But now that moment belongs to Dodge Jenkins.
I tug another curl that will never be coaxed back into place.
My phone buzzes because I’ve been texting Jayden. I mean, I’m always texting Jayden in a rambling stream of conversation that has no beginnings or endings, just pauses and threads that get picked up or passed over. I’m complaining about Jayla and Austin and my hair, and he’s sending pics of his extremely wonky pocket square. Neither of us mentions Dodge Jenkins.
Jayla knocks. “My brother says I have to apologize or he’ll show up in swim trunks.”
I smile against the door. Jayla’s high-strung perfectionism and Jayden’s people-pleasing chill don’t seem like a good combination for sibling friendship, but they balance each other out nicely. “I thought you weren’t talking to him.”
“Nah, I’m over that. Dodge seems cool. I always wanted to get to know them better. And queer folks have to stick together.” Jayla’s bi and I’m still trying to figure out what I am (other than inconveniently in love with one particular boy). “I just don’t like surprises. Not that you’ve noticed, I’m sure.”
I laugh and open the door. Jayla hops onto the bathroom counter, smoothing the skirt of her two-piece midnight blue dress. “I’m sorry I yelled. And I’m sorry about Austin.”
I shrug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t taking it seriously. I’m not trying to ruin your night, I just think it’s good that he and Omar are together.”
“Yeah, the anti-prom sounds fun.”
I chew my lip. I don’t want to upset Jayla, but this seems like a good opening to ask the question she’s been avoiding all semester. “I kind of wondered why you didn’t want to go to it. Or why you’re so into the prom phenomenon.”
Jayla grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not usually in favor of compulsory heterosexuality, but . . .” She flips her complicated braid over her shoulder and leans against the mirror. “You’re going to think this is silly.”
“Will not. I think it’s silly that you waited this long to talk about it.”
“It’s just . . . Mom’s been talking about prom since I was a freshman. She got so excited picking the dress. You know how she is.”
Mrs. Dajao is trying her best, but her reaction when Jayla came out last year was not immediate and uncomplicated acceptance. It’s not Jayla’s responsibility to fix that by being perfect, but it’s not really my job to tell Jayla how to handle her family either. Still, I can’t help pointing out, “Austin Kim had the same idea.”
“I’m not ditching my significant other and hiding my real life, though. I’m just . . . presenting a certain version of myself. I want to prove I can do traditional milestone things. Like, if I can give Mom a nice-looking prom photo to show to her church friends, she won’t worry that I’m on the wrong track. She’ll realize I’m doing okay.”
We both let out a long breath. Jayla dabs a finger against her lower lid eyeliner. “Okay, pause, no emotions until the pictures are done. It’s not all that deep. I also think dressing up and being fancy is fun. Plus, prom movies are the best.”
I laugh and think better of mentioning Carrie. Jayla’s more into rom-coms; Jayden’s the one who’ll do horror marathons with me (often curled up on one of our couches, often sharing a blanket, always resulting in very confusing in-love-with-best-friend feels). “Okay, fine, Perfect Prom. You already know I’m on board.”
“Thanks,” Jayla says. “But it’s your night too. What’s your perfect prom?”
I open my mouth, then close it. My perfect prom is the one Dodge Jenkins got, because I didn’t even try for it.
Prom is such a weird concept. My family wants a million pictures. Pop culture wants me to lose my virginity (ew). Austin wants to make a declaration. Jayla wants the night to prove something.
My perfect prom is not a safe snapshot of us as we are. My perfect prom would set the tone for the next four years: something different. Our high school is big and public and at least a hundred of our classmates are going to the same big public university, the one my mom and older brothers all attended, and I can already see how the transition will be smoothed by familiar faces and experiences.
But I don’t want more of the same. I want something risky and untested, and I want to face it unafraid.
Hour 13: 7 p.m.
Mom starts flashing her camera the second the doorbell rings. Click. Me and Jayla running to the door. Click. Pausing and primping with one hand on the knob. Click. Jayla rolling her eyes from two different angles, shooing Mrs. Dajao and her camera away from the door so Jayden can come in.
