by Donna Cooner
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You just haven’t said anything about it until now,” she says.
“Well, I’m going.” That’s two people I’ve said it to now. If I keep saying it out loud, it has to be true.
“Good for you,” Mom says. I can tell she thinks it’s probably a complete waste of time and money. She doesn’t ask any questions.
I change the subject. “Where’s Rat?”
“He’s at some chemistry club meeting,” Mom says, frowning at the nickname. She refuses to call him anything but Theodore, but I gave in to Rat a long time ago. “I think he’s having dinner with Ever. Can you fend for yourself?”
Ever is my brother’s girlfriend. Even though Rat might not seem like the dressing-up kind of guy, he asked Ever to the prom weeks ago. My mom didn’t act at all surprised, nor did she give him any lectures on not buying into the social norms. Maybe because he and Ever are seniors and have been dating for over a year. Or maybe because my brother is always doing something unexpected. It’s normal for Rat to be unpredictable.
“Where are you going?” I ask my mom, getting the milk out of the fridge. Evidently, it is going to be a Cheerios kind of night.
Mom jots some notes down on the paper in front of her about Alton Brown’s meat loaf, then says, “I’m meeting up with some of the other calendar guys to celebrate. Your dad’s at work.”
My dad is a ranger at Huntsville State Park. “When is he going to be home?” I ask.
“Late. He’s doing a full moon nature hike out at the park.”
No surprise. I am going to be alone again. It happens more and more these days.
After Mom leaves, I hang out in the living room, scrolling through my phone with the empty cereal bowl beside me. It is so quiet—so different from the home I used to know with a mom and a brother and a dad.
Now there’s just me.
I pull up the Hornet and frown down at it. The Write New Post button taunts me. The air conditioner kicks in with a muffled mechanical rattle and I hear Bonnie Raitt singing softly in the next room: “Let’s give them something to talk about.” My mom left the radio on. I don’t get up to turn it off, though—too much trouble.
Murphy settles onto the couch beside me, his head in my lap. I look down into his golden eyes, and his chocolate furry eyebrows lift in question. Listening is one of Murphy’s strengths. Even as a puppy, he was determined to be by my side. On the first night he came home with us, he was supposed to sleep on the floor in my room in a newly purchased doggy bed. But even then, he had a mind of his own. Gradually he learned to put his giant, too-big-for-his-puppy-body paws on the mattress and peer over the edge. Then finally, against all the rules, he learned to pull his chunk of a body over the top of the mattress and snuggle deep into the covers, where he stayed all night long. Right at my fingertips.
Eventually, I would talk to him.
And the dog would listen. Sometimes with his eyelids so heavy he could barely keep them up. Sometimes lying on his back, his pink lake of a tummy exposed for belly rubs. And other times, when my voice cracked with all the emotion of my middle school drama, he lay right on top of my chest—one paw on each shoulder, dog heart to person heart—and stared right into my eyes.
We are both older now. Murphy is no longer a puppy, but he is still a great listener. His blocky head is heavy in my lap and he rolls his eyes up to look at my face.
“So what do you think I should do about this prom publicity thing?” I ask him, angling my phone toward him so he can see the screen. It’s not a cat video, so he’s not interested.
“You’re a good dog,” I say, and Murphy’s tail thumps against the couch at the sound of my voice. Everything is so simple in his world. “You know exactly why you’re here on this planet. Not everyone does.”
I scratch his ears in just the right place and Murphy grins his happy smile, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Then his eyes close and within minutes, I hear little doggy snores.
Careful not to disturb him, I turn the phone back toward me. Unfortunately, no words magically typed themselves onto the Hornet. I do a quick Google search for “prom.” Most of the hits are for dresses and makeup tips. I read a Teen Vogue article on “swoon-worthy” dresses and then sit, staring off into space. My mother would be horrified that I’m spending my evening supporting the prom industry and female stereotypes.
