or even a sophomore.”

  My heart sinks at the thought of asking a random sophomore to the prom. It’s just not what I pictured. “Right now, my goal is to find another senior to go with me. Especially if it won’t be a romantic date.”

  Catherine and Owen stroll out of a nearby classroom, heading our way. Owen’s head tilts toward Catherine as she talks to him out of the side of her mouth. I scan them from head to toe, looking for signs of unhappiness. They’re not smiling, but they aren’t fighting, either. Owen’s nodding along with whatever she’s saying, though the faraway look in his eyes shows he’s not really listening. As always, they seem to know they rule the school and everyone wants to be seen with them. Like, they’ve accepted their role, but they’re not necessarily excited about it anymore. High school eventually wears on everyone, I guess.

  Jane makes a quick move to step away from me. “Riley, careful—”

  I drag my eyes away from Catherine and Owen right before crashing into someone walking toward me from the opposite direction—Jordon, who’s also looking in Catherine and Owen’s direction. I go down hard, and Jordon throws out both arms, trying to stop me from falling. He loses his balance, tilting forward at a steep angle, and we both wind up on the floor in the middle of the hallway. Jordon’s heavy frames go flying. Before someone crunches his glasses beneath their feet, I stretch out my arm to grab them and hand them back to him.

  “My fault, Jordon. I was talking to Jane and not paying attention to where I was going.”

  He slides his glasses back on. “No, both of our faults. I wasn’t paying attention, either.” He extends a hand to help me to my feet. We stand facing each other, exchanging shy smiles as people dart around us like we’re part of a pop-up obstacle course. Suddenly, I get an idea. I decide to go for it.

  “Hey, Jordon. Are you taking anyone to the prom?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m planning on going with a group of friends from Drama Club.”

  I shift my weight back and forth. A bell rings, and the trickle of kids moving to class turns into a fast-running stream. Now or never.

  After sucking in a breath, I say, “Would you want to go together? Like a date, but a friendly date.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. “Sure.”

  “Really?” I squeak. Apparently this will be the easiest part of my senior prom experience. “Okay, cool. I’ve, uh, gotta go. We’ll talk, right?” With a wave, I duck around Jordon and race down the hall, pausing in the doorway of the physics lab, my heart pounding. I have a prom date. And I may also have a detention slip coming my way. But Mrs. Peel waves me inside, brushing over my late entrance.

  I slide into my seat, trying to catch my breath. Jane leans over her desk. “What took you so long? Did you hurt Jordon badly enough that he needed medical attention?”

  I half laugh. “No, he’s fine. We were talking. We’re going to prom together.”

  Jane’s eyes widen. “Riley Hart, you’re like the senior class Wonder Woman these days.”

  I unzip my backpack and pull out my lab notes. “Yeah, after worrying so much about finding a date, it wasn’t so hard. I mean, neither of us had plans to go with anyone else, so it worked out.”

  “Jordon’s cute and a good match for you. Are you interested in him? As more than a friend?”

  Next to me, a book thumps to the floor. I jump in my seat.

  “Sorry,” Catherine says, lasering a gaze my way. “Did you just say you’re going to prom with Jordon Oswald?”

  “Uh, yeah. We’re going. Together.”

  Catherine stares at me for a long time, and it’s a little uncomfortable.

  The classroom door slams when Mrs. Peel yanks on the knob, prepared to launch into today’s lecture. Catherine flinches at the loud bang, then seems to shake out of her stupor. She lifts a shoulder and turns to face the front of the room. “He has a cool car,” she says. “It’s a classic, whatever that means. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  “Actually, I like Owen’s Jeep,” I blurt out. Catherine shoots me a curious look before she flings open her laptop and begins to type like her perfectly manicured fingernails are on fire. Beside me, Jane clears her throat. There’s this awkward tension in the air, but to be honest, I’m not sure what it’s all about.

  Owen pauses when he passes by my locker after the final bell.

  I finish jotting an update on my calendar. A change to the student council meeting schedule, because Jane wants to go shopping before all the best dresses at Francine’s are snapped up by the rest of the senior girls. “Yes, Owen?”

  “Heard Jordon asked you to the prom,” he says in a dull voice.

  “Wrong,” I say, aiming a triumphant smile at
him. “I asked Jordon. Like the independent woman I am.”

  At this, Owen appears somewhat amused. “Sure you are. Do you like him?”

  Why is everyone so concerned about the liking part? Don’t people go to prom as friends all the time? “He’s a nice guy. And he was…available.” I shove my books in my backpack. “Gotta go. I’m meeting Barbecue Ray at the Cleary farm to talk about the menu.”

  Owen straightens up. “You scheduled a meeting about food? Why am I not involved?”

  “No one seemed to care about the menu, so I figured I’d handle it myself. Ray just wants to check out the space and find a good spot to set up his equipment. It should take all of five minutes.”

  “I’m going,” he says. “Not for the food. You shouldn’t meet him alone in an empty field. Even if you are an independent woman.”

  “Desmond said he’d go with me, but he’d be more than happy to step aside.” I pull out my phone and send Des a quick message. He sends me back a thumbs-up emoji. “Ready to go? Ray’s waiting.”

  Owen follows me to the parking lot and offers to drive. When I notice the high clearance of his Jeep and remember the post-tornado mess at our prom site, I gladly hop in the passenger side. We head out to the Cleary farm and find Ray sitting in the cab of a black truck with his smoker equipment attached to the back. He’s dressed in overalls, with a red bandana tied around his neck.

  “Classy,” I say. “Maybe the bandana goes with Hunter’s decorations.”

  “I bet you won’t ask Ray to wear a tux to prom,” Owen complains. “But I still have to.”

  “Ray’s a vendor and an adult. He won’t be named Prom King. If you want to grill up some burgers, you can wear overalls. I’m sure Catherine wouldn’t mind.”

  “Why do you always bring her up?” Owen asks, ducking out of the Jeep and slamming the door.