Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  Jeremy’s parties are notorious for getting rowdy, including copious amounts of vomit, so I throw on a dark T-shirt to go with my jeans and run a brush through my hair just in time to meet Hunter out front.

  Using the running board as a step, I haul myself into the passenger side of her gigantic truck and start messing with the radio.

  “Hey, I was listening to that.”

  “Country music is so depressing. We need something more upbeat.”

  “My truck, my music.”

  “Just trying to cheer you up,” I mumble and tune the radio back to some sappy, twangy song about heartbreak or death or something else morose.

  “Do you think prom is really canceled for good this time? I mean, Riley’ll come around, right? You’ve known her the longest. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I think she meant it. This might have been one thing too many. And I can’t say I blame her.”

  “I’m asking Simone tonight, so there better be one. I don’t care if we dance in an empty field under the stars.”

  The two blocks leading up to the Davis house are cluttered with cars by the time we arrive. Hunter manages to parallel her mammoth truck between a tiny Honda and Hannah’s pink VW Bug.

  I open my door and leap down the cavernous distance from her truck seat to the ground without breaking an ankle. Hunter’s head is on a swivel as we walk the block and a half to Jeremy’s.

  “What does Simone drive?” I ask.

  “Red Sentra.”

  I keep my eyes peeled to the left as she scans the right, but we arrive at the house without seeing the target car. The front door is open, and kids already tumble out of it into the front yard. A girl and boy are tangled up together on the porch swing while a couple of baseball players hoot their approval from the grass.

  “Hey, where’s Owen?” someone yells.

  A red cup is thrust into my hand by a junior I recognize from my Spanish class two years ago.

  “Thanks,” I say, sniffing it before taking a sip of warm, flat beer.

  Hunter and I head inside, where the bass thumps against my ribs and the music is so distorted I can’t even tell what it is.

  “Over here,” Hunter yells in my ear and grabs my sleeve to tug me along.

  Sure enough, Simone is at the kitchen island, an impressive lineup of shots in front of her.

  Hunter leans in. “I’m going to wait until she does those, then I’m gonna make my move.”

  Simone’s best friend, Janell, stands behind her, Simone’s thick blond curls clamped tightly in Janell’s fist.

  Simone crosses her arms behind her back. “To hell with heteronormative standards,” she yells before bending forward and wrapping her lips around the first glass. She stands, tilting her head back as the crowd around her whoops and applauds.

  “Damn, that’s hot,” Hunter says beside me.

  Simone places the glass back on the counter with her mouth, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Something tells me that’s not her first shot. Her eyes take on a glassiness, and she sways on her feet. A tear slips out of the corner of her eye, and her lip wobbles before she leans over and barfs on the floor in front of her.

  “So much for making your big move tonight,” I say.

  Hunter lets out a long sigh before turning and heading toward the sliding glass doors. “Let’s get another drink.”

  While Hunter gets in line for the keg, my eyes roam the backyard, landing on Owen sitting on the deck with a dejected Riley.

  Hunter materializes beside me, beer spilling over the side of her cup. “There’s your boy. Let’s join him.” She tugs me over to them. “Hey, Riles,” she says with way too much enthusiasm. Who gets drunk off of one beer? I guess I’m designated driver tonight. The thought of driving Hunter’s truck terrifies me in the daylight—driving it after dark is the stuff nightmares are made of. I’m beginning to think that Owen is our best option for a ride home. Even so, I turn my drink over and dump my beer onto the grass but hang onto my red plastic cup to give my hands something to do.

  Riley glances up at Hunter with suspicion, and yeah, I can understand that. Riley and Hunter have never hung out together, as far as I know, and I’ve never heard anyone call her “Riles,” not even Desmond.

  “Hi,” she says, her tone flat.

  “So, prom-morp is still happening, right? You weren’t serious about it being canceled. Were you?”

  Riley starts to say something, then lets out a loud, hiccupy sob. “I’m so sorry about your decorations, Hunter.”

  “I’ll be upset about that tomorrow, but tonight, I need to know it wasn’t all in vain. Tell me it’s still a go.”

  “We only have three weeks left before prom and nothing to show for it. No venue, no decorations, no band, no food, no money. So, unless we want to start back at the beginning, it’s not happening.” She pushes up from the deck. “I’m sorry about your art project. It was…really great.” Her voice breaks, and she turns abruptly, marching inside.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Hunter asks, dropping down beside me.

  I shake my head, but I’m less worried about Hunter at the moment. My heart is beating fast, and I’m confused over the reason why. I mean, I should be upset because prom is canceled and now I won’t be crowned Prom Queen, but instead, I’m upset for Riley. Even though we were all in this together, she has been carrying nearly the entire load, with only bits of help here and there from everyone else.

  I’ve been so worried Riley was setting me up for some revenge-fueled payback. But as I think over the years since we parted ways, she’s never been anything but nice to me. Riley couldn’t fake being genuine if her life depended on it. One of the things I’ve always admired about her is her transparency. Jessa and Natalie said it made her weak, but being comfortable with who you truly are is a strength I’ve never possessed, a strength I admire.

