Prom Queen Geeks

by Laura Preble

  Becca’s expression goes sour at the mention of Evie. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll just do our own little local thing and forget about the rest of the world. I don’t know if I can trust her.”

  “Just because Carl is using her to get to you?” Elisa asks. “That’s not really fair. Look at how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.”

  “Well, I know I’d just tell the guy to eat dirt,” Becca snaps. “I certainly wouldn’t spend time discussing it.”

  “Do you even know what happened?” I ask. “Did she actually encourage this or did Carl just think of it on his own?”

  “I can’t believe Carl would think of anything on his own,” Becca answers snottily. “But of course, no, I really haven’t researched it.”

  “Then it’s not very fair of you to be mad at Evie.” Amber grabs a breadstick from a black basket in the middle of the table and chomps off the end. “I always thought friendships were more important than guys.”

  Caught in an obvious paradox of reason, Becca chooses to choke on her iced tea rather than answer. Elisa claps her on the back (a little too hard, I think) until Becca waves her away with serious swatting action. “I’d rather die from choking than be beaten to death by Shorty McViolent!” Becca says in a strangled voice.

  “I was just trying to save your life,” Elisa says, sulking. “Sorry. Next time I’ll let you croak.” She turns to me, ignoring Becca. “So, Shelby, how’s the driving coming?”

  “Fine.” Of course, I don’t tell them about my super-secret plot to be in two places at once with the help of my trusty Volvo. “I’m starting to get the hang of it. I think I could actually drive by myself.”

  “When can we find out?” Becca asks, suddenly interested.

  “I can’t drive any of you until I get my actual license. If I got caught my license would be suspended until I’m thirty or something, and I’d probably go to jail.”

  “I hear there are some nice-looking guys in jail,” Amber says casually. Everyone looks at her like she’s nuts. “Well, I’m just saying. They can’t be really picky, so I think they’d be extremely loyal.”

  “Yeah, and Shelby could go and stage a jailbreak for her new boyfriend,” Elisa says, laughing. “I can see your dad’s face when you bring home a stray felon.”

  A tall pimply boy is suddenly standing over us. We all look up and I imagine we look like a pack of puppies with our heads cocked to one side, puzzled looks on our puppy faces. “Yes?” Becca asks.

  “Are you Becca Gallagher?” Pimply guy scratches his neck.

  “Maybe. Who wants to know?” Becca eases back against the booth, eyeing the stranger, considering, I suppose, whether she’ll have to bust out her fake karate moves on him.

  “Dude, chill. I just have a message for you.” He tosses an envelope onto the table, grabs a breadstick, grins, and chomps the end off it as he walks away. “Later.”

  Becca opens the envelope, slips a letter out of it, and begins to read out loud. “Dear Becca, I know you think I am trying to go out with Evie and that I want to ditch you. In fact, you are in error. I would very much like to talk to you about what’s going on. If you ever thought there was anything between us, please meet me in front of Game Rage at five. Sincerely, Carl.” Becca looks up at us and shrugs her shoulders. “So? Paper’s cheap.”

  Amber sighs, exasperated. “Becca, just go talk to him. What do you have to lose?”

  Becca bites her lower lip, and rubs the letter between her thumb and forefinger as if some secret message in Braille will float to the surface and she’ll get some divine answer. “Okay,” she says finally. “But I want the three of you watching from somewhere to see if he tries to abduct me.”

  “Abduct you?” Elisa snorts. “We’re not in one of your dad’s movies, Becca. Carl isn’t the abducting type.”

  Becca shoots her a withering look. “And I suppose you know all about the abducting type?”

  “I read,” Elisa says loftily. A bit more softly she says, “Anyway, we’ll be glad to watch. Just in case you need reinforcements.”

  The meeting Carl has set up is in about half an hour, so we walk casually over to the area of the mall where Game Rage, the mega video-and-board-game store, is located. “I think the best vantage point will probably be the bookstore,” Elisa says as she calculates the shortest distance between two points. “We can get a really good look at what’s going on as long as you keep him in front of the Star Wars display. Don’t go behind Darth Vader or we won’t be able to see you.”

