Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  “Dad and I will help. Catherine emailed us a sponsorship form, and I still need to fill it out and send in a check. We can also set up a do-it-yourself photo booth with some fun props. And maybe donate cases of water bottles and soda, if that’s okay?”

  I sniff. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She offers me a small smile. “I just bought some new digital equipment, and I want to test it out. At the end of the night, we’ll upload the shots to our website, and everyone can order what they want. No pressure, but maybe it’ll be enough to help cover some of your expenses.”

  “I’m sure everyone will love it.” I wrap my arms around her for a hug.

  “Why don’t you use the white string lights we stored in the basement after the holidays? You can always hang them up for decoration.”

  Everyone will be sitting on the bleachers in prom dresses and tuxes, but at least it’s something, right?

  When Mr. Slater finds out we lost our prom location and the ticket sale money, he offers to help by calling the mayor to confirm the sale of the Cleary property.

  “Apparently, the sale was approved by the township months ago,” he tells me. “I know you weren’t informed of this, Riley.” He loosens the knot of his tie, tugging forcefully. “Hiring a lawyer would probably cost more than the lost deposit. And it could take months…or years. In the meantime, what are your suggestions for new locations?”

  “The gym,” I say in a flat voice. “I know you didn’t want prom to be a school-sponsored event, but it’s the only place large enough to hold everyone.”

  Mr. Slater flips through the daily planner on his desk. “Looks like the gym is available, if you want it.” He offers me a supportive smile. “You’ve shown me how important this prom is to all of you in the senior class, and I want to help you see it through. At your next committee meeting, plan on rallying up a crew to decorate the gym. After this weekend’s robotics competition, we’re wrapping up end-of-the-year activities, so you should have free access the week before your prom.”

  I straighten in my chair. “If it’s all right with you, my parents agreed to donate snacks and drinks. And do you mind if I put a sign up saying the gym’s closed while I work on the decorations?”

  Eyeing me from across the desk, he nods. “I’ll make an announcement today that due to unforeseen circumstances, the location of the prom has been changed. We’ll provide additional information once you finalize the details with the rest of the committee.”

  I scoot out of his office, already making a mental list of all the work I need to do, but no way am I bringing the rest of them into this disaster again.

  When I return to my locker, my phone buzzes with a text.

  Jane: Any news on prom?

  Riley: Prom is on. Working on a new location. Spread the word if you can.

  Jane: Will do. Where?

  Riley: TBD.

  I’m not ready to admit that the new location is Gymnasium A.

  As promised, Mr. Slater makes the announcement during last period, and I duck out of school before anyone can corner me and ask for more details. For the rest of the week, I avoid Jane, Owen, Desmond, and everyone else on the committee. Though I catch whispers between classes from seniors wondering where prom will be held, no one on the committee goes out of their way to pester me for an update. They must be fed up with prom planning. Personally, I never want to hear the word prom again after I leave high school. But I haven’t given up yet, although I so badly want to.

  Since I don’t have the heart to ask Owen, Catherine, and the gang to start over with me, I plan on working alone. Once the robotics competition is finished, I should be able to pull something together in a week.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Riley

  The week before prom

  I leave for school early on Monday morning, weighed down with some new decorations, ready to start clearing out the gym. I spend an hour scraping chewing gum from the bleachers and sweeping away candy wrappers and leaky pens. Notebook in hand, I size up the space and sketch a quick floor plan before filling it with tables and chairs. I try out different arrangements, lifting chairs from the stacks piled high behind the basketball hoop until my arms ache.

  For the rest of the week, I spend every free minute working on the secret prom location. At night, my mother and I untangle our supply of white string lights. We’re one of those families with an excessive inventory of holiday decorations.

  “Your new theme should be winter wonderland,” Mom suggests when I show her pictures of prom-in-progress on my phone. “I might have a snow-making machine in the basement. I think I used it for a photoshoot last year.”

  We drag the snow machine upstairs, and Dad spends an hour relearning how to work it. When he finally gets it going, it spits out snow fast enough to create a mini ski mountain in our backyard, but five minutes later, we’re left with a melted mess.

  “Probably not. But thanks for trying, Dad.” The last thing I need is for prom to end with a gym floor covered in wet slush.

  In school the next day, Owen stops by my locker for the first time in over a week, shifting on his feet. “How are you holding up with the prom changes? Sounds like Slater has the new location covered.”

  I lift my chin, ready to take the responsibility for my failure to come up with a perfect location. At this point, any form of prom counts as a success in my book. “The prom committee is still my responsibility. I’m working with Mr. Slater on this.”

  “Wait. What?” Owen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Exactly what are you and Slater working on?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Everything is set, plus my parents are helping behind the scenes with the photo booth and music.” After saying just enough to keep Owen satisfied, I hurry off, ignoring him when he tries to call me back.

  Two hours later, when my arms give out and I can’t look at the half-decorated gym for one more minute, I lock the door behind me and head for my car. But Owen appears out of nowhere, chasing me down the empty corridor. “Hey, Riley. Hold up. I need to talk to you about something Catherine’s been working on for prom.”