  I’ve tried to make Riley the villain in all this to ease my guilt or justify my actions, but it’s always been me. It’s not even Jessa. I made the decision, I’m the bad guy. And it’s long past time to undo the damage I caused.

  “We need to do something,” I say.

  Owen glances over at me, his face twisted with something more than just disappointment over prom, his gaze locked on the door Riley just powered through. Could he actually like, like, Riley? The way she likes him? It’s not as crazy as some people in my social circle might think. They probably have more in common than anyone knows. They’re both thoughtful, genuine, honest, and hardworking. In fact, the things I admire the most about Owen are what I also admire about Riley. How did I never make this connection before?

  “Owen, we need to fix this. Riley worked so hard, and now it all fell apart. Again.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing the past month? I’ve been trying to make this happen, too.”

  He’s right. He put way more effort into this than I’ve given him credit for. I blow out a breath. “I know. But…I haven’t. At least not as much as I should’ve. This prom needs to happen for Riley. More than for anyone else. We only have three sponsors to show for my effort, and one is Riley’s parents. But…I have an idea on how to get money out of Ms. Baxter. I don’t think that’s going to be enough, though, and we need a place to hold it.”

  “Do you have a secret venue I don’t know about?”

  I sigh and shake my head, but then something comes to me. Something I’m not sure I want to do, but maybe it’ll be worth it in the end. “No, but I might know someone who knows someone who does.”

  Saturday morning, I meet Owen, Hunter, and Jordon at Starbucks to discuss Plan D, or is it Plan E? I don’t even know what iteration of our prom plans we’re on these days.

  “What’s up?” Jordon asks, plopping down on the bench across from me and Owen, an iced tea in his hand.

  “Yeah,” Hunter says behind dark glasses. “What was so important I had to get up at the asscrack of dawn?”

  “First, it’s ten thirty, second, how muc
h did you drink last night? I lost count after the third beer.”

  She pulls her shades down and glares at me over the tops of the frames before pushing them back up and taking a sip of her Trenta iced coffee.

  “Okay, so I have an idea on how we still might be able to make prom happen.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Jordon says.

  Under the table, Owen gives my hand a little squeeze of encouragement as my heart beats out a staccato rhythm against my ribs. “Well, I think my mom may be able to help us. I’m going to ask her, and she’s more likely to agree with an audience. So…I was hoping you’d come with me and Owen to my house right now and see if we can make this thing happen.”

  Jordon and Hunter stare at me without responding for several long moments. Then Hunter pivots and gets up off the bench. “Fine. I’ve got an appointment with my bed at noon, so let’s get a move on.”

  Owen pulls to the curb in front of my house. Old Mrs. Abbacus is on her front porch, watching, waiting for the delinquent teenagers to start a ruckus. Owen hops out and waves with his signature grin. “Hello, Mrs. A.”

  Her face scrunches as she lifts a hand in a half wave, as if she’s just now realized that teenagers are actually human beings and capable of polite behavior. Owen flips the seat forward so Jordon and Hunter can climb out of the back.

  With a deep breath, I stand up straight, lift my chin, and lead the way toward my front door. My hand only hesitates for a second before I twist the doorknob and shove my way inside with a smile plastered across my face. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.”

  “In here,” my mom calls from the kitchen.

  She glances up, taking in my friends behind me as we enter, then closes her laptop and folds her hands across the top. We’ve barely been civil to one another since I told her I got a part in Wicked, and I guess she’s not about to pretend things are great, even in front of my friends.

  She does give Owen and Hunter a courteous nod, though, before narrowing her eyes at Jordon. She’s not a fan and blames him for my “sudden” interest in theater. Little does she know this obsession goes back to the CDs her mother-in-law gave me a decade ago.

  Dad wanders into the kitchen, an empty bowl in one hand. “Well hello there, Catherine’s friends.”

  My friends mutter hellos but don’t seem to know what else to say to him.

  “What brings you around here this fine morning?”

  “Um, well, we have a problem and have a few ideas, but were hoping for some help,” I say.

  Mom shoves her laptop out of the way, giving us her undivided attention. Dad kisses her head and takes the empty stool beside her. “What kind of problem?”

  “Our prom has turned into a disaster,” Owen says, then spends a good half hour explaining every horrible event that has befallen our sad little Morp since the beginning.

  My dad’s eyes widen with each incident, and Mom bites her lip as she listens. When Owen gets to yesterday’s demolition, her hand covers her mouth.

  “I can’t believe this. Are you sure someone’s not behind all of this?” Mom asks.

  “It does seem that way,” Dad says.

  “Owen said the same thing,” I say.

  Mom glances at Owen.

  He shakes his head. “I did think that. But after spending a good part of yesterday afternoon and this morning looking into it, I have to admit it’s just a huge, long series of unfortunate events. Even if someone stole the deposit money from Riley, no one can control the weather, and the field’s owner took our deposit and skipped town. This morning I found out she sold the property before Riley ever talked to her about using it for prom. I don’t see any of these being related to one another, other than being a string of bad luck.”

  I give Owen a small smile, glad he came to that conclusion on his own.

