Cindy and the Prom King

by Carol Culver

  At this, Cindy noticed several teachers in the front row looked at each other and there was a low rumble of voices from the students that sounded anxious, or possibly even angry, but which Kavanaugh seemed to interpret as approval. Maybe that’s because it’s all he’d ever heard in the military or at Cuthbert.

  “My experience has shown over and over again that even in the best of institutions, which Manderley certainly is, without strong leadership and strict standards, discipline begins to falter.”

  Falter? What did that mean? Had it faltered last year? Before that? Being new to the school, Cindy really didn’t know.

  “Now there are those in modem society who say ‘mature’ people already have the sense and discipline to behave themselves. They think it’s not our place to make rules such as a zero-tolerance drug and alcohol policy and a secure monitored campus. They think it’s wrong to punish those who break our rules because it might put a damper on their children’s precious creativity.” Here his mouth twisted in a slight sneer and his cold eyes swept accusingly across the teachers in the front rows. His earlier friendly expression had hardened into a grimace that suggested his opinion of this view bordered on treason. And everyone knew what the punishment for treason was.

  “We’re at war, people,” he said, gripping the podium, leaning forward and raising his voice. “At war against mediocrity, laziness, counterculture values, immorality and just plain slovenliness. I learned in the military what a powerful effect good discipline, structure and a certain rigidity has on performance and morale. At Cuthbert they worked just as well as they will work here. I have been given the challenge to institute some of these same changes at your school and I will do it.

  “Change number one. Students will be evaluated not only on academics, which are important of course, but on cooperation, respect, hygiene and honesty.”

  Cindy looked around. Rebellious murmurs filled the air. Students were wide-eyed. Some teachers looked like they’d been hit with a cattle prod. With Kavanaugh in charge, it wasn’t that far-fetched.

  Kavanaugh seemed unaffected. “By earning points, students can improve their rank. I will post a complete list of rankings so the whole school knows who’s above or below them—along with a list of ways to improve rankings, such as volunteering for honor guard, drill team and campus monitor.” He looked around as if he expected to receive a standing ovation for his plan, but there was only a stunned silence. But that didn’t stop him. He continued.

  “Moving right along. Here’s one of my most popular innovations at Cuthbert. Calisthenics before school. As soon as I can hire some drill instructors we will have mandatory workouts every morning at seven-thirty. No excuses. No absences. No exceptions. Even for our outstanding athletes. Now I have only one question for you. Are you willing to become a better school? Do you want to change? Are you with me?”

  If he expected thunderous applause, it didn’t come. There was only a smattering of polite clapping. In fact, the audience seemed to have fallen into a collective trance, totally puzzled as to how to react. Then he strode off the stage and took a seat. The student body president made some announcements about a change in the schedule and about the mixer coming up the next week.

  With a nervous side glance at the new headmaster, the president told the students that there were new rules in place for the mixer, such as no student who’d been caught imbibing alcohol or wearing improper clothing or engaging in immoral behavior on the dance floor would be allowed to participate in the dance.

  There was a moment of shocked silence before the kids started booing. The president quickly left the stage. The noise level skyrocketed as the students poured into the halls on their way back to class.

  “What did you think?” Cindy’s friend Scott asked when she saw him in the hall.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never met a headmaster before.” She raised her eyebrows. “You look worried.”

  “Worried? The guy is psycho. Did you hear what he said? Do you know what it means? Calisthenics? A ranking system? What rank do you think you’d get?”

  Cindy shook her head. “Private first class?”

  “You wish. Because you’re new you’d be a buck private. Nope, life at Manderley will never be the same. I’m calling a special meeting of the Gay-Lesbian Alliance today. This guy has got to be stopped. Care to join us?”

  “But I’m not…”

  “I know you’re not gay. You don’t have to be.”

  “I’m not a rebel either.”

  He squeezed her arm. “I know, but I like you anyway.”

  eighteen

  The worse you are at thinking the better you are at drinking.

