The Anti-Prom

by Abby McDonald

  “Right,” Jolene snipes, sarcastic. “Because why would you pay attention to anything that isn’t all about you?”

  “It doesn’t matter how it happened,” Meg tells her before I can answer. “What matters is what we do now.”

  Jolene shrugs, scrunching water from her dress. “Why do we have to do anything at all?”

  “Are you serious?” Meg glares at her. “Can you just imagine what will happen to them if that information gets spread around? All it would take is one mention on the school network, or for Jason to pass the diary on to someone else . . .”

  I shiver at the thought. Those girls don’t deserve it. God, even Kaitlin wasn’t cruel enough for that. No, this was all my doing. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t make a difference when it comes to gossip and rumors. All their darkest secrets, and now I’ve let them loose. How could I miss this stuff?

  “Meg, let it go.” Jolene shrugs. “We left the diary in his room hours ago.”

  “Exactly.” Meg stands firm. “And now we’ve got to get it back.”

  “Back?” Jolene looks up. “It’s four thirty in the morning!”

  “So what?” Meg is riled up now, her face totally serious. “We don’t have a choice. Right, Bliss?” She appeals to me, but I don’t need convincing.

  “She’s right,” I say, already sick with guilt. “Kenji, Miranda — they’re good people. We’ve got to make this right. All of us,” I add, before she can pull a tantrum and bail again.

  Meg and I stare at her, determined: two against one. Jolene shifts and sighs, but finally she rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. But this is it. Nothing else.”

  “Good.”

  We squelch along behind her as Meg leads us back through the house. Nearly everyone’s crashed out now, but I don’t even want to think about how I look. The pajama outfit that was sweet and adorable is now clinging to my skin like I’m an extra in some X-rated rap video.

  “If we’re lucky, he drank so much he’s still passed out somewhere,” I tell them, trying to focus on a plan. “We can snatch the diary back, and it’ll be like we were never even there.”

  “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to all your friends?” Jolene can’t resist digging at me as I find Meg’s purse and pass her the car keys. “Or you can go out a different exit, so they don’t see us together.”

  “It’s kind of late for that,” I mutter. And it’s true. As we head to the hall, I see Kaitlin come through the side door, wrapped in a bathrobe, with her damp hair scraped back. She catches sight of me and glares, then Courtney and Brianna appear behind her, all stopping dead the moment they see me. My friends. Or, at least they used to be, but now they’re lined up like some kind of firing squad, ready to throw me out for crimes against the social order. Any chance at all I could smooth things over with them dies with the ice-queen looks they all shoot my way. Never mind the scene with Kaitlin; leaving with Jolene and Meg is definitely going to get me exiled from their group forever.

  It’s too late to take it back, even if I wanted to. I keep walking.

  Nobody says much as we pile into the car and take the exit out of town — again. Meg hums softly along with the radio, while Jolene kicks her bare feet up on the dashboard. At least now I’ve got her in a confined space, without any water nearby. Or weapons. All the same, I check that her backpack is stashed out of her reach before leaning forward.

  “Jolene,” I try. “Jolene, would you just listen to me? You heard me back there. I told them all where to go! You can’t still be mad.”

  Jolene messes with her hair, ignoring me.

  “I know I should have said something before, in the living room. I just wimped out, OK? But I made it right in the end.”

  She looks out the window.

  “OK.” I sink back onto the damp seat. “Be like that.” I turn to Meg instead. “How did it go with Tristan? Did he mind your leaving?”

  She meets my eyes in the mirror. “No, he was fine with it.”

  I begin to get a bad feeling. Another one. “But it all worked out, right?” I ask, anxious. After everything, I wanted Meg to get the night of her dreams. “I saw you together. You looked like you were having a great time.”

  “Yes.” She gives this quiet grin. “It was all perfect. For a while, anyway.”

  “So what happened? I don’t understand.”

  Meg shrugs, her hair falling in a dark wave. “I’m not that girl. And I don’t want to be.”

