This is so bizarre. Seriously, I’m back to wondering if I’m dreaming. But if I am, it’s a hell of a dream. “Aren’t all actors narcissists?”
Throwing her head back, Dee Dee pronounces, “Yes, but we’re really good at it.”
“We decided to look for a cause, to give us credibility. Get a little good press. We thought about building houses with Habitat for Humanity—”
Dee Dee interrupts, “But we don’t actually know how to build anything.”
“So maybe we’re not the best human beings in the world. But we got here and got to know you and your town . . . and suddenly, that bad review didn’t matter so much anymore. The truth is, yes, we came because of a bad review.”
Then warmly, more warmly than I’ve heard Dee Dee say anything, while (alert! alert! alert!) slipping her hand into Principal Hawkins’s (!!!!!!), she says, “But we stayed because of you.”
From the bleachers, Shelby jumps up. “And we’re sorry, too. Aren’t we, Kevin?” Despite her tiny frame, Shelby hauls him up like a naughty puppy. He nods emphatically, and he gets rewarded with a very booby hug. Twined on him like ivy, Shelby says, “You deserve to go to prom, just like everybody else!”
“I thought you hated me,” I say, somehow slowly tangling around Alyssa as well. “I thought you all hated me.”
“Oh, we did; Kaylee still does,” Shelby says agreeably. Then she looks to Barry. “But Mr. Pecker crashed our hang at Walmart and said some stuff that made us think. He’s a really good teacher.”
Barry takes a tiny bow but also waves Shelby off, as if to say, No, no, please, that’s too much, you’re too kind. It cracks me up that he can take the credit and also pretend to be humble at the same time. It’s like his superpower or something.
I don’t know what to do with this moment. Historically, my life hasn’t worked out this neatly before. It’s hard to believe so many people have turned around because of a song and, apparently, a star turn in the Walmart parking lot—I’m going to have to ask about that later for sure.
Instead of blustering, or joking, or any of that, I’m just honest. Turning in Alyssa’s arms, I tell her, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well,” she says, shyly, a little coyly, “there’s this prom coming up . . .”
Fireflies light up inside me. “Uh-huh.”
A question doesn’t come; she doesn’t even finish that sentence. Instead, Alyssa, with her reedy voice and uncertain smile, sings to me, “I just want to dance with you, let the whole world melt away and dance with you . . .”
And then, all around me, suddenly there are voices singing my song. Shelby sways with Kevin, and literally no one from the bleachers is in tune, but they know the words. I hear Barry and Dee Dee lift their voices, trying to out-emote each other. Probably, Principal Hawkins sings, too, but once Dee Dee and Barry get going, it’s impossible to tell.
They sing my song. They sing my words and my heart. With every note, it feels like I’m being taken apart and scrubbed new and put back together again. There’s pride in there, yes, that I created something that suddenly has life outside of me.
But mostly, it’s a becoming. I feel new, for the first time in years. I feel special—I feel seen and loved. Being out in Edgewater, Indiana, is something it never was before: beautiful.
My head spins, and all I can do is stare incredulously at everyone else, and melt away in Alyssa’s eyes when I look to her. Here I am, back in her arms. Back where I belong, because we fit together without a single space between. My hurt and resentment and frustration burn away like phoenixes. Now they’re joy and excitement and anticipation.
Alyssa frees her hands so she can lay them against my face. Her thumbs skim the curve of my lower lip; her nails rasp delicately against my cheeks. Her heat sinks into me, and I am hopelessly trapped in her gaze. Her body lifts and tightens against mine with each breath. My melody vibrates through her, and I feel the crest to each note in her arms. This is the most epic promposal in the world. Bar none, no arguing, the record is set forever.
When their voices trail off, I exhale Alyssa’s name in wonder. I never wanted to let her go; I just felt like I had to. Now it feels like I should never set her free again. My cheeks flush hot, and I’m afraid my palms are sweaty, but I cling to her all the same.
Abruptly, Shelby and the cheerleaders chant, like this is some fan fiction come to life, “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!”