  —Terry Goodkind

  Toby met Richard in the school parking lot on the night of the Welcome Dance. If it weren’t for Richard’s boring econo-Nissan Sentra his uptight parents (who’d surprisingly been friends of Toby’s not-so-uptight parents since forever) thought was appropriate for an uptight kid his age, the parking lot could have doubled for a Lexus dealership. Most of Toby’s friends were driving the most expensive cars on the market.

  And why shouldn’t they? Their fathers were CEOs or venture capitalists or entrepreneurs who courted venture capitalists. Some may have failed at their first attempt to become Silicon Valley millionaires, and were left with a portfolio of worthless stock options. But if they had any balls, they’d just picked up the pieces and started again. Until they’d finally succeeded.

  Some were retired professional athletes whose kids were on the Manderley teams. If any of these parents couldn’t afford a luxury car for their sons or daughters, well, the kids didn’t have any business going to Manderley. At least that’s what Toby thought.

  Clearly nervous, Richard looked around the parking lot. “Where’re Steve and Jared?” he asked. You’d think he’d never had a drink before a dance before. Maybe he hadn’t. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember seeing Richard at the dances last year. So why now? Why this year? Why tonight when the new rules were supposedly in effect?

  “Relax, dude,” Toby said, leaning back against the passenger seat of the Sentra, “they’ll be here.”

  “They’re bringing the beer? You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

  “They better not bring Colt 45 or Schlitz or something.”

  “Why, what do you drink, Cristal?”

  “No, it’s just… never mind.”

  “The point is to get hammered before we go in there. My advice is to have a few drinks at home first. That’s what I do. Otherwise who could face it? I’m asking you. The music, the lame decorations and the weak punch and cookies. It’s a joke. The jocks, the nerds, the goths all hanging in their own little ghettos. It can be brutal. But I don’t have to tell you that. You’ve been to these things before, right?” Toby asked.

  Maybe Toby had been so involved with his former girlfriend, the one with the tattoos and the piercings, he hadn’t noticed if Rich was there or not. It was time Toby found some new guy friends. Rich was just too dorky, Jared was too pushy and Steve was too full of himself.

  “Not really,” Rich said. “Not a mixer. But I thought… I mean we’re juniors, high school’s half over and how many more of these deals are left for us? My brother said I have to get out more. Meet people. You know any girls who’ll be there?”

  Toby shot a glance at Richard. So that’s what this was about. Richard’s family had made him come tonight. They’d always leaned on him to be more social. They’d pushed him to be friends with Toby since they were in grade school. Or maybe Rich had a crush on some girl and was hoping to hook up with her tonight. Or maybe it was both. Toby felt a pain in his chest that was probably just heartburn from the can of chili he’d eaten at home by himself. Or maybe it was a rush of nostalgia. It couldn’t be envy, could it?

  He used to have parents who cared what he did. He used to like girls. A long time ago when he was young—sixteen. No more. Maybe he’d be back in the game next year, but n
ot now. Then why was he here? What was the choice? Where was he supposed to be on a Saturday night? At home alone?

  “Will they know if we’ve been drinking? Is it true they’re gonna be checking at the door?” Richard asked, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Don’t forget about the new headmaster. He sounds strict.”

  “Strict? He sounds like a dictator, not a headmaster,” Toby said, knowing full well it was parents like Richard’s who’d helped get the last laissez-faire headmaster fired. “But Jesus, Richard, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. If you’re that worried …”

  “I know. I want to, I just…”

  Just then Steve Heller and Jared pulled up in Steve’s rebuilt Mustang, looking as cool as if they’d just stepped out of That ’70s Show. Maybe Toby’s dad would cough up a muscle car like that for his birthday now that money wasn’t so tight. It would be easy to pick up girls in a car like that. Not that Toby wanted to pick up girls until he recovered from that last disaster, but if he did someday …

  Steve, the school’s basketball star, got out of the Mustang and waved a six-pack of Miller Lite in the air.

  “You got Miller Lite?” Richard got out of the car, clearly disgusted with the choice of beverage.

