Prom Queen Geeks

by Laura Preble

  Evie leans against the drama building between Elisa and Amber. “Well, it’s nice that they hosted me and all, but she and I are as opposite as it’s possible to be. All she seems to care about is manicures and makeovers, and I’m into computers. And, of course, Frisbee.”

  Becca perks up at the mention of technology. “You’re good with computers?”

  Evie squints at her through the rectangular glasses. “Absolutely. Why?”

  “I have a great idea,” Becca says, grinning maniacally. But just then the bell rings, and it’s back to reality. “Evie, can you meet us after school? I have a really interesting proposition for you.”

  Evie smiles broadly. “Sure, if it means I’ll be able to have a conversation that doesn’t involve lipstick.”

  “I can almost promise you,” Becca says, clapping an arm around Evie’s shoulder as they walk toward the middle of campus.

  “What do you think she has in mind?” Elisa asks as we follow them.

  “That’s a good question,” I answer. “I really have no idea.”

  Amber falls into step beside us. “If it’s something she just came up with off the top of her head, it usually means it’s something really big, really difficult to pull off, and something that will involve a lot of work for us.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Elisa says, nodding. “I was getting kind of bored, actually. We need something to spice up the end of the year.”

  As for me, I don’t feel quite as excited as Elisa. In fact, a little cold fish of fear has started to swim around in my stomach; what possible use could Becca have for Evie Brandt, Australian computer geek? And then a thought hits me, a thought I had been shutting out thanks to Evie’s pink Frisbee invasion: My dad is dating Becca’s mom. Nothing can be as bad as that.

  Becca is waiting outside the classroom when I finish my last class of the day. “Hey,” she chirps.

  We walk together, me trying to keep up with her monstrous strides. “You’re happy.”

  “Sure. Why not?” She gazes off into the distance as if she’s looking for something.

  “And would this unexplained happiness have anything to do with an Australian computer geek?”

  She grins. “Maybe.”

  “How about you let me in on whatever the big plan is.” I grab her arm to slow her down. “And stick to the speed limit. I’m getting a leg cramp.”

  She turns, her eyes sparkling. “I got this brainstorm. We have to talk to Evie about it, of course, but get this: What if we invited people from all over the world to our Geek Prom?”

  I stare at her blankly. “I don’t think people from all over the world are going to want to travel to Southern California for cocktail weenies and punk music.”

  “We’re not having punk. Anyway, of course they can’t physically travel here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m officially confused.”

  “Webcam attendance. We’ll have other people set up web-cams in all these different places, link them to our event, have huge screens, and up-link all the people from all over the world so they are virtually attending our prom!”

  Once again, Becca is obsessed with global domination. Same old story. It’s not enough for her to have a few really good friends, or even a boyfriend; she wants the whole world to be her friend. It’s like she has some need to prove that she’s more popular than everyone else, even though she makes fun of people who need to be popular.

  Evie, Elisa, and Amber are all waiting for us by the drama building. “Can we go to your house?” Becca whispers before we get to them.

  “I guess,” I mutter sullenly. It doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice.

  “Gorgeous day,” Evie says, pointing toward the stubbly hills and sky. Luckily, the rain has stopped, leaving the sky powder-blue with a few puffy clouds, and the air unusually clean and clear for a Southern California afternoon. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that particular mountain before.”

  “Yeah, on the rare occasion that it rains, you can see all kinds of stuff that’s usually hidden,” I say cryptically. I’m not even sure what the comment means, but it sounds like it’s meaningful.

  “Hey,” Becca calls out. “Shelby says we can go to her house to plot our scheme.”

  “What scheme is that, exactly?” Elisa asks as we walk toward the street.

  “Becca wants to invite the whole world to Geek Prom,” I say.

  She shoots me a dirty look, as if she doesn’t like my tone of voice. “Kind of,” she says. “Evie inspired the idea, actually.”

  “I did?” Evie says, surprised. “How so?”