I have a quick idea and log in to Instagram. In a flurry of keystrokes, I post some photos of gorgeous models wearing the latest in prom fashions, and I tag Jayla, Taylor, and all the other Lovelies. I comment on how much the photos remind me of them. #sogorgeous #promqueens
Within minutes, there are likes and new followers. When the shares start, I know I’ve hit on something. Now is the time to put my writing skills to use.
I log back in to the Hornet and write:
“You are cordially invited to the Huntsville High School prom. A ticket to your perfect Enchanted Evening is on sale now in the main office. Due to the amazing fund-raising efforts of the junior class, the price of admission is only $40.00 per person and includes party favors, a buffet dinner, and dancing. Music will be provided by the awesome local band The Barneys. Don’t miss out on the biggest night of your life!”
Smiling, I sink back into the couch cushions, surveying my work. It isn’t the next best seller, but it’s a start to launching my own identity. Maybe this isn’t going to be that hard after all.
I open Facebook to read my newsfeed and then check Twitter. Max is right. Everyone from school is talking about Worthy.
Did you guys download this app? It’s crazy!
Omg will Taylor be worthy?
Have y’all voted yet?
My precalculus homework isn’t going to magically finish itself, but before I reach into my bag for my textbook, I open the app.
The photo of Taylor and Liam, and all the comments, are still there. But something is different now. The yes/no buttons are gone, and there is a spinning ball over Taylor’s face.
And then, just like that, the results pop up on the screen.
Congratulations, Taylor!
85% say YES!
You are WORTHY!
Swipe here for more!
No big surprise that Taylor is worthy, I suppose. I swipe on the screen, and new words pop up:
Hey, Hornets! Word is a new couple is headed to the spotlight. When one hundred people have downloaded the app, the next photo will be posted. Share and share alike. You be the judge.
“Now what happens? Is that it?” I ask Murphy. He opens his eyes to look up at me, then closes them again. It’s obviously way past his bedtime.
He’s got no answers, and neither do I.
I arrive at the baseball field on Thursday afternoon feeling beyond nervous. As Nikki suggested, I’m wearing boyfriend jeans, a tank top, and the white wrap sweater.
I squint and look out onto the field to see if I can find Alex. Rows of players are out there, warming up. There is the occasional sound of a bat cracking into a ball as the coach hits flies for the outfielders. I hear the rhythmic pop of the balls landing in gloves.
I shield the sun from my eyes and see Alex. He is walking toward the backstop with his baseball glove in one hand. He looks really handsome in his uniform and my heartbeat speeds up. I don’t think he’s seen me yet. If he looks up toward the crowd, I’ll wave, just to let him know I’m here.
The bleachers are crazy crowded, but I manage to squeeze down the row to an empty spot halfway up. When I glance around to see if I recognize anyone, I’m surprised. Everybody who’s anybody at Huntsville High School is here—even a couple of cheerleaders who usually only show up to support the football team. They must have heard the rumors that, after years of dismal losing streaks, this baseball team might actually be good enough to make it to the championships. Everyone likes winners.
I sit by myself in front of a group of freshman girls. To distract myself, I pull out my phone. Almost automatically, I open Worthy.
I gasp. A new couple is up today. There’s a picture of Raylene Anderson and her boyfriend, Ross, standing in the school parking lot. Raylene’s bleach blonde hair is teased up into a big bump on the back of her head and she’s wearing her twirler outfit. Ross has on his football uniform. He’s a couple of inches shorter than her, but he has his arm draped around her shoulders and she is smiling down at him. It’s a cute photo, but I’m a little surprised. Raylene isn’t in the same crowd as Taylor and her friends. It makes me wonder how these couples are being selected and who is behind it all.
The question underneath the photo is the same as last time: “Is she worthy?”
I think back to what Kat said, about why the app singled out the girl instead of the guy. I close out of the app and glance back to the field. I see that Alex has stopped to talk to a couple: Torrey Grey and her boyfriend, Luis Rivera.
Right. I remember that Luis and Alex are cousins. With the two of them standing side by side, I can see they are definitely related. Both have the same dark hair and dark skin, but Luis is taller and bigger. He also seems so much more serious than Alex. I’ve rarely seen him smile or laugh. Alex, on the other hand, is laughing right now. His eyes half closed and his head thrown back into the sunlight. It makes me want to be there by his side listening to how wonderful that laugh sounds.
