by Sandy Hall
But Jacinta had to agree with Luke Martinez on his point. The concept of having a prom king and queen was an outdated tradition and one she didn’t want any part of. It was as good a year as any to get rid of it.
And maybe future senior classes would want to elect kings and queens and dukes and duchesses and whatever the hell else. But it didn’t mean they had to. Maybe it was about time the class of 2018 put an end to things they weren’t interested in.
Onward and upward, as they say.
The post-promposal make-out session came to an end, so Jacinta slipped in and got what she needed from her locker before setting off in the direction of her sociology class.
On her way there it was hard not to notice all the flowers and balloons and signs spelling out Prom? It had been like this every spring in high school. She wasn’t sure when promposals became such a trend, but she couldn’t deny that she kind of wished someone would prompose to her.
She sleepwalked through the rest of her morning, daydreaming about a faceless boy asking her to prom and trying not to feel too pathetic about this self-insert fan fiction she was writing in her head.
When she finally got to lunch later that day, Kelsey was sitting at their usual table holding court with Landon.
“I hate to say it, but I think I agree with Amelia. I think the class as a whole could do with some regular old, traditional prom stuff. I think it would be fun to do the whole king-and-queen thing,” Kelsey said as Jacinta slid into a seat.
“I have to agree,” Landon said.
He always had to agree with Kelsey. It was probably the only way they continued to get along after breaking up junior year.
“I don’t,” Jacinta said, setting her lunch on the table and taking a seat.
They both looked at her like she had desecrated some expensive piece of art.
“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, but I definitely don’t think we need to have a king and a queen. I think it’s sort of ridiculous.”
Kelsey audibly gasped.
“What do you think we should do?” Landon asked.
“I agree with Luke and them. We could do a court and recognize lots of other people. Don’t you guys want to get recognized for all the work you’ve done? Neither one of you is going to be king or queen, no offense.” Where this bold moment had come from was anyone’s guess, but Jacinta felt a warm rush of pride for saying what she was thinking for once.
Kelsey and Landon blinked at each other and then blinked at Jacinta. It was like they hadn’t even considered their part in all of this.
“We have done a lot for the class,” Kelsey said.
“We have,” Landon agreed.
“Maybe it is time that we as a collective move away from weird old traditions like king and queen,” Kelsey said.
Jacinta smiled. They were listening to her. They were actually listening to her. Maybe this was the first step toward a starring role, to not just being a side character.
“Well, I know how I’m voting next week,” Landon said.
“Me too,” Kelsey said. “I’m glad Cora gave us some time to think about this stuff. I would have hated to make a snap judgment.”
Jacinta barely contained an eye roll at Landon’s brownnosing head nod.
Cameron
Cameron Wyatt was totally and completely over high school, and he couldn’t help assuming everyone else was, too.
But then prom tickets went on sale, and it was like everyone started clawing out their own eyes to get a date.
Even if Cameron had been in the mood for prom, he didn’t have anyone he wanted to invite. Well, he sort of did, but they had never met and had only spoken through messages sent via a shared laptop in English class. And the mere thought of inviting her made his face blush approximately the same color as his hair. It wasn’t a good look and should be avoided at all costs.
Whenever there was computer work to be done, Ms. Huang would haul in the laptop cart and Cameron would make a grab for laptop 19. He would open it up and wait for the ancient machine to load the desktop where he would dig through the “secret” file that Laptop Girl had set up for them.
Though they had exchanged messages on nearly a daily basis for the past couple of months, they never exchanged names. Cameron didn’t really want her to know who he was, and the only time she had asked, she seemed cool with keeping their messages anonymous.
The only reason he even knew she was a girl was because she made a comment about being her “mother’s daughter.”
It had all started in the beginning of the year when he grabbed a laptop off the cart and someone had changed the background to a picture of dancing cats with the caption “But consider this: the Great CATS-by.” It wasn’t the best joke ever, but it made him laugh.
He made the background a picture of cats marching and changed the caption to “What About Brave New Cats?” He put an asterisk next to the question mark with a note that said, “Please check for my disclaimer in the document called ‘Bad Jokes.’”
The document when opened contained only the word SORRY written in 72-point bold font.
But apparently his bad jokes didn’t stop her from continuing to engage with him. In that same document, she deleted his 72-point SORRY and started writing in normal-size font. She left a note on the desktop telling him to check the doc. (He wondered more than once if someone else was following their messages, but no one ever spoke up. Maybe they were the only two people who habitually used laptop 19.)
The first message had started with:
So I’m bored. I’m going to ask you a million questions (or maybe just five) on the off chance you’ll answer them and then I’ll have something fun to read. Please respond in complete sentences. The five questions are as follows:
• What’s your favorite color?
• Can you use chopsticks?
• What’s your first memory?
• What do you want to be when you grow up?
• Do you have a name?
He happily responded to all her questions.
My favorite color is green. But like LIME GREEN. A green that can be seen from outer space. A green so green you can practically taste it.
I cannot use chopsticks.