  Becca explains the whole webcam idea, and everybody reacts in various ways: Elisa gets a high-tech gleam in her eye (no doubt figuring how her beloved Wembley, her Palm Pilot, will fit into the plot), Amber looks uncomfortable, and Evie grins like she’s just been given a day pass to Apple headquarters.

  “You’d better tell Evie about your robot,” Elisa mentions casually as we walk to my house.

  “Your robot?” Evie squeaks. “What, do you have one of those things that vacuums your carpet while you’re away?”

  “Sort of,” I say. “She also cooks and makes bad puns.”

  Dad’s not home when we get there. Big surprise. Becca and I exchange uncomfortable glances, and I know what we’re both thinking: Are they together? It’s really just too creepy to consider, so we both pretend that we’re extra interested in our back-packs (me) and what’s in the refrigerator (her).

  Euphoria rolls in from the laundry room, beeping with glee. She loves it when I have people over; I think Dad must have somehow programmed her with Southern hospitality, and if she can’t feed a bunch of people, she’s just not happy. “Well, hello there, girls!” she drawls in her pseudo-Georgia accent. “So good to see you all again. Can I make you a snack?”

  As most people do the first time they come to my house, Evie stands staring, mouth open, at my silver nanny. Elisa walks by, tucks a hand gently under Evie’s chin and closes her mouth for her. “You really have a robot,” Evie says with awe.

  “Yeah.” I put my arm around Euphoria. “We go way back. This is Euphoria.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Euphoria says, politely extending a claw. Evie takes it gingerly, shakes it as if it might explode, and then wipes her hand on her jeans as if she expected to get metallic cooties.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I say in answer to Evie’s silent question. “Dad made her.”

  “I am a self-servicing auto processor with an ancillary emotional chip,” Euphoria offers. “That means I can tell when you’re having a nervous breakdown or something.”

  “Not that we’ve ever really needed that particular skill,” I note, just in case Evie thinks we’re all nutcases, which we kind of are. But you don’t want that to be your first introduction to a new friend, right?

  “I just made cookies,” Euphoria sings as she rolls merrily to the kitchen. “I’ll bring out a plate to the living room. Milks all around?”

  I lead the girls to my living room, and we all stake out our usual spots. Evie sort of waits until everyone is seated before she chooses, which just shows that she has good manners. She ends up sitting next to Becca on the wine-colored velvet love seat.

  “So, Evie,” Becca starts, clapping a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “I feel like you were sent from the universe to be part of our destiny.”

  “I actually flew in on a 747.”

  “Right. But what I mean,” Becca says, “is that we needed someone with your particular talents, and here you are, which means that the universe is definitely supporting our effort.”

  Amber, who has been mostly silent and brooding, pipes up. “Maybe the universe is simply setting us up for failure.”

  “You read too much Edgar Allan Poe,” Elisa says, shaking her head. “Not everything ends in death, disaster, and molting black birds.”

  “I don’t believe Poe ever mentions that the raven molts,” Amber says frostily. She’s kind of sensitive about her Poe obses
sion. “I just mean that I’m not sure this whole Geek Prom thing is the way to go. I think we should look at our reasons for doing it.”

  Becca shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I told you. I just want an alternative for people who don’t want to sell a major organ to go to prom.”

  “But we’re not even juniors or seniors,” Amber continues, although she knows that Becca doesn’t like this train of thought. “Why do we care what it costs? We can only go if we’re invited by a junior or a senior anyway, so what’s the big deal?” She looks up and meets Becca’s steely gaze. Becca’s gaze gets all steely whenever she’s pissed or whenever somebody crosses her. It’s looking extra steely today, probably because she doesn’t like to hear criticism of her brilliant global domination plans.

  “Well, what do the rest of you think?” she asks with a restrained tone of courtesy. I think she’d really like to simply rip Amber’s head off, but since we haven’t eaten cookies yet, she’s willing to wait.