  That’s right, diss Steve’s taste in beer, Toby thought. Good way to make friends, which Rich could stand to do. Toby joined the newcomers outside between the two cars. Maybe Steve was trying to make a statement with the Miller Lite. Maybe he was sick of those fancy dark imports. Who cared as long as it was alcohol?

  Jared stood up and threw up his hands in mock disgust. “He wanted to get forties of Olde English. I had to twist his arm to get this.”

  Steve, who brimmed with confidence on and off the court, laughed. “Sometimes I just like to go slumming. We started with the good stuff an hour ago.”

  “Where should we go to drink it?” Richard asked, twisting his head around at a pair of headlights just entering the parking lot.

  “Behind Archer Hall,” Steve and Jared said in unison. The Hall was named for the Archer family, who’d erected the building in gratitude after several of their IQ-challenged progeny finally squeaked through and graduated from Manderley.

  Archer Hall was the best place to hide out, day or night, with the smallest chance of sabotage by teachers or security guards. At least it was last year. Toby had a funny feeling tonight. Like things weren’t the same. It wasn’t just the new headmaster. It was something else. A weird knot in his stomach he couldn’t shake. His head was pounding and he felt queasy. Maybe he shouldn’t drink any more tonight. But then how could he possibly have a good time?

  Archer Hall had become famous after it was voted the best place to have sex on campus in a poll taken for the underground student newspaper last year. Second place went to the girls’ locker room at the swimming pool. On those hard narrow benches? Toby tried to picture it, but couldn’t. There had to be a better place.

  The guys settled on the dark patch of grass behind the Greek classic-style hall. There in the dark they cracked open the six-pack and pounded it, as if in training for future pledging of frats at college.

  “Lemme go check out the scene,” Jared said after chugging two cans in a row. “See who’s there before we waste any money buying tickets. Check out the hotties, you know what I mean? If there aren’t any, this could be an event we want to miss. Especially if the general has ordered a dress code. That could be a disaster.”

  He and Richard stumbled off around the building toward the gym. Toby stifled the urge to tell them to watch out for the headmaster and his goons who might be at the door. They ought to know that. If they got caught, they’d all have to split.

  After drinking his second Miller Lite in two loud, gigantic swallows, Steve tossed his empty can and he and Toby walked slowly toward the gym where they bumped into Jared.

  “We’re screwed,” he said. “They’ve got a Breathalyzer and they’re checking everyone at the door. Anyone got any ideas?”

  “Who’s doing the checking?” Steve asked.

  “The new headmaster, what’s his name, General Kavanaugh. And a tall redheaded girl who’s at the door too. Cindy something.”

  Toby stumbled on the damp grass. “Not Cindy something,” he mumbled. “Cindy Ellis.” He should have known. She was everywhere he went. First she was assigned to be his partner. Then she decided what their paper was going to be on. After that she made him go see his grandfather who hardly knew who he was. Now she’d joined the administration and had some role in deciding who could get in and who couldn’t? He couldn’t believe it. What next? Where did it end? If he had any sense he’d go home now. “I’m outta here,” he said.

  “You can’t go now,” Steve said. “Not if you’ve got a connection with this Cindy.”

  “No, he can’t,” Jared said. “Not until he gets us in the gym.

  “I can’t get us in. I don’t even want to get in,” Toby protested. “I’m sick. I’m going home.”

  “Tell your girlfriend to let us in first, then go home,” Jared said.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend, and if I did, it wouldn’t be her,” Toby said, popping a breath mint in his mouth.

  “Okay, she’s not your girlfriend, but you know her. She’s in your history class, isn’t she?” Jared said. He shoved his face into Toby’s and exhaled so much alcoholic breath that Toby felt his blood-alcohol level jump. “All you have to do is distract her while we get by the Breathalyzer.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  “Ask her something. Ask her to the homecoming dance.” “Are you out of your freaking mind?” Toby demanded. “Okay, ask her something else, like what’s your history homework. It doesn’t matter. Then introduce me. I want to meet her,” Jared insisted.

  “Let me get this straight,” Toby said, dumbfounded. He must be losing his hearing from keeping his iPod turned up so loud. “You want to meet Cindy Ellis. You’re interested in her, the tall, red-haired geeky girl? Why?”

