The Gay Girl's Guide to Ruining Prom

by Siera Maley

“What are you going to say?” Skylar asked me as we started composing a message to Trina.

  “Well, she lives about 200 miles away now, so I can’t talk to her in person,” I said. “But maybe she’ll tell us something anyway.”

  Trina, the message read when it was done. I know you don’t know me, but I thought you might be able to help me with something. There’s this girl named Chelsea McDaniel that I really like and we’ve been talking, but I’ve heard some bad things about her. We don’t go to the same school so it’s hard to sort out the truth. I’d heard you had dated her too, so if there’s any advice you could give me, I’d really appreciate it. -Skylar

  Skylar read the message over my shoulder when I was done. “I’m starting to wonder which one of us is really the evil genius here,” she said.

  Chelsea took me to a movie on Wednesday night while my parents were out, with Skylar’s permission, given that Wednesday was usually our day to spend the afternoon together. I still hadn’t heard back from Trina by then, but it had only been two days, so a part of me was holding out hope that she just hadn’t seen the message yet.

  In the meantime, things with Chelsea were still going smoothly. We still texted daily, still flirted constantly, and she still dropped constant anvils about wanting to take things to the next level. I sort of reveled in keeping her waiting, given how quickly I knew she’d moved with Skylar. Going from sending scandalous photos in the first two days to waiting so long for a kiss had to be a strange transition. But I knew I had to give her something soon. There was just a part of me that wanted it to be real.

  Or, not real in the sense that it’d mean something on my end, or at least not to Real Zoey, I supposed. Real in the sense that Fake Zoey in this fake relationship would remember it as this magical, memorable first kiss. I didn’t want to start things off by making out with her in some dark movie theater or kissing her in between lies about how I felt or what she wanted. I just wanted it to be as genuine as it could be, given the circumstances. That was how this needed to go. Everything had to be genuine.

  So we just held hands during the movie, and Chelsea, to her credit, was perfectly chivalrous about it, and then afterward we went to the park again and just walked together, hand in hand. It was cold out and we were both wearing jackets, but I could feel her shuddering occasionally against me. For a while, we were quiet. I really did enjoy her company in the moments when I forgot why I was with her in the first place. But those moments were quickly becoming few and far between. I was a woman on a mission now, ever since she’d put on that seductress act with me in her bedroom.

  When she shuddered again, I said, “Here,” and brought us to a stop so that I could turn to her. I wrapped my arms around her and placed my chin on her shoulder, and she did the same to me, laughing lightly into my ear. Even through the several layers of clothing, her body was warm against mine.

  “We might have to get back to my car soon,” she mumbled.

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I replied.

  I felt her head shift a little, but she stayed put, quiet for a while. Probably thinking. Then she said, “Okay. So when I was nine, I fell off my bike and sprained my wrist, but I’d gone somewhere I wasn’t supposed to and thought I’d get into trouble, so I didn’t tell anyone for a little while. So, it healed kind of weird, but in, like, a way that wasn’t bad? It sort of has more stamina now because my doctor and parents made me do these extra exercises to overcompensate for telling them late.”

  “Hmm. Still trying to seduce me, I see,” I observed, and she pressed her face into my neck and shook with laughter.

  “Not what I was going for,” she insisted. I clutched her tighter and smiled despite myself.

  “Okay. Go again,” I said.

  “Car first?” she asked, and when I pulled away and gave her a dubious look, she rubbed at her own arms overdramatically. “Please? I’m freezing.”

  I gave in, and at first we walked back toward her car, but then the windchill kicked in and walking turned into fast-walking, and then sprinting. I reached the car first and went for one of the backseat doors, so Chelsea followed my lead on the other side. From the back, she leaned up into the front and started her car, then adjusted the heat. As the car began to warm up, I rubbed my hands together and looked over at her.

  “Okay. Now tell me another one.”

  She sat back in the seat and thought while she caught her breath. “One time my dad tried to build me a treehouse, but I accidentally set it on fire.”