  Elisa, the only one of us dating a non-junior or -senior (Naveen is our age), says, “Well, actually, I had sort of the same thought as Amber. Why are we doing this? Just to piss off someone?”

  “Like who?” Becca asks, lips pursed.

  “Your boyfriend, maybe?” Elisa doesn’t usually pull any punches.

  Evie raises her hand timidly. “Um . . . listen, I don’t really know what’s going on. Could you fill me in?”

  Becca smiles, relaxes, actually laughs. “Oh, sure. Sorry. We want to have a Geek Prom, where everybody can come for practically no money, and where you don’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes. We want to have it at the same time as the regular junior/senior prom at our school, which costs some outrageous amount of money and is supposed to be held at some fascist consumerist hotel. Plus, the food’s just going to be those little pastries they buy at Wal-Mart, but they’re charging one hundred dollars per couple for it.”

  Evie considers this for a moment, then says, “What’s the boyfriend thing about?”

  As the sort-of hostess here, I figure it’s my turn to risk the wrath of Becca’s ego by trying to explain her motives. “Becca and I are dating these two guys who are juniors. And our two dates feel they need to go to the ‘real’ prom because they’re also super jocks and will probably be on the prom court. Becca wants to have our event on the same night as their event, sort of as a protest.”

  “But this is causing a problem with the boyfriends,” Evie says, nodding.

  “Except for mine,” Amber says. “Jon doesn’t care about adolescent rituals. Plus, he says wearing a tux is a symbol of the oppressive middle class.”

  Euphoria rolls in with the plate of cookies and five glasses of milk (something no human maid could ever juggle, I’m pretty sure, but she has a built-in drink tray), and Evie once again shakes her head in amazement at my fantastic luck. “Wow. I just never thought I’d see an actual robot serving me cookies.”

  “You ought to come for dinner,” Euphoria brags. “These cookies are nothing compared to my eggplant Parmesan.”

  Becca’s cell phone rings and she fishes it out of her backpack. “Hello?”

  She says nothing for a few seconds, but by the look on her face, I can tell that something is going on. The voice on the other end of the cell gets louder and higher, and finally Becca says, “Are you sure? Why?” And then, after a minute of high-speed babbling from the other end, she says, “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

  “What was that?” Elisa asks as she snags another cookie.

  Becca sighs; her good mood has deflated and even her little hair spikes look depressed.

  “Geez, what happened? Who was that?” I ask.

  “That was my mom.” Becca stands and angrily zips up her backpack. “She’s coming to pick me up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she says, lips pursed tight, “my dad is apparently waiting for me to come home.”

  4

  CRUSHED BY A CRUSH (or When Hormones Collide)

  Thea arrives about twenty minutes after the phone call, and we hear a frantic honking from the driveway. Becca waves halfheartedly.

  “Call me,” I say as she closes the front door behind her.

  “What was that about?” Amber asks, peering out the front window. “Becca’s yelling at her mom.”

  “Her dad, Melvin, is here, I guess.” I know what this means to her. Melvin and Thea were divorced almost two years ago, the summer before she came to Green Pines, and Becca’s never forgiven him. She hasn’t talked about him much, except to tell me that he’s a movie person, and that he has a severe case of stupid. We did have to go to see his movie, so I guess she must care about him in some way. But then again, she did boo through the opening credits.

  “They’re divorced, huh?” Elisa asks. “That’s tough. Wonder why he’s here all of a sudden.”

  I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that Thea is dating someone.

  We all hang out for a while, but without Becca things sort of go flat. Amber calls her mom for a ride, and pretty soon everyone is gone, except for Evie, who simply has to walk next door. “I really don’t want to go back over there,” she says. “But I guess I’d better. They might worry about me.”

  “Why do you think they invited an exchange student anyway?” I ask. It seems out of character for Briley’s family, since they pretty much only care about stuff like cars, clothes, and consumer electronics.

  “All I can figure out is that they wanted Briley to date somebody with money and an accent. They seemed pretty disappointed when I got off the plane. They kept asking me if I was sure my name wasn’t Evan.”