  “Because of her sisters. The Vanderhoffer twins.”

  “The blond cheerleaders?” Toby blinked. “Those are Cindy Ellis’s sisters?”

  “Stepsisters. How come you don’t know that? I thought we could double date.”

  “Oh, right, brilliant idea, Jared. You and I and those twins. First, they’re seniors. Second, they’re sluts. But they’re choosy sluts. They only do athletes like Steve here.”

  “Leave me outta this,” Steve said. “I’m saving myself for a virgin.”

  “Not you and me and the twins, dude,” Jared said, ignoring Steve’s obvious joke. He slapped Toby on the arm. “You go out with Cindy and I take one of the twins. Either one. Rich here can have the other. I hear they do this thing with their knees…”

  Rich muttered something unintelligible and Toby laughed so hard at the preposterous mental image of himself with Cindy and Jared and Rich each with one of the twins, he fell down and rolled around on the grass.

  “Oh, man,” he said, holding his sides so his stomach wouldn’t revolt. “You’re killing me.”

  nineteen

  On with the dance! let joy be unconfin’d;

  No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

  To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

  —Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. Lord Byron

  Cindy liked selling tickets. It gave her something to do. She felt useful. She got to see who was with who even though she didn’t know many of the names. Best of all she didn’t feel like an outsider. She even saw a few kids she knew, like Victoria, who gave her a ride to the dance with another Chinese girl, and Scott, her friend from geometry. Maybe going inside the gym after selling tickets wouldn’t be so bad. Even though she’d be blasted by the DJ’s choice of ear-splitting music while pouring punch for ungrateful students.

  Just when she was congratulating herself on being part of a social function without the stress of having to look like she was having a good time, the new headmaster, who was c
hecking students at the next door for any alcohol consumption, spotted a couple freak-dancing on the other side of the gym.

  He came up to Cindy, eyes bulging, his throat constricted so that Cindy was afraid he was going to explode. Perhaps such behavior hadn’t occurred at Cuthbert. But Cuthbert was hardly some kind of Amish school where the girls wore long dresses and bonnets and the boys drove a team of horses instead of sports cars. What kind of dancing did they do at Cuthbert? The Macarena?

  Cindy admitted if the man had never seen freak dancing, and if the couple weren’t wearing clothes, (if you can call a micro-miniskirt and a bare midriff clothes), he might have thought they were having sex right on the dance floor. Maybe that’s what he did think. After all, it was pretty dark in there.

  “Here,” he said to Cindy when he found his voice. “Take my Breathalyzer and check everyone out. I’ll be right back as soon as I put a stop to this. It’s the music. It makes students behave like animals. This is just disgusting.”

  “But wait,” Cindy said, holding the Breathalyzer out away from her body like a lethal weapon. “I don’t know how to use this.”

  “The student blows through the mouthpiece for five seconds. The sensors here measure the alcohol level of air in the lungs. It’s simple enough to do.”

  “But what numbers…”

  “There’s no acceptable level. Any number that shows up is too much. Don’t let them in.” With that he stomped off across the room while Cindy stood in the doorway watching him push his way between couples rocking to Gwen Stefani’s song “Hollaback Girl.”

  This was ridiculous. There was no way she could sell tickets and make anyone take a Breathalyzer test. Even if she did and they failed, how would she make them leave? They’d just laugh at her and go in anyway.

  Speaking of laughing, Cindy was not amused to have her sisters arrive at that moment with their cheerleader clique. They were talking about the soccer match that afternoon against their rival, Saint Paul. If Cindy hadn’t had to work at the salon she might have … what, gone to the game? It was in another town. She might as well wish to go to the World Cup in Germany. While waiting in the ticket line, they talked nonstop about Marco. The goals he made, the goals he saved, the kicks he made, the assists, the red cards, the penalties. Cindy was well aware of the team members’ not-so-friendly rivalry with each other, which extended both to their cheerleading stunts as well as to who had the inside track with Marco.