“A kiss is yes,” Alyssa warns me.
Warning taken. That’s why I engulf her in my arms and lift her off the ground, just an inch, and kiss her until we see nothing but the two of us, the edge of forever, and the end of the world.
26. Let’s Put on a Show
ALYSSA
We’re really lucky Mr. Glickman and Ms. Allen donated so much to the cause.
As soon as Emma posted about the new prom on her channel, we were flooded with requests for tickets. There are kids coming from all over Indiana for this dance, and a bunch who are coming from out of state. Illinois, Ohio, Kentucky—they’re all coming here, so we had to get creative.
Prom won’t just be in the gym; it will also extend out into the school parking lot. We cordoned off the entire thing and rented huge white marquee tents with plastic windows in them. Standing at one end of the tent, I wave both hands slowly as the basketball team unrolls four of the biggest carpets I’ve ever seen. They grunt and huff as they shove the rolls toward me.
“Okay,” I say when they finish stomping down the curled ends to flatten them. “Next thing we need are cocktail tables. If you look at the chart I made, just follow that, and they’ll be exactly where they’re supposed to be. Thank you!”
I take a quick jog up to the open gym doors to peek inside. Somehow, Shelby got all of the cheerleaders to help, including the junior team from the middle school. The Key Club is here, and National Honor Society. Most of the choir showed up, and I’m pleased that the rest of the student council turned out as well.
We need the extra hands, especially because Mr. Glickman quote, unquote called in some favors, and two days later, several huge crates arrived at the school. Better than crepe paper and plastic bunting, the crates spilled forth with huge, beautiful sheets of blue, glimmering cloth that we draped around the gym and the stage. There were two cardboard boxes in there full of foiled butterflies that flap their wings when you hang them from their invisible nylon cords.
To go along with those, there are burnished gilt lanterns for the tables and thick ropes of flickering fairy lights to string between standup lampposts that really light up.
Finally, there are massive frames with picturesque cityscapes painted on them. They’re erected on casters, so they roll with ease, and on the backs are frames for lights, so the little windows will actually glow on prom night.
“How to Succeed hasn’t run on Broadway for years,” Mr. Glickman explained broadly. “They won’t miss them!”
And speaking of Mr. Glickman, he’s holding court at one end of the gym. Perched in a folding chair, he talks about his many, many successes on Broadway as he inflates a balloon with helium. Once it’s full, he hands it off to a handful of FCK kids to tie off.
Then they go into a massive box where they shimmer in pearly, pastel rainbows. We’re going to dump them into a net and hang them from the ceiling, so when we play the last song of the night, we’ll pull the rope and they’ll come floating down onto the dance floor. As far as finales go, it’s a little bit tame, but Principal Hawkins nixed the confetti cannons.
Ms. Allen has an eye for arrangement and flow. Every so often, she claps sharply or taps one of her heels against the floor to get someone’s attention. Then she walks them through the spaces between the tables. With assertive hands, she points out what needs to happen. Her assistants, mostly guys from the basketball team, follow her and shift tables and chairs until there’s a perfect balance. There’s no way she was ev
er going to pick up a table herself.
Posted at the door, Principal Hawkins supervises and signs off on deliveries. So far, he’s accepted two cases of souvenir dance cards, a pallet full of pride-flag key chains in multiple orientations, several thousand pronoun pins, and now he’s running down the catering receipt.
Kids are coming from so far away, we wanted to make sure they got a meal. The people from the caterers are setting up huge trays that will hold all the stuff for our taco-bowl bar. We have three huge sheet cakes, iced tea, ice water, and, yes, sherbert punch and cookies. I can’t abandon tradition.
As everything comes together, I stand in the middle of the gym with my clipboard and slowly take it in. Everything looks so perfect; it’s like a dream made real. One of the women from the party-lights place sets up a ladder near me. I watch as she climbs up and hefts a massive gold disco ball above her head.