  “Sounds like them.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Evie asks as she pulls open the front door.

  “Sure.”

  “How do you feel about this whole competition thing with the boys? Are you as keen on having a rebel prom as Becca is?”

  I have to think for a minute. If I tell the truth, am I betraying my best friend? I decide not to think about that. “Actually, I wish she’d just drop the idea. It’s not worth all the hassle and we could easily have it on another night if it’s something that important. I think she’s just being stubborn. But since she’s my best friend, I’ll stick with her and help her with it. When it comes down to it, friends are more important.”

  “It’s hard to remember that if the guy’s a good kisser, though, huh?” She laughs and waves as she crosses the lawn to Briley’s house. “See you at school, Shelby. I’m glad I hit your friends with a Frisbee!”

  “Me, too!”

  As soon as she leaves, I race to the phone. I know I probably shouldn’t call Becca right away, and in fact, she might not even be home yet, but I can’t help myself. Her cell rings twice, and she picks up. “What?” she hisses.

  “How’s it going?”

  “I just got home, so I don’t know yet.” I hear two people, a man and woman, talking loudly in the background. “I’m going to try to escape to my room and then I’ll call you back.”

  Euphoria asks me to help her with dinner, and since I have nothing to do but wait, I agree. As we chop carrots and onions (well, she chops the onions, because they don’t make her cry), I hear Dad’s car pull into the driveway. I stop chopping.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks with concern.

  “Nothing.” I chop the carrots a bit more viciously. Poor little root vegetables.

  “I can tell by your body temperature and pulse. Suddenly you started to go tense.” She stops and pivots toward me, her green eye lights flashing. “Don’t try to pull the woof over my eyes, young lady.”

  “Wool.”

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s ‘don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes.’ ” I continue to furiously hack at the carrots.

  “Why would somebody do that?” She scrapes onion bits into a skillet. “Wool over your eyes. That’s just silly.”

  The back door slides open, and I hear Dad wrestling with some plastic bags and stuff. When I peek around the
corner, he’s setting the bags down on the floor, whistling some ridiculously happy tune. It’s enough to make me puke.

  “Hi,” I say. He jumps about a foot. “I live here, remember?”

  “Sorry.” He scoops the bags up hastily, as if there are things in there I’m not supposed to see.

  “Where’ve you been?” I continue chopping, punishing the innocent vegetables for my dad’s stupid behavior.

  “Just had to go to the store.” He grabs one white plastic grocery bag and tries to sneak out of the room with it.

  “Hang on.” I block his way, my arms folded. “What’s in the bag?”

  He turns bright red, then stutters a bit. “Nothing,” he says finally.

  “Well, if it’s nothing, then let’s see it.” I put my hand out, waiting for the supposedly empty bag of nothing significant. He hesitates, pulls back, and looks over to Euphoria for moral support.

  “Don’t look at me,” she bleeps. “You two need to work it out. I’m not programmed for drama.”

  I grab the bag. A little voice reminds me that if my dad did this to me, I’d be screaming about respect and stuff, but I just shove that little voice into a closet in the back of my mind, and I hope there are many dust bunnies to make it sneeze.

  Inside the bag, there’s nothing but a greeting card.

  “This is your big secret?” I snort. “You really need to get out more. Greeting cards were legalized in 1989.”

  Dad laughs nervously and tries to snatch the card out of my hand. “I know, I know. It’s silly. I just wanted it to be a surprise. So, if you could just give it back—” He grabs at the bag and card, but I’m quicker than he is, so I elude his grasp.

  “What’s the card for?” I slip it out of the cream-colored envelope. “Oooh. Fancy. It even has gold on the envelope. Is this because I did so well on my progress report—”

  The words choke in my throat. I’m a total idiot. I just assumed the card was for me, but when I read the front, it says To a Special Someone, and there are stylized pink roses and irises in sort of an Asian design. Panic rises in my throat, but then I think, Hey, I’m special to my dad. Right?