Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  “Then what prompted this now?”

  “Come on, Cat. Just between us, let’s be honest. Let’s not pretend everything is perfect.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I never said things were perfect, but if you’re not into someone else, then why do you want to break up now? Can’t it wait until after prom?”

  “Don’t you want to go to prom with someone special?”

  While we may be more like really good friends than boyfriend and girlfriend these days, we’ve been planning our senior prom together since we became a couple. Like this has always been our big endgame. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back. “I guess I thought that would be you.”

  He shakes his head and sighs. “Remember we’re not pretending with each other.”

  “We’ve been planning prom night forever, Owen. Together. You and me.”

  “Feelings change. You know that as well as I do. And plans change, too. I want prom to be the night of your dreams, but with me, that’s not going to happen. You don’t feel that way about me anymore.”

  “But—”

  “Cat…” He reaches over and places his hand on mine. “I know you care about me. Hell, I’ll always care about you. We’ve known each other too long, been friends too long…” He raises an eyebrow. “You were my first, and I was yours. Nothing will ever change that, and I’ll always care about you because of it. But I also know you don’t laugh at my jokes the way you used to, your eyes don’t light up when you see me the way they once did. We’re not fourteen anymore.”

  I sigh and wipe away a few escaped tears. He’s right, and I adore him for making this about my lack of feelings for him instead of the other way around. I think I’m more sad about losing the idea of what once was rather than what we have now. “I know. It’s like we just…deflated.”

  His lips pull tight into a wry grin, and he sighs. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, but…if you’re not into someone else, why do we need to break up now?”

  “Umm…we both just admitted our relationship is over.”

  “I know, but…” I lean my head back against the window and close my eyes. “If we break up now…” I open my eyes and meet his gaze. “My odds of winning Prom Queen will take a big hit. Jessa is lobbying hard for the spot. Our breakup will fuel her campaign. My mom will be ‘so disappointed.’”

  “Is it important to you or to your mom?”

  “You know the answer to that. Nothing I ever do is good enough for her, but if I can accomplish this? Maybe I can break it to her that I auditioned for a part in Wicked.”

  He sighs and nods. Other than Hunter, he’s the only one who really gets the dynamic between me and my mom. I suspect Riley also knows more about my family drama than I’d like. Back when we were friends, she was too loyal to say anything to me about it. But now? Who knows?

  The truth is, I’m not really sure anymore. Yes, my mom wants this, at times more than I do, but I’ve been working toward it since middle school. It’s always been expected of me, but I’ve done the work. Made friends with the right people, let those people dictate my relationship with Riley, got involved with cheer instead of joining the Drama Club, earned the proper grades, took the right classes. If I don’t get Prom Queen, I’ve wasted years doing things I don’t necessarily enjoy, destroying friendships, hurting people I cared about, all for nothing.

  A car whizzes past, way too fast for a two-lane country road, rocking Owen’s Jeep.

  “Look, Owen, what if we just stay together publicly through prom? No one needs to know we broke up except us.”

  “If we go together now, we’d only be going as friends, regardless of what the rest of the Hamilton High student body believes. How magical is that? We work because we’re easy, but we’re not magical. It’s always been easy to be with you, but if you’re honest with yourself, is easy enough? Don’t you want more?”

  I blow a puff of air out between my lips, and my head falls back against the seat. Isn’t this the question I was asking myself just the other night? We’ve never had a spark, not really. We fell into a relationship with each other, and it’s been easier to stay together than not. “No, that’s not enough. Not forever, but it’s good enough for the next six weeks. At least for me.”

  Owen’s blue eyes bore into mine as his emotions play out through his changing expressions. He’s never had a poker face.

  “We can even break up at prom if you want. I can play the bitch so you get all the sympathy. I’ll let people think I was just using you to get the crown.”

  His grin tips up one corner of his mouth. “You kind of are, aren’t you?”

  I let out a sad laugh. “I guess I am. But do this for me, and I promise, I’ll make sure you come out of this looking like the great guy you are.”

  His eyes soften, and he reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You’re not a bitch, you know that, right?”

  My laugh is more genuine this time. “No. I just play one on TV.”

  He joins in my laughter this time, then turns and starts the engine, easing us back onto the road.

  “So, um, I’m going out tonight,” I say, munching on a jicama stick.

  “Good. It seems like you and Owen haven’t been spending much time together these days.” Mom doesn’t even bother tearing her eyes from her laptop screen.

  “Not Owen, another friend. Dad’s met him.”

  “Who’s that, Kitty Cat?” Dad asks, walking into the kitchen and kissing the top of my mom’s her head.

  “Jordon. The guy from the prom committee.”

  “Yeah. Nice kid.”

  “I’m so glad you decided to join the committee,” Mom says. “You can have more input into the theme and decorations.”

  “Well, it might be in a barn.”

  Mom’s head whips up, and I finally have her full attention. “A barn? Like on a farm?”

  I shove another stick in my mouth and swallow it with a sip of water. “Yeah. We don’t have much of a budget, so Jordon and I are working on fund-raising. Riley is heading the committee.”

  “Riley Hart? I haven’t heard her name in a long time.”