  She doesn’t seem sad about it, just calm — content, even — so I give up trying to make conversation and just let the dark highway speed by. None of us got what we wanted tonight, I realize. Jolene wound up burning that painting to ash, Meg isn’t snuggling happily-ever-after with Tristan, and as for my grand secret revenge . . . not so secret anymore.

  It was worth it, though, all of it. I pull the blanket around my damp clothes, surprised to feel relief wash through my whole body as I think of their icy stares. I’m done with them now. Kaitlin’s backstabbing, Brianna’s power plays. The gossip, the drama, all that effort to stay part of the loop and on top of things. I can stay in bed all weekend if I want instead of trekking to the mall with the girls. I can roll out of bed without spending twenty minutes blow-drying my hair in the morning. I can eat carbs.

  I’m done with them.

  But almost as soon as it comes, the relief slips into panic. What am I supposed to do now? I think of telling Mom that the spa days are off, that all her friends’ daughters hate my guts. And summer’s coming now — months without a single party invite or girl to hang out with. The worst-case scenario I’ve been fighting all night to avoid is looming ahead of me; only it turns out, I chose it for myself.

  Way to go, Bliss.

  I’m still running through ways to avoid total social leper status (go emo, join band, become one of those drama kids) when I realize the car is making a weird clunking noise. “Uh, Meg?” I sit up. “What’s that noise?”

  “I don’t know!” She slows down as we all listen to the splutter.

  “And why is the warning light flashing?” Jolene looks over. “Are we out of gas?”

  “We can’t be.” Meg checks the dashboard, worried. “I filled up on our way back, remember?”

  The car lurches suddenly. Meg swears under her breath and then yanks the wheel, pulling off onto the side of the road just as the engine cuts out entirely and we roll to a stop.

  For a second, there’s silence. It’s still pretty dark outside, with no light from houses or anything along the highway. And, I realize with a sinking heart, no other cars around either.

  “I’ll go see what’s wrong.” Meg unbuckles her seat belt and gets out of the car. I watch through the windshield as she yanks up the hood. A hiss of steam billows up, and she jumps back.

  “That can’t be good,” I mutter, scrambling to follow. Jolene doesn’t reply, but she pulls her shoes back on and soon, all three of us are staring into the mess of cables and metal.

  “I don’t suppose either of you took auto shop?” I say hopefully. They don’t reply. I was tempted for a while — I mean, a whole class of guys — but Kaitlin convinced me that getting engine grease under our manicures was going too far in pursuit of hot guys. Right now, I wish I’d held out: bad nails seem like a way better option than getting stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of the night.

  “I better go call triple A,” Meg says at last, heading back to the passenger side. She retrieves some papers from the glove compartment and begins to dial. Jolene wanders away from the car, wrapping her arms around herself, her wet dress still sticking to her skin.

  “Are you cold?” I ask, offering the blanket. She turns away. “Aw, come on.” I sigh. This whole martyr act is getting old. She’s stalking around like I committed the worst crimes ever, but even if I did let her down — for five whole minutes — I’m trying to make up for it now. Not that she’ll let me. “Can you just give it up already? I’ve said I’m sorry. Let’s just go back to being”— I pause �
��“well, whatever we were before.”

  It wasn’t friends, exactly, but it wasn’t this either.

  “No.” Jolene folds her arms. She looks at me with disdain — not the snooty looks Kaitlin and co. were shooting at me, but something colder, like I’m just dead to her. It’s so blank, I have to take a step back, but I won’t let her just block me out like this.

  “What’s your problem?” I break. “Do you have any idea what I gave up back there? My friends are never going to speak to me again!”

  Jolene snorts, kicking gravel along the road. “Great friends.”

  “Because you’d know all about that,” I shoot back. “Seeing as you don’t have any!”

  “Better that than putting up with those dumb bitches all day. Ooh, Brianna, what do you think of this lip gloss? I don’t know; does it match my bra? For God’s sake, get a freaking brain!”

  “And you sit around debating politics or whatever?” I yell. “At least I won’t end up in jail before the end of summer!”

