by Ana Sparks
I twirled again in front of the mirror, watching my curls bob as I did so. They had taken the hairdresser almost two hours to do.
“You have a lot of hair!” her gravelly voice had accused, as if I had specifically sprouted an extra few hundred hairs just to spite her.
Nearing the mirror, I fluttered my lashes. Thankfully, my makeup application had been more painless. The makeup artist, Ricardo, had been speedy and cheery, delighting in my every feature.
“But your eyes!” he had exclaimed as he’d blended some ten or so different shadows together to make the sweeping sparkling perfection that now made my eyes look like two giant beacons taking over my face.
“And these lips!” he had cried, as he’d lined and glossed my pout, until it looked fuller than I’d seen it in all my 18 years.
And then there was my dress, which had taken weeks to find. Weeks of harried shuffling through rack after rack of dresses, surveying not-quite-right gowns in store mirrors, of pestering my mom to try yet another store, while Veronica scoffed at “picky people who were never happy.” But it had all been worth it when I had finally found the dress.
I smiled at my reflection, at the shining embellished fabric draped around me, the mint color perfect against my hair color, my skin tone, and my eyes. Yes, it was just perfect. And now, here I was, all ready for prom.
“Kristin?”
It was my mom. Standing in the doorway, she had tears in her eyes.
I turned to her with a nervous smile.
“What do you think?”
“I think…” Her smile trembled. “Oh Kristin, you look gorgeous. I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
As her arms wrapped around me in a hug, I continued, “Tina says Clark and I are on the ballot for prom king and queen, too.”
My mom clasped me to her tighter.
“Oh honey, you deserve it; you’ve really worked hard this year.”
“Speaking of Clark, where is he anyway?”
Hearing my sister’s snide voice, I looked to the doorway to see her standing there with her too-shiny, too-short, amethyst-colored dress.
I checked my phone: Sorry, running late, will meet you there.
“He’s going to meet us there,” I said and my sister’s sneer deepened.
“You’re sure he was 100% on taking you?”
“Yes, Veronica,” I said, glaring at her reflection in my mirror. Veronica was just jealous that no one had asked her this year or last year. She shouldn’t have been even going to my prom, really, as she was a year older than me. But since she had had to repeat the year, she and her snobby friends were apparently going, too.
Picking up my glistening clutch, I sauntered by her, tossing her a superior smile.
“He’ll be there, you’ll see.”
Downstairs, my dad was watching TV with Billy and Diana. Seeing me, he stood up, his jaw dropping.
“Wow, Kristin, honey. I mean, wow…” His bushy brows rose so high they almost hit his hairline. Then, suddenly they fell. “This friend of yours—Clark. He’s an honorable young man, right?”
Laughing, I waved my hand. “Yes, Dad.”
But his face was serious.
“I mean it, Kristin. Just be careful, okay?”
“Okay, okay, I will! Actually, Dad, can you give me a ride?”
“Oh?”
“Clark’s going to meet me there.”
My dad’s frown deepened.
“Huh, that’s not the way my prom went.”
I patted his beefy arm. “Times have changed, Dad.”
We had something of a staring contest for a minute, his scrutinizing gaze against my innocuous one, until finally, he wiggled his eyebrows in surrender.
“Okay, okay, let’s get you and your sister to prom.”
The car ride was mostly silent. My dad made a few attempts at conversation before giving up entirely. Veronica’s words kept echoing in my head: You’re sure he was 100% on taking you?
Because honestly, I wasn’t sure. I had been downright surprised that he had even asked me to go with him. Clark and I had always joked around in computer science class, but still. He had always seemed remote—too popular and cool for me, with his impossible-to-read eyes and easy smile. And yet, in that very class, he’d poked me to show me his screen. On it was the colorful flashing message: Come to prom with me? I’d laughed and laughed, and nodded excitedly. But as soon as I had agreed, I’d felt a strange sort of foreboding. The same foreboding I felt now as we made the long drive to the school.
I glared at the back of Veronica’s head. She had no idea what she was talking about. Clark would come through. He had to. I’d turned down four other guys to go with him. First had been Herman, his eyes practically bulging through his glasses as he’d choked the question out. Then, there had been Claude, who’d even made a song he’d sung to me outside on the hill, the day after Clark had asked me. The worst, however, had been Gary. He had sauntered up at the end of lunch, thrown the question at me out of nowhere: “So when should I pick you up?”
To my befuddled “What?” he’d responded “To prom”. When I had politely declined, he had kept insisting that I go with him, that I was intimidated, that I was a stuck-up bitch, until I had to escape to the girl’s bathroom.
Looking out the window, I sighed.
Yes, Clark would come through. We’d gone on four dates since he had asked me to prom. And on the one to the zoo, after we’d laughed over the belligerent and hilarious camels, the curious meerkats and the unimpressed alpacas, he’d pulled me behind a tree and kissed me.
Even here in my car, my whole body tingled with the memory. I’d kissed a few guys, but it had never been like that—like every part of my body had suddenly woken up.