  “Yeah, well, we kinda drifted apart. Anyway, we’re all trying to make something happen.”

  “But a barn? What’s wrong with the Marriott downtown? They have a nice ballroom.”

  “That costs more money than we have.”

  Mom nods and shoves her pen behind her ear as she studies me. “How short is your budget?”

  “I don’t even know. Riley’s handling that. But I’m trying to get Francine’s Frocks to kick in some sponsorship funds.”

  “She owes a good chunk of her annual revenue to prom season,” my dad says, stealing a jicama stick off my plate.

  I take a deep breath. “So I was hoping maybe you could chip in something. We’ve got a social media campaign, hashtag save our prom. It’s not trending yet, but we only have a couple of sponsors so far. Maybe your firm could join them?”

  “Let me see what I can do. We have a couple of corporate sponsors that might like to get involved with a project like this,” Mom says.

  “That would be great. So…can I borrow the car?”

  Dad tosses me the key to his Nissan LEAF. “Curfew’s midnight.”

  “I know, Dad. Thanks.”

  I grab one more jicama stick for the road and give my dad a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the garage. After programming Jordon’s address into my nav, I back out and enjoy the utterly quiet ride of my dad’s electric car compared to Jordon’s air- and noise-polluting nightmare.

  He doesn’t live far, and soon I’m cruising down a lush, tree-lined street, searching for Sarah along the curb. Although knowing Jordon, she’ll be in the garage or under a tarp or something. I still can’t believe he named his car and that I’m referring to it as a her. Much to my surprise, the blue beast is parked in the driveway in front of an enormous house. A large weeping willow takes up the yard beside the driveway next to a small man-made pond surrounded by large
rocks.

  I ease to the curb and grab my bag before heading up the front walk. Jordon pulls open the door just as I lift my fist to knock and joins me outside. Inclining his head toward the side yard, he leads the way across the lawn, which feels more like emerald carpet beneath my feet than something organic, and stops at a wooden gate.

  He reaches a lanky arm over the top to lift the latch, his T-shirt sleeve riding up to reveal a well-defined biceps. Jordon Oswald is hiding some muscle on that lithe frame of his. He opens the gate and holds the door for me. I step onto a stone path and wait for him to take the lead. After pulling the gate shut, he follows the path beside the house where it spills into an enormous backyard with pool, spa, and in the corner, a giant oak, complete with the coolest tree fort I’ve ever seen. This isn’t some two-by-fours nailed to the trunk leading to a platform. Instead, a cylindrical structure that looks like a castle nestles in the branches, adorned with turrets and a wraparound balcony.

  My feet stop moving as I pause to take it all in. A suspended footbridge leads from the faux drawbridge across the back edge of the property to another oak with a spiral staircase twisting around the trunk. Fairy lights zigzag above in a magical, wonderous canopy of soft light. “Wow,” I whisper.

  Jordon’s cheeks take on a pinkish hue. “I started playing make believe at an early age. It’s kind of childish now, but when I was little…” He shrugs. “I tried to talk my parents into letting me update it to something more Game of Thrones, but this wasn’t cheap, and they weren’t about to invest more in it with me leaving for college soon. Although my little sister and her friends still hold tea parties up there sometimes.” His words tumble out as if he’s in a rush to release them.

  I, on the other hand, don’t have any words at all. What must it be like to live in a world where your parents embrace your love of theater instead of barely tolerating it? “Wow,” I say again when I finally find my breath, taking a step toward the stairs.

  “Come on,” Jordon says, “I’ll give you a tour before we get to work.”

  He strides across the yard on long legs and marches up the rusty metal stairs circling the tree, ending at the footbridge. I follow him, noting the unsteadiness of the wrought iron structure.

  “Are you sure this is safe?”

  He laughs. “Of course not, but it’s not that far down. Heck, I’ve fallen that distance a few times. Only broke my arm once.”

  “Only once…good to know.”

  The footbridge feels even less stable than the stairs, but Jordon crosses with confidence, like he’s not even a little worried about plunging to the ground and breaking another bone. When he gets to the other side, he beckons me across. “Come on, Catherine. We removed the moat monsters years ago.”

  Did I say I thought he was funny? I must have had a momentary lack of judgment. Placing a tentative foot on the wood slats, I start across. The ropes holding everything together sink a good four inches under my weight, and I pause.

  “Will you stop messing around?” He mocks me from the other side. “I swear, no one has died crossing the bridge in years.”

  My head pops up, and I stare at him, mouth gaping open. He laughs so hard, I’m worried he’s going to bring the tree fort down, but unlike the bridge, that appears stable.

  “Oh my God, Catherine, seriously, I’m just messing with you. It’s safe. Get over here already.”

  Shaking my head, I swallow a smile as I blow out a breath. “Fine. I’m coming.” I glance down. It’s really not that far to the ground. I mean, if I fall, I can just tuck and roll. Some of the cheer pyramids I’ve been on are nearly this high.