  “How can we help?” Mom asks.

  “Well…I was hoping you could ask one of your clients if we could rent a venue at a discount,” I say. “We have the social media campaign, which is kind of a bust so far, but I can contact the newspaper and local TV stations about doing a human-interest story. Maybe get some positive press for any businesses willing to help us.”

  “How much of a discount?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have any money left and nothing to show for what’s already been spent. Jane started a GoFundMe, but we’ve only raised a whopping one hundred dollars with that so far. I’m still hoping Francine’s Frocks will come through with something, though.”

  Mom sighs and glances at my friends. “Could you please give us a moment alone with our daughter?”

  “Sure,” Owen says and grabs Hunter’s sleeve, tugging her from the kitchen. Jordon follows, closing the door behind him.

  Mom leans against the back of her stool and sighs. “What’s going on, Catherine? First you tell me you’re not going to college and now you want me to convince one of my biggest clients to basically provide the equivalent of a pro bono night?”

  “I never said I wasn’t going to college. I just don’t want to go to OSU. And I don’t want to go into law.”

  Dad reaches over and places a hand on my mom’s arm. She shrugs it off and stares me down. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “Neither do I.” I’ve been so busy trying to be the daughter she wants, I lost sight of the real me. The problem is, I don’t even like this character I’ve created for myself. I let my mom tell me what I should do with my life and Jessa tell me who I can be friends with. I need to stand up for myself, my real self. “I want to go to UC and study drama.”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “Mom…you never listen to me. I’ve always wanted this. You never came to any of my ballet recitals or any of my performances. If you did, you’d know that not only do I love it, but I’m good at it. Really good. But…” I drop my head and twist my fingers together, gaining the courage to go on. “I can’t do it on my own. I need you to support me in this. But if you can’t, I guess I’ll go to OSU for you. But I won’t go to law school.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “For me? This is about your future, not mine.”

  “Is it, though?”

  Mom rubs her eyes before glancing up at me again. “Yes, it is. Just because I don’t want you to throw your life away doesn’t mean you don’t have any choice in the matter. Do you know how many people make it in Hollywood or on Broadway? It’s a long shot.”

  “I know that. I don’t have unreal expectations. But I have to find out for myself. I’d hate to be on the verge of forty and wish I’d have done something different with my life. At least if I try and fail, I’ll know.”

  She closes her eyes and sighs before getting up and leaving the kitchen without another word.

  My shoulders deflate as the breath I’ve been holding leaves my lungs. I turn to Dad. “That went well.”

  He tears his eyes away from the door and pats the seat my mom just vacated. “Sit.”

  With a glance over my shoulder, wondering what my friends are up to out there, I cross the kitchen and plop my butt down on the stool.

  “Before you were born, I was a researcher. It was the best job I could have ever imagined.”

  I stop tracing the lines in the stone countertop to look at my dad. Really look at him. To me, he’s always been a middle school science teacher. Sure, I knew he had a job before, but he never talks about it. I thought that was because he hated it.

  “The day you came into our lives, I knew my role was to stay home and take care of you. So I turned in my resignation, packed up my desk, and carried my sad cardboard box of crap out to my car.”

  “Dad…”

  He puts up a hand. “Life is fluid, constantly changing, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pursue your dreams. I don’t regret a single moment of staying home with you, of being able to be here for you after school and during the summers.”

  “I thought you just did it because Mom didn’t want to.”

  He lets out a soft laugh. “No. She was jealous of
me. She hated leaving you every day. But her job paid more than mine, and she was on track to make partner. Leaving her job would have put all that in jeopardy.”

  “So you gave up your dreams for me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. My dreams changed. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. But you’re growing up, Kitty Cat, and you don’t need me as much anymore. So I’m going to go back to the lab.”

  “I’ll always need you, Dad,” I whisper. “But I’m glad you’re going back to doing what you love.”

  “Your mom doesn’t know you the way I do. Her job requires long hours. She saw this as my time with you and figured she’d get her chance when you were grown. I think she’s worried she made the wrong choice.”

  Tears prick my eyes, and I glance down so he won’t see them. “Oh.”

  Not only does she not know me, apparently I don’t know her, either.

  Mom sits at the counter with her iPad and laptop, phone clutched in her hand when I enter the kitchen Sunday morning. She glances up, eyes puffy as if she barely got any sleep last night.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  “Good morning.” She returns to her laptop and types for a minute before closing it and turning toward me. “I think I have an idea for your prom.”

  “Really? Oh, Mom, that’s great. What is it?”

  “Miami Valley Vineyards had a wedding cancel the weekend of your prom. They called me to help resolve a dispute with the couple over the deposit. The wedding is definitely off, but the venue, flowers, and food are already paid for.”

  “Oh my gosh, Mom, that’s…amazing. The best!”

  “Well, it’s not a done deal yet, there’s a chance the couple will insist on using the venue for some other event since they paid for it, but give me some time to work it all out. You’ll need to be flexible, because it might not come together at all, or fall into place at the last minute.”

  “Of course. I mean, we’ve been nothing if not flexible so far. We’ll make sure we have a backup plan in place.”