  “I’ll make sure I keep him away from all supervillains,” Becca promises. “Just don’t bury your heads in books and forget to watch.”

  Becca heads over to Game Rage while we prowl around the shelves of the bookstore. In order to keep an eye on the game store, we’re unfortunately stuck behind a display of cheesy romance novels. Amber picks one up, opens it, begins to read, and makes a disgusted face. “Okay, listen to this: Jane Faraday worked a normal job behind the counter at the quaint diner and butcher shop in a quaint mountain town. Her life was calm and simple until one day, a lumberjack named Asher Merrywind appears and orders the Blue Plate Special with a side of romance. Amidst the majestic backdrop of the towering Red-woods, Jane and Asher find love and passion can heat up even in the subzero temperatures of the meat locker.” Amber closes the book with distaste and slams it back onto the shelf. “That sounds totally perverted.”

  “Where did you put it?” Elisa asks, nosing through the titles in front of Amber.

  “Elisa, you don’t want to read trash like that!” Amber exclaims.

  Elisa turns to her and blushes. “Oh, right. Of course I don’t.” As we drift down the aisle, I notice that Elisa grabs the novel and tucks it into her pocket. I don’t say anything.

  Amber suddenly ducks down below the romance novels (so our eyes are even with the heaving bodices and rippling pecs of countless fictional lovers) and hisses, “He’s here! I see him!”

  Elisa and I automatically crouch down next to her. “Why are we whispering?” Elisa whispers.

  “Oh.” Amber straightens up just a bit so only her eyes are peeping over the tops of the shelves. “Yeah, I guess he probably can’t hear us.”

  Becca stands with arms across her chest, like an Amazon warrior girl ready to defend her territory. Carl, who stands a few inches taller, hunches like a dog waiting to be slapped with a rolled-up newspaper. Becca’s gesturing now, and her face is getting redder, and Carl is starting to talk back. The two of them begin to look like two storks having a pecking war. Carl reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, shows it to her, and she slaps it out of his hand.

  “I don’t think it’s going well,” Amber says worriedly.

  “At least nobody’s gotten violent—” Elisa says as Becca slaps Carl across the face so hard it rings off the mall’s marble fountain. “Oops. Spoke too soon.”

  “We’d better get over there before she does something to get herself arrested,” I say, leading the charge.

  We hustle out of the bookstore, momentarily delayed because Elisa sets off the book sensor with the meat locker romance in her pocket. She turns a violent shade of red and plucks it out of her pocket, tossing it across the floor as if it’s infested with plague. “Sorry!” she yells to the manager, who watches, puzzled, from behind the counter.

  “Hey, Carl!” I shout as we screech to a halt in front of a mess that looks like it could become World War III. “How’s it going?” Lame. But what do you say to someone who’s just been assaulted by your best friend? “Hey, did she draw blood?” Not very classy.

  Breathless, Becca responds by kicking Carl in the shin. He howls in pain, and she runs into Game Rage, leaving us to clean up the mess.

  “Are you okay?” Amber asks, bending over to check Carl’s injuries.

  “Did she draw blood?” Elisa asks, a gleam in her eye.

  Carl bends at the waist, massaging his shin. “I don’t know what is wrong with that girl. All I want to do is take her to a n
ice dance. Why is that so bad?” He rolls up the leg of his pants. “Geez, I think I am bleeding.”

  What do I say to him? I’d be in the same boat, I guess, if it weren’t for my brilliant plan. I’d share it with Carl, but then he’d probably give it away, and I’d be ruined. Sometimes you have to think of self-preservation above other things. “I think it’s best that you just stay away from her for a while,” I say wisely, putting a comforting arm around Carl’s elbow. (I can’t reach his shoulder, so that’s the best I can do.)

  He gazes wistfully into the shelves of Game Rage, looking for his Amazon. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says softly. Turning to go, he hunches, dejected, and shuffles off toward the exit. “Oh,” he says, turning toward us forlornly. “Tell her she can keep the necklace.”