Number three is a difficult question. Because memory is a weird thing, isn’t it? Do I really remember a certain moment, or is it because I’ve seen pictures of it and heard the story a million times? I would say that probably my first memory is being in a minor car accident with my mom when I was four or five. I know there are no photographs of this moment slipped into family scrapbooks. No one was hurt, it was only a small fender bender, but it’s a pretty traumatic event for a kid. Also, I was really into police cars, so I remember when they arrived on the scene very distinctly.
Oh man. I have no clue what I want to be when I grow up. I had no idea that I’d be quizzed on this today, and I have no answer. “Something that’s not terrible” is about as specific as I can get.
As for your last query, yes, I do have a name. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to share it. It’s kind of fun being anonymous.
And I ask you the same million (or five) questions.
When he got the laptop the next time, Laptop Girl had answered and he had to work pretty hard not to laugh too much at her responses.
My favorite color is now lime green. You’ve convinced me. A green so green that you can almost taste it.
I am surprisingly good at chopsticks. I got a little obsessed with them after my aunt took me out to hibachi for my sixth birthday. I wanted desperately to be able to use them, so she took her time to show me, and after dropping several pieces of chicken on the floor, I managed to get one in my mouth.
Funny enough, I’m pretty sure that my birthday hibachi dinner is also my first real memory. There are other moments, but they’re more like images than memories, like a trip to the zoo and getting a new couch. I really REMEMBER the restaurant and the onion volcano.
I, too, have a name, but I won’t be sharing because you’re right, anonymity is fun.
Every time the laptop cart was in the room, Cameron knew he had a treat waiting for him. It made English, and everything else about his senior year, a lot more bearable.
Cameron and Laptop Girl somehow remained anonymous even while sharing personal details. It worked for them. They both agreed several times that it was nice to have someone to spill secrets to and to talk to without having to worry about anyone finding out.
Unless you decide to print this out and start plastering it around the school.
she joked in one message. Then followed it up with:
Please don’t do that.
He reread their most recent exchange and grinned.
For a second, he wished that they could meet in real life. But that opened a whole kettle of fish that he wasn’t prepared to deal with. Instead, he started a new message.
Chapter 3
Henry
Henry Lai liked to play a game in the long crowded hallways at school. It was called “How far can I go without touching anyone AND without anyone touching me.”
The good news was that it was a pretty challenging game, good for his reflexes.
The bad news was that he never got very far. Henry felt like his classmates had little interest in personal boundaries. It was a shame to say the least.
The even worse news was that since prom tickets had gone on sale earlier in the week the traffic in the hallways had grown to a near standstill. Henry was at his wit’s end just trying to get through the day.
He made it to his locker relatively unscathed Wednesday afternoon and checked his phone. He had a text from his best friend, Paisley.
Why couldn’t she tell him now? He hated waiting for stuff like that. All it was going to do to him was make him think and worry and wonder what she could be talking about.
He took a screenshot of these texts. Sometimes he did that with Paisley. Not because he wanted to preserve these conversations forever, but because if someone were to ever challenge him on his friendship with Paisley, these were the kind of things he liked to keep as proof. Also it was never a bad idea to keep receipts.
There was something about the way she talked to him, so no-nonsense, that no one else in his life had quite figured out.
Henry walked out of school with his backpack over his shoulder and his baseball glove in hand. He’d turned in the direction of the baseball field when he saw it.
The most terrible thing.
A promposal of epic proportions. This was no little moment in the hall that could be skirted around. This was happening in the front of the school at the end of the day.
He burned with the shame of secondhand embarrassment as a girl asked a boy to the prom right there in the middle of the school lawn. In front of God and parents picking up freshmen and students exiting the building and EVERYONE.
He was never sure if what he experienced in these moments was an overload of empathy or an overload of sympathy. Whatever it was, it was nearly crushing him. He couldn’t move as he watched Margie Showalter hold up her hand-lettered and glittered sign that read STEWART SMITH—WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?
She was smiling broadly and obviously trying to hold the sign steady in the breeze.
Henry could see little flecks of glitter fluttering off into the air and blowing around. He imagined where those pieces of glitter might end up. A bird’s nest, someone’s unsuspecting ice cream cone, the sewer.
And then the worst thing happened. The absolutely worst thing imaginable.
Stewart Smith said no.
Henry saw him shake his head. His smile was apologetic. He said a few things, but the words were obscured by the wind that was now kicking up even more glitter.
Things were falling apart in slow motion in the middle of the school parking lot. Henry didn’t know how to deal with this horrible tableau that was happening in front of him. He had the distinct urge to run away and never, ever look back.
That’s exactly what Margie was doing.
She wasn’t running, though, just walking away dejectedly, and dragging her poster along behind her.
Henry accidentally made eye contact with her for a split second. His regret was swift and immense. She looked like someone had run over her dog.
“I thought he liked me,” Margie said to no one in particular.