  “We’ll still have the Prom Queen vote, I promise,” I say, unable to look him in the eye and tell him the new location is the gym. His disappointment may be one too many knives to my weak heart. Maybe I’ll be brave enough to send him a text later today.

  “It’s not about Prom Queen, it’s about prom. Morp. I, uh, need to get an update from her. Or maybe you should talk to her directly? I’m not sure what’s going on.” He follows me out to the parking lot, rambling on, and to be honest I’m so wrapped up in my mental to-do list that I’m only half listening. Thankfully, he drops the whole conversation without pushing too hard, but I sense he wants to talk to me about something. Probably another Immortal Quest update. I haven’t even looked at the game once this week.

  The late afternoon sun hits the top of my head, and I push my sweaty hair off my face, feeling my cheeks burn from overexertion. My body wasn’t made for powerlifting furniture, but I finally set up enough tables and chairs to cover ticket sales.

  He steps between me and my car. “You look worn out. Tell me what’s going on.”

  My hands move to my hips, and I bite back a groan of pain at the slight shift. “Everything’s fine. Totally fine.”

  He studies me for a long time before dropping back and kicking his sneaker over a loose patch of gravel. “Maybe I haven’t been completely honest with you. About prom and…other things, too.”

  Oh no. This is not the time for true confessions from Owen.

  I pause, bracing myself for what’s coming next, hoping against hope that he’s not about to dump another prom-related disaster on me.

  “I waited for you because I want to talk about us.” He gestures to indicate him…and me.

  My eyes narrow. “What do you mean us?”

  He hesitates before drawing in a deep breath and saying, “I mean us as more than friends.”

  I glance toward the sky, wondering if it’s abo
ut to fall on my head. My entire body warms at least ten degrees, and my hands start to shake. “No way. We’re not going there. Aren’t you and Catherine still pretending to be together? I can’t be in the middle of whatever it is you two have going on.”

  “We’re not pretending anymore. We decided to do the right thing for everyone and be honest about how we feel.” Owen closes the distance between us. “Riley, I like you. A lot. And Catherine thinks you might like me.”

  Surely he’s joking. Is Catherine trying to ignite some sort of pre-prom drama between them? I meet his steady gaze and realize he’s completely serious. “Why does she think that?”

  Looking away, Owen shoves one hand into his pocket. “You know her. She’s much more observant than me. And she noticed how I talk about you all the time. And when I do, it’s, like…different from the way I talk about other girls. So, I thought, maybe I should ask you if there’s any, um, possibility that you feel the same way?”

  I can’t miss the hope in his eyes. But I need to focus on college. Owen and I are moving on, whether we want to or not. “Of course I like you. I’ve always liked you. But isn’t it too late for us? High school is just about over.”

  The silence of the deserted parking lot presses in around us, squeezing a ragged breath from my chest. I want him to argue, to tell me we can find a way to at least try to be together. But he nods, staring past me like he’s having a silent conversation with himself before sliding to the left, clearing a path to my car.

  Darting around him I yank the door handle up with all my might and duck into the Kia. I’m so busy fumbling with my bags that I almost miss what he says next.

  “You’re still going to Bucknell, aren’t you?”

  I latch on to the steering wheel like it’s a lifesaving flotation device, momentarily forgetting how to start the engine. “Of course. It was my first choice.”

  He makes a quick move and grips the top of the door, holding it open. “Right before athletic declaration day, I talked to their baseball coach and asked about the possibility of playing for them. He called me back a month later, after I’d accepted at UC. I never got back to him.” Owen leans forward, close enough that his forehead nearly touches mine. “Last week, he called again. One of his incoming freshmen withdrew because he decided to skip college and go right to the minors. So the team’s looking for a third baseman. The Bucknell coach…he offered me scholarship money.”

  My heart seems to ball up in my chest. “How much scholarship money? More than UC?”

  The corner of his mouth tilts up. “A lot more than UC.” He backs away and taps my car door closed, watching me through the open window. My mouth opens, but no words come out. This can’t be happening. The words that just came out of Owen’s mouth…I must have imagined them.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing yet. I wanted to talk to you about it first. Would you be okay with us going to the same school next year?”

  This is not what I planned. Never in a billion years did I imagine a scenario where Owen and I went to college together.

  I feel anxious and happy at the same time. I can’t decide which emotion is setting off the circus now taking place in my stomach. “I want you to do what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Owen.” But my smile betrays the amount of joy welling inside of me. “So, um, let me know what you decide.” Before I lose control and shamelessly plead with him to make a decision based on what I want, I slam my foot on the gas, back away, turn the wheel, and zoom out of the parking lot.

  I catch him in my rearview mirror watching me drive away, smiling to himself.

  I pace circles around my bedroom, hands clenched at my sides, resisting the impulse to fire up Immortal Quest. My favorite form of stress relief is now my greatest source of anxiety. The thought of logging in and discovering a new message from Owen is terrifying. How do I respond? Half of me thinks he might ask about college again. The other half thinks he’ll laugh off the idea of switching schools and admit he was playing some kind of practical joke. But he didn’t sound like he was joking in the parking lot an hour ago.