  I laughed. “Okay, I’m sure there’s an excellent story behind that, but that’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  The car was getting comfortably warm now, so I moved to shrug my jacket off. Chelsea watched me and then followed suit, and I took her jacket and put it up in the passenger’s seat along with mine.

  “I mean I want to know who you are,” I explained. “Stuff you don’t tell just anyone.”

  “I’m not good at opening up to people,” she warned me.

  I smiled at her. “That one counts.”

  She laughed. “Is there some kind of score you’re keeping?”

  I considered the question for a second. “There could be.” Then I looked down at the sweater I’d been wearing under my jacket and an idea struck me. “Alright. I’ve got an idea.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “You’ll like it,” I promised. “Go again.”

  She sighed. “Fine, um. I still have all my baby teeth.” I shot her a strange look. “Not, like, in my mouth! My mom keeps them somewhere.”

  “You know that doesn’t count,” I told her.

  “What? No one else knows that aside from my parents! C’mon.” She watched me reach back up into the passenger’s seat and grab my coat, then move to pull it back on. “Are you cold again?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Keep going.”

  She seemed confused, understandably. “Okay, when is it your turn?”

  “You can do me some other time,” I said, winking.

  She huffed. “Well, let me think of something good, then.” She stared at me as she thought, scanning my face, but I sensed her mind was somewhere else entirely. “I wanted to keep kissing you for as long as you’d let me,” she said finally. “That first time in the closet. But it was already so much more than I ever expected it to be and I got scared you’d freak out. I could’ve been in there for hours. The few minutes we were in there still felt like hours.”

  “Maybe I’d have freaked out eventually,” I told her, “but I don’t regret anything that happened now.” It was the truth.

  She smiled at me, and then looked down to my hands, where I’d started to take off my jacket again. Then she got it. “You aren’t.” She ran her hands down her face when I nodded. “Oh my god, she is experienced,” she marveled.

  “Go again,” I pressed, laughing and poking at her arm. “Pay attention.”

  “I’m paying attention,” she assured me. “I’m so attentive right now. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?”

  “How about if you have a water bottle in here?” I pretended to look around for one. “You seem a little thirsty.”

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” she told me, but the smile she was trying to smother in order to keep a straight face said otherwise. I motioned to her impatiently and she straightened up again. “Oh. Right. Okay. Um…” I watched her fall silent to think again. Then she said, “You weren’t just my first real crush. You were the reason I figured out I liked girls.”

  I could tell she was embarrassed to admit that, so I tried to lighten the mood by pressing a hand to my chest and closing my eyes for a moment as I said, “I’m flattered.”

  Her voice was close and right in my ear when she spoke next. “You have to take off your sweater now.” I shivered and opened my eyes. She’d leaned away, but she was grinning in a way that told me she’d seen my reaction.

  I recovered and feigned indifference, huffi
ng out a quick, “Fine,” and then pulling my sweater up and over my head. I still had a shirt on underneath.

  “Tell me one thing about you,” Chelsea urged, and then gestured toward her own shirt. “I’ll take my top off for you.”

  I laughed and told her, “You don’t have to take your top off.”

  “What if I want to?” she joked.

  I gave her a look and then rolled my eyes. “Alright.” I paused. “I broke a girl’s heart once.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, but she wasn’t teasing me. She just said it and then looked at me in a way that made me feel like I’d already taken off everything else I was wearing.

  “Your turn,” I told her, and then, because the mood had gotten too heavy, I added, “You better make it good, too.”

  She didn’t match my banter with any of her own. In fact, she still looked serious. Without moving her eyes from mine, she admitted, “I’ve broken a lot of hearts.”

  I looked away from her, unable to hold eye contact anymore, and then glanced down at my shirt. I didn’t want to take it off; I already felt naked enough when she looked at me.