  The scene is so pathetic it really needs a tragic violin soundtrack. “Necklace?” Amber asks. She scans the floor and picks something up. “Look.” It’s a delicate silver chain, and looped onto it is a silver rabbit charm. “Aw . . . it’s because they met when he was wearing the rabbit suit at Comic-Con,” she says, choking up. “That’s so sweet. Why is she being such a . . . a...”

  “What was that?” Becca’s suddenly standing right there, and we all jump. “Let me be clear, ladies: Carl is history. I want nothing to do with him. And you can throw that”—she gestures toward the jewelry—“in the trash.”

  She stalks off, leaving a trail of friends behind her scrambling to catch up. Amber gestures to me with the necklace, and I take it, put it in my pocket, and hope that at some point she might want it back. After all, how many guys do you meet who will wear a rabbit suit to get your attention?

  The next day, Sunday, Becca calls me early. She sounds perky. “The Geek Prom is in three weeks. We need to advertise. I’m sending you a flier, so check it out.” She hangs up and I go to my computer, get the file, and check it out.

  It’s a picture of a drive-in movie screen with the words GEEK PROM scrolled across it in horror movie lettering. A woman’s terrified face looms over the screen, her hand clutched to her mouth as if stifling a scream. The ad reads:

  Scared of high prom prices?

  Terrified of uncomfortable clothes that you can’t dance in? Horrified at the thought of spending $80 for cocktail weinies and an etched champagne glass when you can’t even drink champagne?

  Then go beyond the ordinary and ditch it all for

  GEEK PROM!

  Then the flier goes on to outline the great things you get for the $20 price of admission: the screening of renowned director Melvin Gallagher’s newest horror film, The Drainpeople, fantastic food from the city’s most famous eateries, and VIRTUAL PROM, where kids attending Geek Proms all over the world will network with ours via satellite. Plus DJ Jammin’ Jon and the biggest outside dance floor under the stars! It does sound pretty fabulous.

  I call her back. “Looks really good. I’d go.”

  “Well, of course you’d go. But will other people?”

  “I think so.”

  “We have a couple of television stations from L.A. coming down to do a promo on the event.” Becca sounds extremely pleased with herself.

  “Wow, that’s great. And local TV also?”

  “Sure. People from all over town will be clamoring to go. People at Green Pines will be lucky if they can get tickets.” She goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Shelby, I want you to know something. I understand what a sacrifice it is for you not to go to the regular prom with Fletcher. I get it, I really do. And the fact that you chose to stick with me instead of him means a lot.” Cue churning stomach and guilty conscience.

  “Yeah, well,” I say weakly. “You are my best friend. Geeks before guys, right?” Change the subject, change the subject. “But you know, we really need to get Evie back on board if you want the virtual thing to happen. And honestly, based on what happened with Carl, I don’t think any of it was her fault, do you?” I absently rub at Carl’s silver rabbit charm lying on my desk. “He just wants you, that’s all.”

  “I know.” She sighs, exasperated. “Listen, could you be a great friend and go next door to talk to her? Or text her or something? I do feel bad about what I said, but I don’t know if she’ll even talk to me.”

  “Sure. I’ll go over after we hang up. Call you later.”

  Euphoria has rolled into my room and pretends to be dusting when she’s really eavesdropping. “So, have you given up this harebrained scheme of yours?”

  “Nope. And you’re still going with me, Aunt Effie.” I pat her on her metallic shoulders. “I’ll find you a nice flannel wrap so you don’t catch cold or get rusty.”

  She shakes her head, her green eye lights flashing. “Nothing good will come of this.”

  I text a desperate message to Evie’s cell, as promised. Within minutes, my phone chimes, and she’s agreed to drop in.

  While I wait for her to show up, I use the time to become less disgusting—you know, brush my teeth, comb my hair. Euphoria, however, just cannot leave me alone. “You should just come clean and confess,” she whispers as she wipes down the bathroom counter for the third time.

  “Euphoria, stop nagging me about it. The plan is good, and it will work, and my life will be fantastic and free of stress.” The doorbell rings, and I plant a kiss on her cheek plate as I dash to answer it. “Have a positive attitude.”

  “I’m positive it will not work,” she mutters.