“I thought it was going to be someone real,” Jayla complains, making a face at her brother. He retaliates by tugging the end of her braid.
“Good to see you too,” he tells her. “You look fancy.” He steps past her and looks at me, and I think I see his eyes flick up and down for one stomach-fluttering second. “Hey. I’m glad you survived a day with the Prom Police. Cool dress.” And then his eyes flick over me again, this time I’m sure of it.
He’s wearing a suit. A nice one that didn’t come out of the orchestra storage closet. A tux, maybe? I don’t know the difference. His dark hair is freshly washed and combed back out of his face, and his pocket square turned out perfectly and I can’t remember whatever casual thing I had planned to say while lounging seductively against the side table.
Click, probably. Me ogling Jayden right in front of both of our families, embarrassingly enshrined in the scrapbooks for the rest of eternity.
I’ve only had one other major crush, and it lasted through all of middle school and most of freshman year. What I remember about liking Bennet is how bad it felt. Every time he passed me in the hall without saying hello, every time he gave a confused shrug in response to one of my jokes, I’d spend days dwelling on all the things that were wrong with me. Back then, Jayden was the one who listened to my insecure ramblings and joked me out of my bad moods (Jayla told me three times in no uncertain terms that Bennet wasn’t worth it and then refused to indulge me any further). I’m still full of insecurity now, but I’m going on my third year of crushing on Jayden, and he never makes me feel like I’m weird, or boring, or annoying. He’s nice to everyone, and he’s specifically nice to me, and that’s the part I actually care about. The way he looks in a tux is just a bonus.
I’m going to say that he looks nice. I’m working up to it, giving him eye-flicks of my own and smiling, which makes him smile at me, which makes me smile even more, but then Jayla throws the front door open again and my face falls. A tiny green car has just pulled up to the curb, and out hops a medium-sized person in suspenders and a bowtie accompanied by a very large golden retriever.
I feel the pang of missed opportunity again, and even though I know it’s not Dodge Jenkins’s fault, I can’t help but wish they hadn’t shown up just yet.
Jayden greets Dodge Jenkins and their dad. Mrs. Dajao makes Jayla spin and lets out an excited burst of Tagalog. We take more “candid” pictures. Eventually Mom offers Mrs. Dajao and Mr. Jenkins some of her superfood juices and leads them inside while we all gather on the porch to catch our breath off camera. I smile at Suka, Dodge’s dog, who is extremely polite about wagging her tail at everyone but not jumping or slobbering or doing any of the other things that make me wary of big dogs. I don’t quite have it in me to smile at Dodge, but it’s a start.
“Do you have a dog?” Dodge asks. They’re holding the leash short and standing in the doorway. “Suka’s great at school but she can get kind of reactive around other animals. We’re working on it.”
I shake my head, eyeing the golden retriever suspiciously. What exactly does “reactive” mean?
“Great,” Dodge nods. “And nobody has allergies?”
If I say I’m allergic, maybe Dodge and Suka will stay outside, miss the posed photos, and I’ll get my chance to be oh-so-unwillingly forced into a picture with Jayden.
“Nope!” Jayla answers before I can. “We’re all ready for you. And you too,” she coos at Suka, patting the dog’s head as she enters. “You both look great.”
Dodge adjusts their floral bowtie and mumbles something as they bury their head in Suka’s silky fur.
And then, finally, Roger arrives on a bike, suit jacket draped on a hanger over his shoulder. He’s a lacrosse player, the whitest and nerdiest group of jocks, and he kind of looks like pre-serum Captain America, but he’s nice enough and he’ll definitely look good on Jayla’s arm, and vice versa.
The parents swarm again, cameras capturing Roger’s ascent onto the porch.
“So B-Dog’s house is on for the after party,” he tells Jayla, slipping his jacket on. “And I told him we’d all be there.” He high-fives Dodge, claps Jayden on the shoulder, and gives me a thumbs-up.
“Do you mean Brandon Wasserstein?” Jayden asks.
“Yeah, B-Dog!”