Once it’s secure, her assistant turns on the lights. Fractures of gold dance across the floor and along the walls. With the flickering, shifting brightness, the butterflies seem to come alive. From the far end of the gym, the DJ sends a mechanical hum through the place, then blasts us with some Ariana Grande.
The explosion of music didn’t startle me, but hands suddenly around my waist from behind do. Relieved, I sink back against Emma to anchor myself and look over my shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I tease. “It’s bad luck to see the prom before prom night.”
She presses a kiss to my neck and hugs me close. “I promise, I’m not looking. But I don’t need to see it to know that everything looks fantastic.”
I laugh. “It’s really coming together. How are the electronic tickets going?”
Emma set up an evite for up to eight hundred people, and the last I’d heard, tickets were about 60 percent claimed. It was the fairest way we could think of to invite everybody but also be realistic about the fact that we don’t have unlimited space.
“All gone,” she says. “And I checked with the Comfort Inn; they’re pretty much booked up, too. People are actually coming, Alyssa. This is actually happening.”
Before I can reply, my mother walks in. She’s the last person I expected to see. Just like she promised, we talked the night I came out. It wasn’t all good; she still doesn’t understand why I can’t just date boys. Why I can’t just shove it down and be normal. She hasn’t been to church in weeks because she doesn’t know what to say about me.
But she also told me that she was proud of me, no matter what. Proud of the woman I was becoming. Proud that I stand up for my principles. (Not thrilled that I stood up for them against her, mind you, but baby steps.)
We also talked a lot about Dad. She finally admitted he wasn’t coming home. She cried, and I cried, and then I told her about Tinder. She was horrified; I probably should have started with Christian Mingle.
Emma lets her arms slip away; I appreciate that she’s going easy on my mom. For all her sarcasm and sharpness, Emma’s one of the most generous people I know. And one of the most forgiving, too. I doubt Mom and Emma will ever be friends, but I’m so glad she’ll never make me choose between them.
Mom offers a stiff hello to Emma (which is more than I expected, actually), then looks around. Golden flecks of light dance across her face. “You’re putting on quite a production here.”
“We’ve had a ton of help,” I say. “What’s up with you? I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She shrugs slightly and raises the box. “I always lend the prom my grandmother’s punch bowls.”
Oh wow. I know how difficult this is for her, but I can see how hard she’s trying. Emma steps in and offers to take the box from her. Then she slips quietly away to leave me with my mother.
This is still new, and still hard, so I make it as simple for Mom as I can. I throw my arms around her in a hug and squeeze her tight. “Thank you, Mommy.”
“It’s the least I could do,” she says, and hugs me back.
27. Prom Night Again
EMMA
“No, sweetheart, it’s walk, walk, pivot, turn!”
Once again, my house is full of Nan and Broadway. Dee Dee sits on the arm of the couch, “sampling” Nan’s pound cake again, and Barry waves his hands, trying to direct me as I show off my suit.
They’re already dressed in full regalia. In gold, to match the theme of the night, Dee Dee’s decked out in a lamé pantsuit cut down to whoa. And Barry? He’s totally wearing the silver tux he bought for the first prom he never got to attend. With teal bow tie and cummerbund, he’s resisting the pound cake by ordering me around.
I duck back down the hallway to attempt this perfect runway walk he seems to think I can accomplish. And actually, I probably can. Most days, I don’t think about my clothes much. They’re just there to cover my body and keep me from public indecency charges.
But this outfit is different. Tonight, I feel good.
No gowns. Not this time. Instead, I have a black velvet jacket that makes me feel so boss, I want to go out and sing karaoke in front of strangers. I mean, it’s that epic of a jacket. I keep running my hands over my own arms, luxuriating in the warm, soft kiss of the fabric. If Alyssa and I break up again, I might date this thing. I mean, for real.
My shirt is white and fitted, with dark blue edging on the collar and sleeves. My tie is silk, patterned in dark blues and purples, a little galaxy swirling along its length. The pants are lighter blue, cut above my ankles, and made of some kind of slick material that whispers when I walk.