Henry’s eyes went wide, and he knew he did not have the bandwidth for her sad state of rejection. He backed away from her, going off the path down to the field instead and winding his way across the lawn, trying to avoid the goose crap that was everywhere. For some reason, geese from a nearby pond liked to come up to the grass in front of the school and basically shit everywhere. It was an issue that the administration hadn’t figured out a way to deal with yet, even though it’d been literally happening for years. Something about the new dam that had been built by the brook. It was a serious environmental issue.
Jamie Fitzpatrick materialized next to him, his long legs falling into rhythm next to Henry, barely managing to miss what could only be described as goose diarrhea.
“Oh gross,” is all Jamie said as he sidestepped around it.
“Hey,” Henry said, keeping his eyes on the ground.
“Why are you walking through this field of sorrow and goose shit?”
“Oh man, I just watched this really terrible promposal go down. Margie Showalter asked Stewart Smith, and the dude said no.”
“That’s awful. Why would you make such a big show if you weren’t guaranteed a yes, you know?”
“I have no idea,” Henry said. “I was just so embarrassed for Margie. I mean, I’d be embarrassed for anyone getting rejected, but there was something about this moment. I wished the ground would swallow me up on her behalf.”
“How could the ground swallowing you up even help her?” Jamie asked.
Jamie was not the brightest bulb in the box. “It wouldn’t. I’m just explaining to you that it was that embarrassing.”
“Oh, I get you.” Jamie bobbed his head. Henry had a feeling that Jamie did not get him but that he mostly wanted to stop talking about this. They were at the field house now where all the guys changed for practice. “I’m so freaking relieved that I have a girlfriend and don’t have to deal with shit like that. You know, like rejection. When I ask Cora I know she’ll say yes.”
“You haven’t asked her yet?” Henry asked.
“Nah, I’m waiting a couple days, until she’ll be surprised and I know she’d kill me if I made a big deal about it.”
Henry chewed his lip.
“What about you?” Jamie asked. “You gonna ask someone?”
Henry wrinkled his nose. “I’m not really interested in prom.”
“Oh, come on, man. It’s one of those things.” Jamie paused and snapped his fingers, searching for the words. “You know. Like a thing.”
“Tradition?”
“Well that, too, but like … Oh man, I’m so annoyed I can’t think of this.”
Henry shrugged.
“A rite of passage!” Jamie said, smacking Henry hard on the shoulder.
“I’m sure I’ll live,” Henry muttered, rubbing the point of impact. He wasn’t in the mood to explain to Jamie Fitzpatrick that the anxiety of even considering the prom wasn’t worth Henry’s time.
He had a feeling Jamie wouldn’t understand that sentiment, so he kept it to himself.
Lizzie
It was Friday night and the mall was hopping.
The parking lot was full, the stores were packed, and there were lines at every eatery in the food court. Except for Hot Potato. No one ever lined up for Hot Potato. It was always a last resort.
But the unpopularity of their workplace left Paisley and Lizzie with plenty of time to talk.
Lizzie leaned her hip on the counter by t
he register, looking alert in case a customer came up, while Paisley picked pieces of chive out of the adjacent container of shredded cheddar using the world’s smallest tongs. They might actually have qualified as tweezers, and Lizzie had to wonder where Paisley even found them.
“So are you super psyched about prom?” Lizzie asked in a voice dripping with fake enthusiasm.
“Totally!” Paisley said with an eye roll of her green eyes and a rock-and-roll hand gesture. Her brown hair was cut into a floppy, growing-out pixie cut that really helped sell her whole vibe, Lizzie thought.
Lizzie attempted the same gesture back.
“I’m pretty sure you said ‘I love you’ in sign language,” Paisley said.
“Oh, oops,” Lizzie said.
Paisley could always pull off stuff like that. Lizzie just wasn’t cool enough, particularly in comparison to Paisley. Lizzie was chubby to Paisley’s waifishness, and her hair was frizzy instead of straight. Lizzie told herself over and over that it did no good to compare herself to other people, especially other girls, but there was something about Paisley she wished she could emulate.
“Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly is so thrilling about going to prom,” Lizzie said, changing the topic and attempting to cover her embarrassment. “Is it all the money you spend? Or stressing out over having the same dress as someone else?”
Paisley stood up, having finished her chive scavenger hunt, and brushed any errant chives she left behind off the work area. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s the cummerbunds.”
“Or the, you know, the sex thing,” Lizzie mumbled.
Paisley thought about that for a second. “What?”
“You know. Our classmates are horndogs, in general, and there’s an inherent sex vibe surrounding the whole thing, you know? Like all those prom movies about having sex for the first time, feeding the teenagers of America big dreams for loss of virginity.”
“I don’t have the proper sexy radar,” Paisley said with a shrug.
A customer came up then, interrupting their conversation. As Paisley walked him through selecting his toppings and explained for the millionth time that yes, they only have potatoes, and no, they don’t have any burgers, Lizzie thought about the prom. She definitely never wanted to go before. There was nothing about it that enticed her; she hadn’t been lying to Paisley a few minutes ago.