Since then we had spent more time together and grown closer, making out in the fields behind school, in the movie theatre, in his room, going further and further each time.
I glanced to the front of the car, but Dad was concentrating on the road; there was no indication he had any idea just how right he had been back there in the family room.
Because tonight was the night—in more ways than one. Tonight was the night I would look my best, be my best, get to go and dance and have fun with the guy who I thought was the best. Tonight was the night I would prove my sister and all the other jealous girls wrong. Tonight was the night I was going to lose my virginity.
I inhaled then exhaled, trying to calm myself down. Yes, it was a big deal—a crazy big deal—but tonight was the perfect night for it, and I was ready. Clark was so sweet and gentle with me, always stopping the second I asked. And I was so attracted to him; there was no one who would be more perfect to have sex with for the first time.
I opened the window and took a deep breath in of the clear night air. Yes, tonight was going to be the night. The perfect night, in every way possible.
CLARK
What was I supposed to do now?
I stared at the text for a few minutes, trying to process just what I was seeing.
Maybe. Skype meeting in 15 minutes to decide?
My app, my baby, my Reviewly, might actually be backed by a Silicon Valley investor. But in fifteen minutes I was supposed to be picking up Kristin to get to prom.
“Clark, you didn’t eat the last few carrots, did you?”
I turned around to see my mom’s tired face, the three lines on her forehead looking deeper than ever.
“No, Mom, sorry.”
She shuffled away, and I returned my gaze to the phone.
I’ll be there, I typed.
More than this being my dream—that was why I had to get this app picked up by a proper investor, so that my family wouldn’t be so hard off that my mom had to worry about a few missing carrots.
I texted Kristin quickly. Sorry, running late, will meet you there. This meeting would probably be a breeze; after all, time was money when it came to these types of things.
In the bathroom, I surveyed myself in the mirr
or. My suit was looking pretty good. It fit great, and I was sure that Kristin was going to love it. That and the corsage made of blue roses I had gotten for her. It was pretty cheesy, but as soon as I had seen it, had seen how it was the exact pale blue her eyes were, I’d had to get it.
Staring in the mirror, I glared as my cheeks reddened. What was it with that girl? Why did I feel so content whenever I was around her? Even the thought of being around her was exciting. I had dated around a little, but there was something about Kristin Blair…
I slicked down my hair with some water and raced into the kitchen, where the family computer was.
“Mom, could you keep it down for a minute? I have a business meeting in a few minutes.”
Mom gave a tired smile and nodded, silently herding my brother and sister out into the family room. She didn’t think this was going to work, I could tell, but I was confident.
Reviewly had taken me months to develop and, more than that, it was something people needed. I never liked buying anything without knowing if it was worth my while, and I knew today’s consumer was no different. Developing an app that collated all reviews and ratings on the net into one sole star rating? It was genius, every investor I’d talked to had said so. This guy, however, the Silicon Valley investor, was the first one to put his money where his mouth was. He’d sent me $5000 on the spot, and this meeting was to negotiate the details, hopefully for a whole lot more.
I checked my phone—I only had five more minutes. So, I put on my shoes, slipped the car key in my pocket and jumped back onto the chair.
There. No matter how long this interview took, I would be ready to race out the door. I would get to prom on time.
As soon as the guy came on, however, I knew this was going to be harder than I’d bargained for. No sooner were our introductions out of our mouths then he got right down to business. He had shifty, close-set eyes that scanned me thoroughly as he spoke.
“So, Reviewly. Sell it to me. Why should I back you and your app?”
Without missing a beat, I launched into my pitch, the one I’d repeated in my head a hundred times: “When you’re shopping, what is the one main concern you have—the one factor that can make or break what product you buy? Effectiveness. Consumers want to be sure they’re buying something that works. The only problem is: no product is honest about this. Everything we look at throws promises at us with only sky-high claims that may or may not be sincere.
“What if you could wade through all of that PR and find out which products really delivered, as evidenced by people like yourself? Well, you’d want to get your hands on whatever could do that for you, now wouldn’t you? Unbiased, unpaid, verified reviews. Enter Reviewly. This app works like a search engine, compiling results from across the Internet to give whatever product you’re searching for a star rating out of 5, and showing the amount of reviews that went into this calculation. Moreover, each rating can be broken down, showing which results were gotten from which webpage, whether it’s Amazon or otherwise.”
The man rubbed his temple briefly.
“How will Reviewly make a profit?”
“Through sales,” I said, “For a one-time price of $4, consumers can have unlimited access to reviews of every product that has any sort of rating or review online.”
“Four dollars,” the man said, taking off his glasses and turning them round in his hand, “That’s a lot of money.”
“What price can you put on peace of mind? Never again do you have to worry about what kind of product you’re getting, or whether it’ll work or not. With our simple app, you have access to the best products made by the best companies. Not to mention that Reviewly also contains an average price total, where it lists prices of these products at different stores, online and otherwise. You literally have a porthole into a product’s effectiveness and price point right at your fingertips. Hours of research completed in seconds.”
My pitch finished, the man had me wait for several agonizing minutes while he squinted off in the distance. Finally, he put on his glasses and nodded.