Barry insisted on getting everything fitted, and I have to say, he was right. Darts and tucks do make everything 150 percent more fabulous.
“Let’s go,” barks Barry, clapping his hands impatiently. “Let’s see that walk!”
With a laugh, I throw my shoulders back for some zazz, and then I march the length of the hallway and into the living room. I walk, walk, walk, pivot, and then start laughing before I can manage the turn. It’s just too much for this girl to manage.
Tumbling into the couch between Dee Dee and Barry, I look up at them both. These two. They have been the worst, best thing that ever happened to me. I still can’t believe they rolled into town with picket signs and crashed a school meeting with the entire touring cast of Godspell.
They made things so much harder, but I can’t help but look at where I am right now: dressed to the nines and waiting for my girlfriend to show up so we can go to prom together, a dance that’s so much bigger than just one graduating class. None of this would have happened without them either.
I have my nan, who loves me more than anything in this world, and now I have two (occasionally misguided, definitely narcissistic) fairy godparents, and that’s so much more than so many other kids get. Gratitude fills me with this sweet, golden wave, and I look to Barry, and then Dee Dee, and say, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Barry says, playing it off. I know he wants to hear it.
With an arched brow, Dee Dee says, “Buying an entire prom, for one.”
He gives her a look, and I laugh between them. Laying my head against Barry’s shoulder, I say, “For coming to Edgewater and wrecking my life. I really needed it.”
“Well,” Barry says, patting my arm, “I like to think of it as renovating.”
“Whatever it is, I’m glad it happened. Because I’m here, and you’re here, and, oh my god, hundreds of queer kids from all over the Midwest are here . . .”
Barry smiles, but he nudges me. “Hey. Take some credit.”
“Yes, take it. Most people aren’t going to give it to you, so you’ll have to snatch it for yourself, like nature, red in tooth and claw—” Dee Dee interrupts herself with a significant look and then credits herself, “Tennyson: The Musical, original Broadway cast, 19—Never mind.”
Nan leans forward, her round face comforting and familiar. She’s got a lavender streak in her hair for tonight, and a rai
nbow manicure. The whole look is pulled together with a black T-shirt that says PROM FOR EVERYONE on the front and CHAPERONE on the back. They really did think of everything. “Dee Dee’s right. You helped grow something beautiful out of something terrible, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
Rolling out of the couch to hug Nan, I hear Dee Dee tell Barry, “Did you hear that? Dee Dee’s right.”
With a good, solid hug, Nan kisses both of my cheeks. Then she straightens my jacket, tugging the lapels and smoothing my tie. There are tears in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s thinking about my dad right now. When she kept me, she lost him. I used to feel guilty about that, like I’d wrecked our family. But I don’t anymore.
We all make choices, and all those choices matter. I’ve always been exactly who I am; he’s the one who failed as a father. But that’s another terrible thing that led to beautiful things for me, because I wouldn’t give up my nan for anyone.
She was my champion long before Barry and Dee Dee showed up, and she’s my favorite person in the world (even if she does cheat at Super Smash Bros. Brawl). I hope she feels the same way—I’m pretty sure she does.
My phone chirps, and it’s like a siren. Everyone in the room sits up and looks toward the sound. I don’t dive for it, because come on, but I do move expeditiously across the room to pluck it up. Swiping the lockscreen away, I smile at Alyssa’s name, all lit up. Turning down your street right now. Can’t wait to see you!
“Is she coming?” Dee Dee asks.
“Of course she’s coming,” Barry says, then looks to me nervously. “But she is coming, isn’t she?”
I hold out the phone so they can see it with their own eyes. I don’t blame them for asking. I barely slept last night myself. Part of it was knowing that this huge thing is happening and all eyes are on Edgewater again (still?).
In the last two days, a squadron of news vans have shown up, and this time, it’s not just Hoosier stations. I saw CNN parked in front of Beguelin’s Pancake House in town and NBC, like the NBC, not just the local station, circling the school with their camera hanging out of the window.
The Prom Page 16