  “Only because your rich-bitch parents will pull enough strings to get you out!”

  “That’s enough!” Meg suddenly steps between us. She glares. “Both of you, over there.”

  “What?” Jolene stares.

  “Line up, against the car.”

  I blink, but there’s something kind of terrifying in her voice, so I shuffle over to where she’s pointing. Jolene doesn’t budge.

  “NOW!”

  She moves.

  “What’s going on?” I ask when we’re both up against the side of the car like this is a police raid. The highway is empty and dark, nothing but our headlights for miles around. “Did you get through to triple A?”

  “Yes, but they won’t be able to come pick us up for hours. And I’m not going to stand here, listening to you two bitch at each other.” Meg folds her arms, glaring at us. “So, Bliss, apologize.”

  “I already did,” I complain, “like, a hundred times.” I’m surprised by how bossy she’s being. I’m beginning to understand how Frankenstein must have felt: I’ve created a monster here.

  Meg stands her ground. “Yes, but the point of an apology is to make the other person feel better. And since Jolene clearly doesn’t, you need to do it again.” She waits, standing tall, a lifetime away from that girl who used to flinch when I looked her in the eyes. But now, she means business, so I sigh.

  “I’m sorry I blew you off at the party,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. I shoot Jolene a sideways look. “I . . . I was a bitch. And wrong. But I made up for it!”

  She shrugs, still avoiding my eyes. “Too little, too late. Just because you made a scene with Kaitlin, it doesn’t undo being a bitch to me.”

  “See?” I appeal to Meg, since she’s apparently the one in charge here. “I tried!”

  Meg sighs. “Jolene, let it go. She’s not your father.”

  “Uh, what?” We both look up.

  “Well, obviously she’s not your father,” Meg tells Jolene. “But you’re acting like she is. You’re so angry at him, you’re putting all that pain on everyone else. Bliss and Dante, too. Classic transference.”

  Jolene clenches her fists beside me, and for a second I wonder if she’s going to lunge right at Meg. We’re stranded way out in the middle of nowhere here, and it would be a while before the ambulance could get to us. . . . “What makes you the psychological expert?” she growls.

  Meg shrugs, like she doesn’t realize just how close she is to a full-body cast. “Nothing but a couple years of therapy. I get it, Jolene; I do. They both messed up, and you’ve got a right to be mad at them.”

  “Thanks for validating my feelings,” Jolene mutters, sarcastic.

  “But in case you haven’t noticed, they’re trying to make it right. Bliss apologized, Dante showed up.” Meg sighs. “So are you really going to keep punishing them, just because your dad is the one who’s still letting you down?”

  There’s silence.

  I wait, expecting some kind of carnage — literally. I can’t believe Meg has the nerve to say all of this, and more than that, I can’t believe Jolene is even letting her.

  Then Jolene exhales, and it’s like all the fight goes out of her body. “Fine,” she murmurs, sagging back against the car. “You’re sorry. I get it. We’re cool.”

  I blink. Is she serious? “Umm, OK.” I look carefully, but she doesn’t seem angry anymore, just worn out. I guess carrying all that anger around can really take it out of you.

  Meg claps her hands together in triumph. “There you go. Now, hug.”

  “What?” I blink. “Come on, what is this, a Lifetime movie?”

  But she insists. “Hug!”

  Jolene and I look at each other, rolling our eyes, but Meg is waiting, so I awkwardly reach out and pat her shoulder. Her body is stiff, like she’s not used to the contact. “Well, come on.” Jolene sighs, holding an arm out to Meg. “Since we’re doing this whole girly bonding thing.”

  She bounces over to us, and for a moment, we hug. Then Jolene detaches herself, brushing her body down like she might have caught something from the brief show of intimacy. “So, what’s the plan? We hang out here until the tow truck comes?”

  “But what about the diary?” I panic. “We can’t leave it until tomorrow — he might read it before then!”

  “We can’t call our parents,” Meg adds. “They think we’re all tucked safe asleep somewhere. If my dad knows I lied about staying over with Bliss . . .”

