They begin to advance.
“Wait a second.” Scott moves in front of me, forcing the girl to back off, just a little. “How can you even tell? You probably both just bought it from the same store. Look at all your friends!”
She crosses her arms and glares at us. “Sure, you can get the shirt anywhere, but Cory had it custom designed for my birthday!”
On some level I register disbelief that anyone could choose to have snuggly emblazoned across her chest, let alone as a special gift. But that thought is quickly dwarfed by fear as her friends line up behind her in solidarity. A silk-clad firing squad, armed with bare skin and kohl-lined stares.
I gulp.
“Look, I’m sure we can sort this out.” Scott is still trying to reason with them, his tall body and soothing voice the only thing standing between me and . . . what, I’m not exactly sure. Death by mascara?
“Meg!” Someone yanks my arm from behind me, and I turn to find Bliss and Jolene coming from the other direction. “Where have you been? You were supposed to stay out front!”
“I know, but . . .” I swivel back and forth between them and the ranks of angry college girls. “I ran into Scott, and then —”
“She’s wearing my jersey! The one Eric gave me!” A blond backup girl suddenly gasps, pointing at Bliss, who is, sure enough, wearing the jersey with E LAWTON on the front.
“And those are so my giraffe shorts,” another adds. “I just put them in the laundry tonight.”
“See, I told you!” the original accuser crows triumphantly. “Who are they, anyway?” She narrows her eyes at us. “Do you even go here?”
“What do we do?” I ask Jolene, who is surveying the area with a practiced eye. Scott is still blocking their way, but I’m not sure how long the girls will stay back — especially now that there is even more evidence against us.
“Plan B,” Jolene announces.
“Which is?” I barely have time to ask before she grabs my hand and takes off, racing back toward the stairwell with Bliss following us close behind.
“But —” My protest is lost as we dash through the crowd. As I look back, I catch a glimpse of six very angry party girls in hot pursuit; behind them, Scott is left by the vending machine, clutching the can of Dr Pepper with a confused look on his face. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but there isn’t time.
Then the door slams shut behind us, and we’re gone.
I can’t believe I told her that.
By the time we stop for gas about ten miles out of town, I’ve thought up at least a dozen ways Jolene could ruin my life — starting with a casual comment to anyone at school, and ending with anonymous blog entries all over the East Midlands network sites, telling the world that, yes, I slept with Cameron, but it wasn’t good enough to stop him from cheating. I climb out of the backseat, shaken. What was I thinking? Like it’s not already dangerous enough with her knowing about Kaitlin and Cameron and this whole diary thing, now I have to go and spill the biggest secret I have.
Double standards, right? Everyone assumes you’re doing it, but the moment anyone says so, it’s the biggest scandal. Gossip like this — my mom always reminds me — you don’t live down.
Jolene is already smoking a cigarette, mooching a safe distance from the gas pumps while Meg fills up the car. I remember her awkward sympathy back in the dorm room and feel a fresh wave of embarrassment. She must think I’m pathetic, breaking down like that, but I can’t help it. She was talking like Cameron had only been a shiny new accessory to me, as if I hadn’t cared at all. But I did.
I do.
“You need to get anything?” Jolene wanders over, already toying with another cigarette. “When I have a bad breakup, I reach for the ice cream. And candy.” She gives a wry grin. “Once you eat yourself into a sugar coma, things don’t seem so bad.”
I shake my head slowly. “No. Thanks.”
She gives me a sympathetic kind of smile. “C’mon, what’s a few calories when your asshole ex-boyfriend is fooling around?”
I stiffen. “I said no. But can I get my dress back? I can’t show up back at prom wearing this.”
“Forgive me,” she drawls, sarcastic. “I forgot about your dress codes.” Jolene pulls a handful of dry-clean-only silk out of her bag and tosses it over to me like it’s some kind of rag.
“Careful!” I yelp, snatching it before it can touch the ground. “Jesus. Do you know what would happen if this got ruined?”