  Unlike the wobbly footbridge, the platform supporting the treehouse is solid beneath my feet, and the railing surrounding it doesn’t even give an inch when I grab onto it. Up close, the exterior of the structure is weathered. What was probably a varnish is peeling in more spots than not, but it still manages to retain its majestic properties. My boots clomp on the wooden platform as I follow Jordon around to a green door in the front. He pulls it open, and it hangs lopsided on loose hinges, but the walls don’t move at all.

  The inside isn’t nearly as impressive as the exterior, but it’s tall enough for Jordon to stand upright, which means it feels like a vaulted ceiling to me. Several round windows in the curved walls allow in a generous amount of fading sunlight. The floor and walls are unfinished plywood, and a small plastic pink table and chairs are pushed against the wall opposite the door beside a toy kitchen. The rest of the space is empty, with the exception of two bright, fuzzy beanbag chairs.

  “It isn’t much,” Jordon says, “but it was the source of a lot of fun when I was growing up.”

  “It’s everything,” I whisper so quietly I doubt he can hear. My eyes take in every inch while imagining the types of games boys play taking place in a make-believe castle.

  “So. We’ll have privacy out here. The windows in the house are nearly soundproof, and my sister is at a sleepover at a friend’s. You can belt out whatever you want without fear of being overheard.”

  “Except by your neighbors.” I peer through one of the windows that overlook the yard next door.

  “They have the same windows we do. The state installed them five years ago when they were planning on putting the freeway in the easement behind us. It was part of the deal. But the funding fell through, so we got windows without the freeway noise.”

  I nod as if that all makes sense. “Okay. Um…I’ll just start.” Standing in the center of the treehouse, I close my eyes and take a deep breath before singing “Defying Gravity” from Wicked. When I finish, I turn to Jordon. “Well?”

  His mouth is pulled in a tight line.

  “How bad was it?”

  His eyes widen. “Bad? No, it was good. Better than good, but everyone going out for Elphie is going to sing that song. You want to set yourself apart from the others.”

  “But that’s her signature song. Won’t they want to know that I can sing it?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’m sure they’ll ask you to sing it. After you sing something else. If you only sing that along with every other hopeful, you’ll be one of many. But if you sing something like ‘How Far I’ll Go’ from Moana first, you’ll be the girl with the ability to sing ‘Defying Gravity’, but also the range to pull off ‘No Good Deed’.”

  “Okay. Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years.”

  “How many musicals have you been in?”

  “Including school productions? About thirty.”

  Thirty? I lean against the wall and wonder what the heck I’m doing. “I’ve been in four, counting all four school productions.”

  His mouth goes slack. “Where did you learn to sing like that?”

  I shrug. “Watching tons of YouTube videos, practicing in my shower, and with this software program I read about in the Theater Dreamers forum.”

  “I don’t get it.” He shakes his head. “How have you not been chosen for more roles? Hell, for the lead?”

  “I didn’t audition for more.”

  “Now I really don’t get it. You’re good, and it’s clear you love it. Your face was glowing when you were singing. The only time I’ve ever seen you like that is when you’re performing.”

  “You really can’t figure it out?” I take a seat on the floor and cross my legs. “We’re meeting in your treehouse at night, and I had to make an excuse to get out tonight.”

  He sits beside me, leaning his head back against the wall. “No, I can’t figure it out. Unless…”

  “Unless? Keep going, you’re getting there.”

  “Your family doesn’t approve?”

  “My dad’s cool with it, but my mom, not so much. She expects me to go into corporate law like she did. She made partner in her law firm, but she’s always wanted to start her own firm and thinks the two of us would work well together.”

  “Other than watching you argue over current events in U.S. History better than anyone e
lse in class, I don’t see it. You being a lawyer, I mean.”

  I sigh and glance up at him, really noticing his eyes for the first time, wondering if they’ve always been the color of the richest bittersweet chocolate and fringed by lashes that are a couple shades darker than his dirty blond hair. “It’s expected, whether or not anyone can see it, least of all me.”

  “I’m sure I’m not the first to say this to you, but it’s your life.”

  “No, you’re not, and I know it is, but you don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.”

  I push myself up, but before I can leave, he stands and gently takes my arm, turning me to face him.

  “So make me understand.”

  “I doubt I can. I mean, look at this place.” I spin to indicate the inside of his treehouse. “You said you wanted to go into drama, and your parents built you a freaking playhouse. I mentioned I wanted to try out for the spring musical freshman year, and my mom told me it was a complete waste of time.”

  “Okay, but you did it anyway.”

  I nod. “I did. And I loved it. Did my mom come to even one of my performances?”

  “I’m gonna guess that’s a no.”

  “Nope. Not one. My dad came to all of them, though.”

  Jordon runs a hand through his styled hair, leaving it a delightful mess that looks even better somehow. “Look, I get your mom doesn’t support you, but I still don’t understand why you’re letting someone else choose how you live your life.”

  “Because…if I don’t do what she wants, I do it on my own. No college tuition, no living at home, I’m out in the world by myself. Untethered. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

  “Your dad doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d let that happen.”

  I snort. “You’d think. But she’s got him so whipped, whatever she says, goes.”

  “Well, you’re going for Wicked, right?”

  I nod. “I am. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “Yeah, but my parents don’t know, and, as you so brutally reminded me, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll be the least experienced person there.”