  Evie, wearing her trademark black glasses, shorts, and a brown T-shirt with a cream-colored skull on it, is leaning against the jamb when I open the door. “Well?”

  “Come in?”

  She looks over my shoulder, I guess to see if Becca is lurking behind brandishing a sharpened salad fork or something. Seeing nobody, she says, “Okay. But if this is about Queen Geeks—”

  “Hey, let’s just have some lemonade first.” I gesture toward our living room where the big comfy couch awaits. Euphoria seamlessly takes the cue and heads for the kitchen, and Evie watches her as she rolls off.

  “I still can’t get over the fact that you have your own robot,” she begins, but I stop her with an upraised hand.

  “Don’t call her a ‘robot.’ She’s kind of sensitive about that.” Evie shrugs, as if to question why a robot would be sensitive. And come to think of it, she kind of has a point, but I have more important things to talk about. “I asked you over because I need your help.”

  “You need my help?” Evie snorts, leaning against the soft velvet back of the sofa. “Or Becca needs my help?”

  I have to play this just right if I want it to work. “I know she’s been unreasonable. She knows it, too,” I lied. Well, it was a little white lie, really, not totally untrue. She probably does know that she’s unreasonable sometimes. I just think the times she thinks she’s unreasonable and the times other people think she’s unreasonable are often different. “Anyway, I want to remind you that there’s a greater good here, a chance to really make your mark before you go back home. And none of us have the skills to make this happen.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted it to happen.” Evie takes a glass of lemonade from Euphoria, who has silently glided in with her silver tray and Southern hospitality.

  “I hope y’all enjoy the libation,” she drawls in an exaggerated accent. “I added a twist of mint to cool you off.”

  Evie just shoots her a crooked grin and sips the drink. “Lovely, thanks.”

  “Anyway, back to the situation.” I take a drink, too, just to buy some time. “You know that Carl and Becca had problems, and he tried to get her back. He tried to get to her through you, which was a big mistake, and then they met again and had this huge fight at the mall. Kind of violent, actually. She gets it that it’s not your fault, that it has nothing to do with you. And so now, I think she’ll be thinking a little more clearly.”

  She shakes her head and stares forlornly at my carpet. “He really likes her, Shelby. That’s the only reason he was even talking to me, to get to her. Why doesn’t she se
e that?”

  “She’s blinded by her own ambition.” As it comes out of my mouth, I realize it’s true! Wow. What are the chances of that happening? “Anyway, now that they’re not a couple anymore, she can concentrate on what she really wants: to conquer the world.”

  Evie nods, and looks relieved. “Well, I’m glad that at least it won’t be so tense. To be honest, I’ve really missed everyone. Being stuck in the house with Briley is kind of a torture all its own. She tried to give me a makeover.” She shudders, obviously replaying the hideous memory.

  “Well, I’m glad you survived. So, what do you say? Back in the game?”

  She smiles, and toasts me with her sweating glass of lemonade. “I’m your girl. Find me a power strip and I can do anything.”

  12

  ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DRAMA (or World Wide Web of Deceit)

  Wednesday after school, Thea and Melvin pull into the circular campus driveway in a rented Hummer, a vehicle that could house a small family of grizzly bears. The purpose of the visit is to collect the Queen Geeks and take us to the drive-in we’ll be renting for the event. When the mega-polluting vehicle shows up at school, Becca sees that I have Evie with me, and although she doesn’t apologize, she doesn’t look like she’s going to kill an Aussie. Evie watches Becca for signs of violence, I guess, and I notice that she sits as far away as possible from her.

  Since Melvin’s still sort of immobile, Thea drives the dinosaur-burning monstrosity, and I consider, in the moments when my life is not flashing before my eyes, that we should advertise this as a thrill ride and sell tickets. Finally she careens into the gravel parking lot of the drive-in, sending dusty gray clouds of long-smoked cigarettes and swap-meet desperation into the air.

  Amber, Elisa, Becca, Evie, and I climb out of the back of the skyscraper-on-wheels (I mean, you can see people’s bald spots at stoplights!) and Melvin struggles to hoist his cement-shoed foot out of the car. I notice Thea liberally supporting his weight, and once again feel a pang of despair for my dad.