  Instead, I moved closer and then lifted my leg over her waist. She let out a quick breath and I looked up at her. “Is this okay?” She nodded, and I moved to straddle her, and then we just looked at each other. It felt intimate in a way that wasn’t sexual, which was exactly what I’d hoped for. I put my hands on her shoulders gently and asked her, “Any plans to break my heart?”

  “No.” She answered instantly; confidently. It surprised me. She was a good liar.

  “Go again,” I said. Her eyes dropped down to my lips when I spoke. I leaned in and touched my forehead to hers, then brushed the tip of her nose with mine and watched her close her eyes. I felt her hands move to rest on my hips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure I’d be okay with her touching me, and when I didn’t react, she ran her thumbs along the bare skin above my hips. I bit my lip to hold back a sound and felt her exhale hard when I cupped her cheek with my hand. “Go,” I urged again, an inch from her mouth. Her thumbs pressed into my skin and I tried not to squirm.

  “Okay,” she breathed out. “I’ve never been in love.”

  I leaned back a little, eyebrows furrowed, and she opened her eyes to look into mine. “Why not?” I asked gently. I wasn’t surprised, but I wanted to hear her answer. She shifted a little beneath me, visibly distracted, and then seemed to struggle for a response.

  “It’s complicated,” she answered at last. She looked guilty as she said the words, and suddenly didn’t want to look at me.

  “What do you mean by that?” I tried to sound gentle again, hoping the intense curiosity I felt wasn’t coming through in my voice. I willed her to give me a straight answer, hoping she saw it in my face that if she did, I’d kiss her.

  “I…” she began, uncertain, looking at my lips again, but then she looked away, suddenly severely uncomfortable. “Sorry, um…could you…?” She motioned like she wanted me to get off her, and I felt my cheeks burning.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” I started, clambering off of her, but she shook her head and reached for the door.

  “No, it’s totally fine. It’s just getting late. I should probably take you home,” she said. As she moved to get into the front seat, I pressed the back of my head to the seat behind me, closed my eyes, and cursed softly. Then I grabbed my sweater and jacket and moved to get into the passenger’s seat.

  I had a message from Trina Owens on Skylar’s Twitter account waiting for me when Chelsea dropped me off.

  She was distant for the rest of the drive to my house, and I knew I’d dug too deeply and hit a nerve. It felt agonizing to get so close to getting a real answer, and I was frustrated that I’d potentially ruined what closeness I had managed to foster between us by pushing too far.

  But the message from Trina, at least, was something.

  Skylar. STAY AWAY. Everything with Chelsea was perfect in the beginning. That’s probably where you are with her right now. She was so charming at first, but the second I tried to get serious, she wanted nothing to do with me. We slept together and a week later she dumped me via text. Total commitment-phobe. My advice is to lose her number. Hope everything works out. -Trina

  “Shit,” I breathed out quietly, gritting my teeth. I reread, “the second I tried to get serious, she wanted nothing to do with me.” Then I slammed my fist down hard on my desk. “Shit!”

  I spent the next few hours that night staring down at my phone. I knew I owed it to Skylar to let her know that I’d screwed up, but I couldn’t bear to tell her. She trusted me, and if I’d gone and ruined everything, I’d never stop feeling guilty. She was the only friend I had left. The only person who’d stuck with me after I’d pulled a Chelsea of my own on Alex. I didn’t deserve her, especially if I couldn’t even help her now, when she was counting on me.

  I sighed and typed out another apologetic draft to Chelsea: the fifth of the night. I couldn’t bring myself to send it. I was so scared that if I said the wrong thing I’d put the final nail in the coffin. Assuming I hadn’t already done that back in the car.

  “So stupid,” I muttered to myself. “You knew how much of a closed book she was.”

  I tossed my phone to the side and it buzzed as it landed. Then I heaved a sigh, laid back into my pillows, and closed my eyes, sure it was a text from Skylar. I had to find a way to fix this. I had to get Chelsea’s attention again. I just had to figure out what made her tick. I had to figure out how to make a girl who’d never fallen in love fall for me.