“You’d have to charge another?” Jolene seems amused, but there’s nothing funny about my mom and her “my family came to this country with only the clothes on their backs so show some respect for your possessions” speech, even if she does deliver it in a designer outfit with our maid on the other line.
“I’ll be inside,” I tell Jolene instead, stalking away.
“Don’t be long!” Meg calls after me. “I’m going to miss my curfew.”
Of course she is.
The place is empty when I get inside, just long aisles of junk food and auto supplies waiting under harsh neon strip lights. A teenage boy slouches behind the register, flipping through a car magazine while he chews on a strip of packaged jerky.
“Hey.” I manage a grin. “Do you have a bathroom?”
“Customers only.” He sighs. Then he looks up. “Uh, s-sure,” he stutters, blinking at my bare legs. “Out back, just over —”
“Thanks!” I’m already scooting to the back of the store when my cell rings. It’s Nikki.
“Where are you?” she demands as soon as I pick up. “I’ve called, like, a hundred times.”
I can hear chatter and laughter in the background, and the fierce thump of music. The fun they’re having without me.
“Sorry,” I exclaim brightly, pushing into the stall. It’s scattered with wet toilet paper, grafitti scrawled on every wall, and a foul smell coming from the corner. Awesome. “Fashion emergency,” I say, trying not to touch anything. Or breathe. “My, uh, bra snapped.”
“No way! You poor thing.” There’s a pause, and then I hear the echo of her retelling the others. “No, she had to go home. Uh-huh, I know!”
“I’m on my way back now,” I say loudly, starting to peel off the football jersey. “I’ll be, like, five minutes.”
“No, that’s why I called — we’re on our way to Brianna’s.”
“Already?” I stop. “But it’s not even midnight.” My heart sinks.
“Uh-huh.” Nikki is still distracted. “See you there!”
I hang up, suddenly feeling very alone. While we’ve been running around playing dress-up and sneaking Kaitlin’s diary, I’ve missed everything. My whole prom, over. They’re partying in a limo, while I’m stuck in a dirty gas station bathroom far away from all the action.
Was it even worth it?
I was expecting it to be a victory. All night, ever since I found them together, I’ve been focused so hard on making Kaitlin and Cameron pay, like that will make everything OK somehow. If I can prove it, if I expose her for the lying, cheating, backstabbing bitch she really is, if we do it without any blame touching me — then I’ll be fine. I’ll win. But standing there in Jason’s room, delivering the evidence that would see them crash and burn, I felt nothing.
No, not nothing. I felt the same as when I saw him kissing her. Lost, like everything has slipped out of order and I don’t know how to get it all back again. Best friend, boyfriend, the whole social scene — I worked so hard to get everything perfect, the way high school is supposed to be. And now I’m left with this ache in my chest, knowing that it was all a lie, and I was dumb enough to believe them.
“Bliss, get a move on!” Jolene hammers on the door.
I swallow. “OK, OK,” I yell back, quickly shimmying back into my dress. Unlocking the door, I take a gasp of almost-fresh air. “There, I’m done.”
Jolene pushes past me, not even waiting for me to close the door before she strips off her pajama set and pulls the pink ruffles back on.
“I th
ought you hated that thing,” I say quietly, checking my reflection in the soap-smeared glass.
“I do,” she says, “but it’ll cause way more questions if I go home without it.”
There’s a timid knock, and then Meg pokes her head in too. “Is there room for me?”
“Can’t you wait —” I start to say, but Jolene waves her in.
“Zip me up. Please.”
We shift over, crammed in the tiny room while Meg complains about the smell and fusses with the catch on the back of Jolene’s dress. I ignore them, trying to pull myself back together. That dorm-room confessional was just a mistake, I tell myself, some kind of hormonal glitch in sanity. The sooner I’m back with Courtney and the crew, the sooner I’ll stop feeling so strange.
“You can drop me at Brianna’s, up in Cedar Heights,” I instruct Meg, fluffing out my hair. I still look flawless, at least. And I’ve learned by now, that’s all that matters.
“The after-party,” she says, wistful.