I cover a snort by cautiously patting Suka. Her fur is as soft as it looks. I accidentally catch Dodge’s eye and notice that they’re also hiding a smile.
“I want to go to the official afterprom,” Jayla says. “But I guess we can go after that, right Ma?”
“His parents are supervising,” Jayden adds. “It won’t be anything wild.”
“As long as you stay together and answer your phones,” Mrs. Dajao says. “Now get together so we can do a whole group.”
I’m an uneven fifth wheel, and Mom positions me in the center of the photo, like the eye of a hurricane of cuteness. Click. Poor Noemi, all alone. Click. Maybe if you all put your arms around her she’ll look less out of place. Click. Have her hold the dog.
“Mom, this is humiliating,” I mutter at that last suggestion.
“It’s not,” Jayden says softly behind me. “They’re just having fun. Nobody cares if you go with someone or not. And you look amazing.”
Did he just say “amazing”? Click. One picture ruined because I’m staring back at him instead of looking at the camera.
“Yeah I love that color on you,” Dodge adds, which makes me feel like an extreme jerk for still kind of wishing they weren’t here and I could stare at Jayden in peace.
Hour 17: 11 p.m.
Prom might not be perfect, but a couple hours in, I have to admit it’s not terrible. Sure, Roger hasn’t stopped trying to convince Jayla to skip the school-sanctioned afterprom entirely to spend more time at “B-Dog’s” house party, and Dodge keeps pulling Jayden onto the dance floor with a level of energy and enthusiasm I wasn’t expecting, but the music is decent, the buffet is good, and I like seeing how people dressed up. Gabby DiMarco ditched her combat boots and black lipstick and went full pink sequins, while super-shy Helene from chem rocks fishnets and lace. Dodge gets a bunch of compliments on their bowtie from other drama kids with candy-colored hair and statement accessories. And Jayden . . . well, I continue enjoying his suit.
I wonder what people think of my look. I wanted to surprise everyone (well, mostly one person), but it’s hard to tell if I accomplished it.
Jayla pulls me out of my seat, and we all dance in a ring of flailing limbs. Even Suka joins, trotting around the circle while we applaud her fabulous bowtie collar. The music is cheesy and a critical mass of our classmates are drunk and everyone is sweating through their nice clothes. I like this more than I expected to.
Jayla ducks away for a water break, and Roger’s lacrosse friends lure him off to chant something incomprehensible at full volume. I lose track of Dodge as the circle disintegrates, and moving bodies push me closer to Jayden, who’s dancing his heart out: hair flopping over closed eyes and serious duck face. I step back to avoid crashing into him, and spin around into a surprise hug from Helene from chem, who is very happy to see me and also might have gotten someone to share their flask. Then the song ends and the dance floor stalls as we all hear the slower softer beat of the new music, and people turn to each other or book it back to the tables as fast as possible.
Slow dance.
I’m planning to flee. But there’s Jayden, standing with his back to me now, one hand in his hair. My mouth goes dry because, well, this could be it. A chance for things to be different. A chance to make things different.
At our first official high school dance, back when I was moping over Bennet, I remember Jayden turned to me, face red, and stammered something that sounded like half a question. I was too surprised to process it, and when he reached out I flinched away, and that was that. He never tried to ask me to dance again.
A year later, when I went to the Dajaos’ house for a movie marathon instead of going to another official high school dance, Jayla fell asleep early and Jayden and I got into a popcorn fight that turned into a scramble to clean the couch, a mess of grappling hands and whispered laughter. It was comfortable and exciting and my stomach dropped with disappointment when there were no more spilled kernels to fight over. That’s when I got punched in the face with the realization that I was in love with him.
I push through a few dancers, reaching for Jayden’s shoulder. It’s a familiar touch, but my face heats at the warmth of it. Everything feels slow and important in the dim crush of the dance floor. Jayden turns, his eyes meet mine, the tiniest tilt of his head asks what’s up. And I’m staring deer-in-headlights back at him, watching his face change in slow motion from casual to focused curiosity, and he’s leaning closer, eyes still locked on mine, and he’s shouting above the music, “Did you want to—?”