  I think fast. And then the answer arrives — a way to solve two problems in one. “I know who we can call,” I say, smiling.

  “Who?” Meg asks, but I don’t reply. My phone is nestled by the front seat where I left it, so I scan throughto find that number he gave me when we were at the Loft. Just in case, he told me. I edge a safe distance away from the others and dial. It takes a few rings, but finally someone picks up.

  “Hey,” I say, crossing my fingers. “This is Bliss. Remember, we met earlier?”

  There’s a pause, and then, “What’s happened? Is Jolene OK?”

  I knew it. His voice is anxious, and nobody gets that worked up over just a friend. I can’t help but smile. Despite all her ice-queen bitching at him, Dante is still totally hung up on Jolene.

  “Yes, she’s fine,” I reassure him, sneaking a look at where she’s lighting up another cigarette. She doesn’t know it, but I’m doing her a major favor here. “The thing is, we’re kind of stuck. Can you come give us a ride?”

  I sit on the trunk of Meg’s car, idly swinging my legs as we wait for Bliss’s mystery friend to come pick us up. It’s a warm night, but my dress is still wet through, and every breeze sends a shiver right through me.

  “Will you take the blanket?” Bliss sighs, leaning against the car. “Catching a chill isn’t, like, some moral victory.”

  I finally take it. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She beams. “It was worth it though, right? I can still picture Kaitlin’s face, when she came up for air . . .”

  “It was a treat,” I agree. There’s a pause. “So, you really won’t be going back to them?”

  “Who? Brianna and that group? No.” Bliss lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s pretty much done. You’re looking at the latest outcast of East Midlands High.” She strikes a pose, but I can tell from the flicker in her expression that this is no joke. That was her life back there she just destroyed, I realize. It may have been shallow and false, and built on a foundation of bitching and unstable footwear, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.

  “You’ll be OK,” I tell her quietly. “I mean, sure, it’s not going to be easy, but you’ll do fine without them.”

  “I know, but . . .” Bliss exhales, giving me a rueful smile as she admits, “I’ve never been that good on my own.”

  “So, you won’t be,” I tell her, gazing out at the black highway. “You’ve got Meg for next year — she’s going to need someone to stop her from slipping back into wallflower mode.” We
both grin. “And,” I add cautiously, “I’m going to be stuck around town. For the summer, at least. We could, I don’t know, hang out. Maybe.”

  “Really?” She looks up at me, hopeful. With all that makeup and the fancy hairstyle washed away, she looks like a real person for a change; not that overdone, synthetic girl she used to be. Who knows? She might just be a good influence on me — all that normal teenage fun. My mom would be so proud.

  “Yeah, well, you can be OK, if you try.” I remember that look of hers just before she began hurling people into the pool. That Bliss, I can deal with.

  “You’re not too bad, either.” Bliss grins.

  Meg comes around, depositing our purses and clothes in a heap on the asphalt. She’s taken her contacts out and pulled a gray zip-up hoodie over that white flouncy dress. “I’ve locked everything up and left a note for the tow truck,” she says, twisting some hair around her finger in thought. “What am I forgetting?”

  “Nothing,” Bliss says. She straightens as a pair of headlights approaches on the horizon, drawing closer. “And here’s our ride.”

  I pause, watching as the beat-up Camaro slows and pulls up alongside. My heart skips, but it’s not until the driver climbs out and saunters toward us that I realize why.

  Dante.

  “You know that nice stuff I was just saying about you?” I tell Bliss through gritted teeth. “I take it all back.”

  “Come on,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see him.”

  Not happy so much as sick with sudden nerves. But before I can reply, she dances over and throws her arms around him, gushing thanks for helping us out. He’s still wearing that leather jacket, his eyes dark in the shadows of the headlights. But I don’t need to see: I know that boy by heart.

  “We only need a ride to the campus and back,” she promises. “It’s an emergency, I swear.”

  “Sure, no problem.” He steps into the light, giving a lazy grin. It widens as he looks her up and down. “Do I, uh, need to ask what happened to you guys?”