  Rather than give in to the temptation to check Q-chat, I dive into homework. Unable to concentrate on my calc problems, I head to the kitchen and cram a banana, strawberries, and pineapple chunks into my smoothie maker. Once I’ve pulverized the fruit, I add ice and dump the concoction in my travel mug before driving back to school to finish decorating. I work past midnight, creating a prom out of nothing, trying to copy Hunter’s initial design. In the end, my version looks like a bunch of bleachers with white bedsheets twisted on top. The string lights flicker when I plug them in, and half of them go out. Wonderful.

  Behind one of the basketball hoops, I set up Mom’s photo booth using masquerade masks with feathers and a printed sign with #HamiltonMorp. When the booth is ready, I check for messages from Owen. Nothing from him, but Mr. Slater sent an email, telling me he plans to reveal the prom’s new location tomorrow, which means everyone will be stopping by the gym to check out what I’ve done. The thought of revealing this last secret to Owen and the rest of the senior class makes my stomach churn.

  Did I fail to make everyone’s prom dreams come true? Looking around the gym, I realize that just like there are varying degrees of success, there’s also a wide range of failure. To Owen, prom means a time to get our class together and celebrate, no matter when or where. He doesn’t even want to dress up. Desmond wanted prom to happen so he could finally have his chance to ask Carrie on a date. And Catherine wants to be Prom Queen. If I pull off this version of prom, their wishes will be granted.

  But what did I want? After missing out last year, I wanted to go to at least one prom before graduation. I wanted to help my friends. I wanted to stop using my friendship breakup with Catherine as the reason why I never tried to do something bigger and better in high school. Most of all, I wanted Owen to notice me as more than his gaming buddy. But I could never let myself want more—not with Owen. Not until he went and changed everything.

  When my alarm buzzes, I race to get dressed, pull my hair into a ponytail, and drive back to school to finish the decorations before afternoon announcements. Based on some last-minute ticket sales, I need to add one more table. I’m setting up chairs when the gym doors burst open.

  “Gym’s closed,” I call, not bothering to turn around. “Did you miss the Keep Out sign?”

  “I tried to catch you before homeroom, but you walked right by me,” Owen says. “Why are you skipping class?”

  The folding chair I’m holding slides through my hands and clunks against the wood floor. “Owen, please, you can’t tell anyone I’m in here.”

  He crosses the basketball court and stands in front of me. “You drove away from me yesterday, and I wasn’t finished. Can we talk now? I need to tell you something.”

  “About college? I’m sort of busy.”

  “Not about college.”

  “Can it wait?” I press my fingertips into my temples, hoping to ease the pounding in my head. “Look, this is already going down as the worst prom in history. I’m trying to salvage what’s left and not be laughed off the stage at graduation.”

  “Riley, no one blames you for the whole Project Morp disaster. Who can predict a tornado?”

  “I lost the deposit. Maybe if I’d come clean and stepped down then, someone else would have taken over. Made better decisions.” My eyes start to mist. “What was I thinking, having a prom on a farm?”

  Owen’s arms slide around my waist, pulling me close. My forehead rests against his chest, and I feel his heart beating through his shirt in a soothing rhythm. He breathes in deeply, and I let him hold me in a way I never could before. Owen’s always been there for me as a friend, but having him here for me now, in this way, is so new and different that I forget about prom until he whispers into my hair, “You were thinking you wanted to do something nice for everyone.”

  A shaky laugh pushes out of my chest. “Not everyone. For myself, because
I didn’t go to junior prom. All my friends were paired up, and I didn’t want to be the only one without a date. Do you know what it’s like to scroll through pictures of everyone having a blast while you’re home alone? To spend hours looking for a dress in case someone asks you at the last minute, but no one ever does?” I force a small smile. “Probably not, right?”

  His hand runs over my hair. “Would you believe me if I said junior prom wasn’t as much fun as people made it look in the pictures?”

  I fake-scoff. “Of course you’d say that.”

  Owen backs away with a sigh. He sinks into a folding chair and rests back, elbows wide, cradling his head in his hands. “You’ll see for yourself, I guess. So, did you think about what I said yesterday?”

  “About the possibility of you switching colleges?” I fall into the seat next to him. “You changed the game on me, Owen. I thought this was the end for us. I spent the last few months preparing to say goodbye to you.” I lift my eyes to his. “Is it true?”

  He reaches for my hand. “I’d like it to be true. I haven’t withdrawn from UC yet. I won’t go to Bucknell if you don’t want me there. It’d be awkward, right?”

  “We’d still be friends. We’ll always be friends. Do you even like Bucknell? Have you toured the campus?”

  “Not yet, but my dad offered to take a road trip and check it out. You picked it, so it must be cool, right?”

  For the first time, I allow myself to consider the possibility of not leaving Owen behind. “Why now? You loved Catherine for so long.”

  His face turns into a mask of concentration, like he wants to give me his most honest, perfect answer. “Maybe I loved the idea of her and me. Everyone else did. But there was this other girl I could never get out of my head. She was the one I could tell anything. She’s the one who knows me best, and she’s the one I want to be with.”