  Finally, I picked up the phone and examined my new text. “I’m sorry I freaked out tonight. I’m just not used to opening up to someone like that. Not even my friends.”

  It was from Chelsea. I reread the message with disbelief, gaping at my phone. Relief washed over me and I closed my eyes and let out a heavy breath. I knew what to say next. “I get it. It’ll be my turn next time. If it helps, the more I get to know you, the more I like you.” I sent it, paused, and then typed out another text and sent that one too. “I wish you’d have let me kiss you.”

  For a moment, I felt like the sociopathic one, but then I told myself that Fake Zoey was telling the truth. Fake Zoey was so, so unbelievably into Chelsea that just being around her felt like drowning in warmth. But Fake Zoey was naïve and on the road to getting her heart broken, and Real Zoey was going to beat Chelsea to the punch.

  My phone buzzed again.

  “I can’t wait to know everything about you.”

  I smiled at the message despite myself, then caught myself, quashed my smile, and made a mental note to Fake Zoey to stop with the stomach butterflies, because we were only just getting started, and Chelsea was still full of it and this was still her playing the game. Then I set my phone aside and rolled over to go to sleep.

  Skylar saw Trina’s message the next morning before school, I knew, because I woke up to a message from her about it. “Slept with her and then dumped her a week later via text? Real class act, your girlfriend.”

  I called her rather than continue this over text, and mumbled, still groggy, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Do you have plans with her this weekend?”

  “Yeah, we have sex scheduled for 9:30 on Saturday morning.”

  “Awesome, so then you’re free to hang out on Saturday night?” she asked. “I feel like you’re always up to your ears in Chelsea drama nowadays. Figured you should take a break. I’ve been talking to Alex for you, too.”

  I sat up at that, fully awake. “What have you been saying?”

  “Well, she already knows about what happened at Prom with Chelsea, obviously, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her, so I just mentioned that you were really mad on my behalf. I’m trying for you.” She paused and seemed to hesitate. “Listen, did you really mean what you said to her, back then? About not having feelings for her?” I sensed an edge to her tone and felt my pulse quicken, wondering what exactly had brought o
n this line of questioning.

  “Of course,” I said. “Are things still good with her and Wes?”

  She was quiet for a moment, and then fortunately seemed willing to drop the subject for the time being. “I mean, they don’t hate each other, so there’s that.”

  “That’s good,” I replied, and she scoffed. “No, really. I mean it. I want Alex to be happy. And Wes too.”

  Again, there was a long silence. I could hear Skylar breathing on the other end of the line, but she didn’t speak. “Are you there?” I said at last, just to keep the conversation going.

  “God.” She sighed, sounding really tired all of a sudden. “I know you’re lying about the Alex stuff, Zoe. I figured it out.”

  “What?” I glanced at my phone briefly, panicked, before I returned it to my ear.

  “And I can’t believe you agreed to do this thing with Chelsea anyway. I’m trying to be nice about it, but you basically tricked me.”

  Now I was genuinely confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I bit out, “or what Chelsea has to do with this. I have to go get ready. I can’t hang out Saturday.”

  “Zoey—”

  I hung up the phone and took several deep breaths, then moved to change into my clothes for the day, already planning out how best to avoid Skylar.

  I skipped out on my first class with her and spent the hour in my car instead, reading a book I’d been assigned for my Lit class. Then I drove off-campus for lunch and ate in my car, too. After that was a class I attended, and then a second one with Skylar, where I planned to return to my car again.

  She was one step ahead of me and was waiting for me there. I nearly turned tail at the sight of her, but she started toward me with a sharp, “Oh, no you don’t!” and grudgingly I went to meet her.

  “You’re missing class,” I warned her.

  She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head at me, disappointed. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I know?” When I didn’t answer, she insisted, “Go on. Ask me how I figured it all out.”