“Reviewly is a go. I’ll email you with details on payment and next steps.”
As soon as he snapped off the cam, I leapt up. Whooping, I raced around the room chanting.
“Reviewly! Reviewly! Reviewly!”
My mom stopped in the door, surveying me with an incredulous mile.
“Clark?”
I threw my arms around her.
“Mom, you won’t believe it. They’re backing it! That big Silicon Valley investor I told you about—he’s backing it! Reviewly is going to blow up!”
My brother and sister were gazing up at me with saucer eyes, but I was laughing, grabbing their hands and dancing round the room, around and around.
“Clark?” my mom said.
“Yeah?”
“What about prom? Aren’t you supposed to be picking up your date?”
I froze.
“Crap, Kristin.”
I checked my phone and my stomach lurched. It was 8:30 pm. Somehow an hour had slipped by without me even noticing. I turned to Mom.
“It’s okay if I take the car just for a bit, right?”
No sooner had she said “Okay”, I racing out of the room and through the front door.
“Good luck!” she called after me.
As I threw myself into the car and twisted the key in the ignition, I reflected that I needed all the good luck I could get. Because, as I rocketed down the road, I saw that it was now 8:35 pm, and it would take me thirty minutes to get there. Thirty minutes I didn’t have.
I stepped on the gas and weaved past car after car. I would get to prom on time. I would see Kristin and we would kiss and dance and the night would be just as perfect as I had been hoping for.
Yes, I would get to prom on time. I had to.
KRISTIN
Not long after I had opened the window my dad was saying, “We’re here.”
Though really, he needn’t have said anything. The long line of loitering teens was indication enough.
At Veronica’s demand, Dad pulled the car over a little down the road so we wouldn’t be seen not arriving in a limo. As we got out of the car, Dad rolled down the window.
“My beautiful daughters, have fun you two!”
“We will!” we chorused. With a final wave, we made our way to the long line. My sister soon found her group of friends, who—just my luck—were at the end of the line with us.
“So,” a tall, angular girl named Rachelle said, turning to my sister as if I wasn’t there, “Where’s Kristin’s date? Where’s Clark?”
“He’s coming,” I said immediately.
“Sure…” she said in an unbelieving tone.
Turning so my back was to them, I checked my phone. There was nothing from Clark, so I texted him: Here. Where are you?
“Well if it isn’t Miss Blair.”
At the sound of Gary’s voice, I groaned inwardly.
“Hi Gary,” I said, turning away from him and his smirking friends.
“Where’s Clark?” he asked.
“On his way,” I said lightly. I could feel Gary towering over my shoulder, almost touching me, breathing down my neck.
“Oh yeah? You sure he didn’t decide to just skip it and work on those computers he’s always messing with?”
I turned to face Gary head on, taking in his stupid wide snide smile and little glaring eyes.
“He’s coming. You’ll see.”
There was an awkward silence, and then his buddies starting cracking up.
“Whatever,” Gary said.
The wait to get inside seemed to take forever. A good portion of my classmates were apparently loaded with things they shouldn’t be—alcohol, drugs, you name it—while the teachers themselves seemed battle-ready, searching coats, hats, and every pocket in every article of clothing.
When it was finally my turn to go in, Mr. Hartery, our kindly principal, smiled.
“Kristin Blair. You look stunning.”
<
br /> “Thanks, Mr. H.”
His eyes scanned around me, but he thankfully said nothing; I wasn’t sure I could stand another comment about being alone or where my date was.
Inside, the gymnasium had been transformed into a silver wonderland. The floor and walls were covered in reflective metallic silver, while the ceiling was fluttering with silver streamers. Immediately, I made a beeline for the food. It wasn’t like I was going to be seeing many friends; none of them had been asked, or even expressed an interest in going, for that matter. Basically, as my tell-it-how-it-is friend Stephanie had said: “You’re on your own, Kir.”
And, as I collected as many mini brownies as my hands could carry and flopped down in a booth. Maybe Stephanie was right. The more I looked around, the more I realized that, while I “knew” everyone, there was next to no one that I actually talked to.
No, for Grass Valley High, social lines were more like fences; you talked to whoever was in your group—the preps talked to the preps, the losers the losers, the nerds the nerds, and so on. That was why Clark asking me to the prom, of all the people he could have chosen, had been so surprising.
So, as the too-loud music boomed on, I flitted back and forth from the food table to my lonely booth, collecting my ration of brownies and eating away my fears. A quick trip to the bathroom revealed that my brownie binging had luckily not ruined my makeup. But when some girls I vaguely recognized asked me “Where’s Clark?” all I could do was rush out of the room.
I checked my phone. It was 8:45 already, and in fifteen minutes they would announce the prom king and queen. I had seen the ballots; Clark and I were listed there along with three other couples. If we were voted king and queen and Clark didn’t show, everyone would know.
More than that, this night was turning out to be a dud. I hadn’t danced. I hadn’t done anything but sit in this stupid sticky booth, stuff my face with brownies and check my phone every five seconds.