I’m distracted by the voices of the freshman girls sitting behind me.
“Did you vote for Raylene today?”
“Yeah. I voted no! I don’t know what Ross sees in her. I mean, she’s pretty, I guess, but she’s so weird … ”
“… He’s just using her until someone better comes along … ”
“… Maybe she’s not that bad … ”
I’m speechless. Freshmen are voting on Worthy now? Has it gotten that big already?
“… It’s all about image. The person you’re with can make or break you. Raylene definitely knows that. Maybe she’s not as ditzy as she acts … ”
“A popular guy with a girl like that and all of a sudden you look at him a little differently, you know?”
“I always thought he was cute; now I’m not so sure … ”
I try to tune them out. Down at the fence, I see Alex wave to Luis and Torrey, and he walks off toward the dugout. I watch as two umpires gather in a tight circle around second base, laughing and talking. The game must be about to begin.
First-string pitcher Chance Lehmann is on the mound, slapping his fist into his glove and waiting for Alex to finish putting on all his gear. Crouching down on the ground behind home plate, Alex puts on his glove and holds it up for the first pitch. The ball pops into his glove in a blur of power. Alex stands to throw it back, hard and fast, and my heart swells with pride.
“Anybody sitting here?” Taylor Reed is suddenly standing beside me. She is wearing her blonde hair in big fat braids and her pale, long legs are shown off to perfection in a floral, high-necked skater dress. Jayla stands at her side, wearing a scarf tied around the top of her head, leaving the rest of her hair curling wildly around her shoulders. Shimmery gold eye shadow, black eyeliner, and berry-stained lips add a hint of glamour to her otherwise dressed-down outfit of jeans, T-shirt, and a black duster that brushes the tops of her Chelsea boots. She and Taylor make a formidable duo of prom queen wannabes. Thank God I have no such aspirations.
Behind us, the freshmen girls are quietly squealing, punching one another, and pointing at Taylor and Jayla.
I pick up my backpack and put it at my feet to clear the spot. “Nope. All yours.”
“Thanks.” Taylor plops down onto the bench with a clink of jewelry and a cloud of perfume. I cough as the sweetness envelops me, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she drapes an arm over my shoulders and squeezes me tightly into her side. “This is the girl that’s going to make us all look good,” she announces to no one in particular. I guess she’s referring to the prom publicity stuff.
No pressure or anything.
We sit like that for a few beats—me choking on the smell and her hugging. Awkward. Finally, I pull myself out of her grasp and scoot away for space enough to breathe.
Jayla leans forward to smile at me. “Hey, I saw your mom made the firefighter calendar. My cousin is at her firehouse. He says she’s great.”
“Thanks,” I stammer back, surprised she’s talking to me and even more shocked she actually knows about my mom.
Unfazed, she grins at me. “So you’re here to watch Alex?” she asks.
News gets out fast, but I’m not going to deny it. “Yeah.”
“He’s really good. I hear college scouts are already looking at him. By the end of baseball season, he’s going to be the hottest thing around. Everybody will be talking about him.”
I glance over at her to make sure she’s serious. She is, and my stomach flips as I laugh nervously. I don’t want everyone knowing that Alex is “the hottest thing around.” It’s my secret.
Sitting up a little straighter, I watch Alex behind the plate. This time the ball comes in fast and too low. It bounces into the dirt in front of him, then off to the side. He dives for it, but it gets past him and rattles back against the fence.
“Hustle, Alex!” the coach yells across the infield. “Don’t let those get away from you. You never know when a runner might be on third just waiting for that kind of mistake.”
Alex picks up the ball and throws it back to the pitcher, then squats down and slaps his glove with his fist.
Suddenly, Taylor stands up, waving wildly and yelling. “Torrey! Hey, Torrey … ”
Torrey Grey is sitting farther down in the stands with Luis. She looks up at Taylor and waves back. Taylor sits down again and fiddles with her braid.