“Yup. They’re on their way already, and I can’t miss anything else, not after bailing on the main event. So, can you guys get a move on?” I look over to find Jolene mussing up her hair and Meg twisting uselessly under the weight of her dress. “I’ll be outside.”
I’ve read all the tabloids on the magazine stand, so I wander the aisles, idly poking at the packs of Doritos and sugar-rush snacks that I can never in a million years eat. Not unless I want Brianna offering to lend me a workout DVD. Again. I sigh, wondering what they’ll all say when I get to the party. Will Cameron and Kaitlin act guilty and ashamed, or will they be sneaking off every half hour to dry hump behind the pool house? I don’t know which would be worse.
“Hey, señorita. Can I get that ass to go?”
I look up. A couple of men dressed in dirty jeans and trucker hats are unloading six-packs from the cooler nearby. They’ve got goatees and tattoos and look like the kind of guys who blast heavy metal from their truck and holler dumb-ass racist comments at you on the sidewalk.
I turn away.
“Aww, don’t be like that.” The one with his gut bulging against his shirt saunters closer. “We’re not so scary, are we, Chuck?”
His friend chuckles. “Nah, we’re regular gentlemen.”
I take a couple of steps back, but I’m boxed in the corner by the refrigerator cabinets. Gut Guy gives me a leer.
“You’re pretty dressed up tonight, huh? Heading to a fiesta?”
I look around, but the boy at the register is still slouched over his magazines, and there’s nobody else in the store. I shiver.
“Uh-huh.” I give a vague murmur, trying to look enthralled by the row of processed potato products, but the men don’t shift; they just loiter behind me, filling the space.
“I could do with some fun.” The man laughs. “We should come along.”
I finally turn, giving an icy look as I move to pass them. I’ve been around guys like them before — guys who think it’s some kind of compliment to rake their eyes all over you. Usually, I can handle them, but tonight, something’s not working because they block my path.
“Don’t go running off so soon. We were just gettin’ to know each other.”
“No, thanks.” I take a step to the side. He mirrors me. I fold my arms. “Prom,” I offer, hoping they’ll back off once they know my age. “I’m going to junior prom.”
He’s undeterred. “Oh, yeah?” He grins. “So, you want a dance?”
Before I can move, he grabs me around my waist.
“I’ve got to go.” I try to pull away, but he’s laughing, stepping in a clumsy slow dance while I’m crushed against him close enough to smell the cheap deodorant and tobacco. “Get off me!” I protest, pushing uselessly against him. His friend is whooping, and for a terrible minute I’m trapped.
“Stop flirting, and get your ass out here!” I hear Jolene’s yell and manage to twist around, sending her a desperate look. Right away, her face changes, getting harder and full of steel.
“C’mon, we’re going.” She doesn’t hesitate, just sends the guys a deadly glare as she elbows into our corner and takes firm hold of my wrist. “Say good-bye to the nice men, Bliss.”
But Gut Guy doesn’t loosen his grip on me.
“Hey! Here’s your partner.” He laughs to his friend. “Double date. That’s more like it.”
The other man reaches for Jolene, but she makes some kind of movement with her leg and suddenly he’s bent double, cursing loudly.
“You bitch!”
“Like I said, time to go.” Jolene glares at Gut Guy with such ferocity, he backs off, hands up in surrender.
“Hey, we were just playing.”
“Yeah, well, play with yourself in the future.” Jolene shoves me backward into the open aisle, planting herself between me and his meaty hands. “You should be used to that.”
My heart is racing. Any minute now, they’re going to fight back, I just know it, and Jolene’s angry stare will be no match for their weight and height and willingness to, you know, hurt us.
“Jolene,” I whisper, tugging at the back of her ruffles, “let’s just go.”
“Not until you get an apology.” She folds her arms.
“I don’t need one,” I protest. The guy she kicked is still rubbing his shin, looking at us with a murderous glint in his eyes. “It was just . . . a mistake, OK? We were just hanging out. No need for anyone to apologize. Right?”
To my intense relief, Jolene seems to reassess. “Fine,” she spits reluctantly. “We’re done. But you guys better keep your fucking hands to yourselves.”