“There you are!”
Dodge crashes between us, panting a little. “Do you mind if we head out? I need to take Suka for a walk, and Jayla says the buses to afterprom are only running for another half hour.”
It’s probably not cool to say this about someone who got bullied out of their old school—but—I seriously want to smack Dodge Jenkins.
Jayden looks from me to them and back. “Uh, what?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We follow Dodge back to the table where Jayla offers cupped handfuls of water to Suka, who splatters the Perfect Prom dress with droplets from her lolling tongue.
“Oh good, you found them,” Jayla says, wiping her hands on the stained silver tablecloth. “Hurry up. We need to find Roger too.”
The slow song fades away, and couples morph back into individual dancers, and we all traipse off toward the chanting of the lacrosse team. Jayla’s determined to get the rest of her perfect night. I’m still mourning mine.
Hour 18: Midnight
“This will be the FINAL bus to the bowling alley!” a frazzled PTA mom with a megaphone screams for the fifth time. “Please make a LINE so that we will be ready to load when it arrives!”
In spite of her reasonable instructions, the mass of students in the parking lot ignores her. There’s a general current toward the curb where the last bus should be pulling up any minute, but nobody’s in any hurry.
“We could just miss it,” Roger suggests. He’s the main reason we haven’t left yet, as it turns out that he’s as bad at leaving his jock friends as my mom is at leaving her chismosa friends after mass. “Catch a Lyft to B-Dog’s house instead.”
“Afterprom is part of the whole experience,” Jayla says. “My mom was on the planning committee. There’s supposed to be a photo booth. We can leave once we’ve gotten pictures.”
Roger shrugs. He’s been a good sport, but I recognize the tight smile he gives Jayla because it’s the same one I gave her all morning.
My toes are raw from hours in heels and my nerves are raw from the slow-dance-that-wasn’t. I lean against a cylindrical stone parking barri
er. In the bushes behind me, something furry with light-reflecting eyes peeks out, and I debate the pros and cons of getting rabies (might get a hospital-bedside love confession from Jayden; would ruin Jayla’s plans pretty definitively; also possible death). The group mills near the curb, Jayla talking soothingly to Roger while Dodge stands on tiptoes to whisper something into Jayden’s ear that makes him laugh.
That laugh is enough to pull me forward. “What’s up?” I ask, limping to retake my spot at Jayden’s elbow. He just shakes his head, and Dodge smiles an infuriating smile. “Didn’t Suka need to pee a while ago?” I snap. “There’s grass right over there.”
“Oh, thanks, yeah.” Dodge slaps their forehead and then shoves the leash into my hand for some reason. “Do you mind? Call me if I need to bring a bag.”
I’m too caught off guard to argue, and pretty soon Suka and I are wandering back toward the bushes alone while Dodge and their stupid undone bowtie and unbuttoned collar lean in closer to Jayden.
The last bus pulls up, a nice one with individual seats, which means you can’t squeeze three people into a row, which means I’m going to be the odd one out again. Suka strains at the edge of her leash, sniffing at the bushes.
I slip my phone out of my pocket (Best. Dress. Ever.) and hover my thumb over my messages. It’s too desperate to text Jayden right now, even though that’s who I want to talk to whenever the world gets quiet and my thoughts get loud. I steal a glance over my shoulder and startle because he’s looking right at me. I clutch the phone and the leash in one hand, leaving my other hand free to comb through my hair. And then my phone buzzes and Jayden’s name lights up the screen, and as I fumble in my eagerness to read it, the leash falls to the ground. Suka seizes her moment and darts toward the bushes, yapping loudly as the cat-or-opossum-or-whatever streaks away.
“Suka!” I stumble forward, tripping on my skirt as I try to grab the dog or the leash.
Behind me I hear Dodge scream. I spin around, look at my friends’ frozen expressions of horror, and then, while the rest of our classmates file onto the last bus to afterprom, we all take off running after the rapidly disappearing yellow dog.
Up All Night Page 17