“Torrey’s been really supporting me with this whole Worthy thing,” she whispers to me. “She knows what it’s like to be bullied online.”
Taylor seems upset, and I’m surprised. She was voted worthy. And she got more attention. Isn’t that all she would care about?
The freshmen sitting behind us are silent, listening. I can feel them leaning in closer to hear better. Taylor now has their complete attention. I should warn her about the nosy busybodies, but I’m not sure how to do it without them hearing.
Jayla looks down at her phone. “Three different people just texted me about Worthy since we’ve been sitting here. It’s out of control.”
“I just don’t understand. Why me?” Taylor crosses her arms and stares down at the field.
“Why not you?” Jayla asks. I’m surprised at the bitterness in her voice. “Girls are trained for this kind of scrutiny from the time we are little. People tell us if we’re pretty … or thin … or smart.”
“And they tell us if we’re not any of those things,” I say, because I’ve already read some of the comments under Raylene and Ross’s picture.
Then the game starts and I try to pay attention, but my thoughts about Worthy, and Taylor, and Raylene, and Alex are swirling around. When Alex comes up to bat, the crowd breaks out in a roar. I look around in shock. They’re all cheering for him. For Alex. It gives me goose bumps and a weird unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The game is close and the tension high on the field and in the stands. At the top of the eighth inning, they are tied.
Alex stands up behind the plate to yell at the pitcher, “Come on, Chance. One more out.”
But even before the ball leaves Chance’s hand, everyone knows the first base runner is going to steal second. The batter swings wildly. It is a diversion, but Alex isn’t distracted. He catches the ball, stands up, and throws it hard, directly toward a spot where there is no one to catch it. Alex’s arm is strong and his aim perfect. The shortstop arrives at just the right moment to hold out his glove, snatch the ball out of the air, and in an almost seamless movement, tag the sliding runner from first base.
“Out!” shouts the umpire, and the crowd goes wild. Taylor jumps up and down beside me, yelling like a banshee.
“Way to go, Alex,
” she cups her hands over her mouth and yells.
Jayla claps and cheers and gives me a smile, like I have something to be proud of now.
After the game, Alex is surrounded by cheering teammates congratulating him, so I wait for him at the fence.
“Hey,” Alex says when he sees me.
“You were fantastic. I had no idea you were so … good.” It was such an understatement. “Congrats.”
“Thanks.” He pulls up his shirt and wipes the sweat off his forehead. My breath catches in my throat at the definition in his abs. Behind him, the freshmen girls from the bleachers are giggling and watching. They definitely aren’t scrutinizing me. Just Alex and his sculpted stomach. It’s all I can do not to reach out and yank his shirt back down.
Chance Lehmann and Lucas Murray, the first baseman, come out the gate. Chance slaps Alex on the back. “Good game,” he says.
“Thanks.” Alex grins at him. “You were great, too.”
“You guys are unstoppable,” Lucas says.
“Some of us are going out now. You want to come?” Chance asks Alex. He doesn’t seem to realize I’m standing there with Alex, or maybe he just doesn’t care. “We’re thinking about going to Jilly’s and then over to my house. Some girls might drop by later. Like Taylor Reed.”
“Did you hear she broke up with Liam?” Lucas says, and I’m stunned. Is that why Taylor seemed upset in the stands? “After the Worthy vote sank in,” Lucas goes on, “she must have thought she could do even better. I’m thinking I might even ask her out.”
“I guess they weren’t the perfect couple after all,” I say, the thought spilling out before I can stop it.
“So, you’re coming, right?” Chance gestures for Alex to follow him to the parking lot, but Alex shakes his head.
“Sorry, Chance,” he says. “I can’t today. Maybe next time?”
After a couple more shoves and arm punches, the boys leave. I hope Alex is not regretting his decision to stay behind with me. He picks up his athletic bag off the dirt and swings it over one shoulder. Why haven’t I ever noticed those muscles in his arms before? I’ve been so blind. He looks at me with a half smile.