I yank her away, still full of fear, but Jolene doesn’t hurry at all — she just saunters slowly outside as if we’ve been chatting about the weather or whatever, not facing down two full-grown sleazy men.
“Thanks,” I breathe, glancing back toward the store. What has to be the guys’ truck is parked right out front, a Confederate flag draped in the back window. I shudder. “They were drunk, I think. They wouldn’t back off.”
Jolene just gives me another of those looks. She pauses in the middle of the parking lot, halfway to where Meg is waiting patiently in the car. “You shouldn’t let men put their hands on you like that.”
“I didn’t really have a choice!” I protest.
She rolls her eyes. “Here.” Unzipping a side pocket in her backpack, she brings out a tiny canister and a round thing that looks like a key fob. “Pepper spray, rape alarm.” She holds up each in turn and then offers them to me. I shake my head.
“I’m fine, I just —”
“Think you can get your way just by asking nice?” Jolene rolls her eyes. “The real world doesn’t work that way, Bambi. Take them.”
It’s an order, so I do.
“Thanks.” I stuff them into my purse next to the photocopies, thrown by how nice she’s being. I mean sure, the excuse to inflict physical pain on some random dude was probably a big motivator, but still, she just saved my ass.
Jolene smiles. “Now you owe me two favors.”
“I do?”
“Yup.” She grins wider. “So you’re not going straight to that after-party. You’re going to help me out with something first.”
I look at her, wary. “What kind of something?”
“Just a thing.” Jolene presses her lips tightly together, and I realize with a sinking feeling that the smiles are just sugar-coating. Whatever this thing is, it’s trouble. “You probably won’t even have to get out of the car,” she adds, still acting casual. “Just keep Meg from bolting, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“It’s late.” I try to argue, worn out. “Can’t we do this some other time? Meg’s already past her curfew.” I could care less about Meg’s overprotective parents, but I’ve still got the party ahead of me, and all the fake smiles and gossip I’ll have to throw around to make it look like nothing’s wrong.
“Meg called her parents already.” Jolene interrupts my plans. “She said she was having so much fun, they let
her stay out longer. So, that’s no problem.”
I sigh. “Jolene . . .”
Her face shifts. “I need to do this,” she says, quiet but forceful. “You’re not the only one who wants payback.”
We face off under the bright neon signs, and for a second, she looks the way I felt. Angry. Determined. Heartbroken.
“OK.” I agree at last, not even wanting to imagine who would dare cross her. “But you’d better not get me arrested. I’m armed now, remember?”
With Bliss on board, Meg is outnumbered. She barely puts up a protest at our slight diversion, and before long, we’ve pulled up just around the corner from my target. It’s another exclusive development, with wide streets that back onto the golf course and white picket fences at every turn. Suburban bliss.
“Wait here,” I tell them, easing out of the car. “I won’t be long.”
“But —”
“Relax.” I give Meg a careless grin. “It’s my dad’s place. I’m just picking something up.”
She relaxes, as if that’s all the reassurance she needs. It shouldn’t be.
I’ve only been to the house once before, but I remember everything. It was a baby shower for the twins a few years back, full of women with shiny hair and tailored silk dresses who widened their eyes every time I sullenly introduced myself as his other child. The Blonde held court, beaming in the middle of the room with a fat belly, while Dad fussed with caterer’s platters, making sure everything looked just right.
I left after twenty minutes. I couldn’t take the perfection anymore.
Tonight, the house is gleaming with a fresh coat of paint, the lawn trim and lush despite the early summer heat. I slip around the wide, two-car garage out back and find wrought-iron garden furniture arranged on the immaculate paved patio and a blue-tiled pool nestled behind a child-proof gate.
He always did land on his feet.
The tree is by the far end of the house, gnarled and easy to climb, with branches stretching all the way to the first-floor bathroom window. I clamber up in a flash, the bark scraping my bare legs, but I barely notice the pain. I reach an arm through the open window, find the catch, release it, and just like that, I’m inside.
The Anti-Prom Page 8
