But it is.
I grab the arm of a guy wearing an orange vest and construction helmet. “Why are you here?”
“We’re cleaning the site and hauling away debris. Why are you here?” he asks, signaling for the work to stop.
“Because we’re having prom here. We were working on setting up a tent and a stage, and our caterer left some of his extra barbecue equipment. And now it’s all gone.”
He flips through the paperwork on his clipboard. “You pitched a tent on the land previously owned by Mrs. Brenda Cleary?”
Previously? I swallow hard and give him a short nod. “Yes, but—”
“This ten-acre field is now owned by Gorman Enterprises. The future location of fifty-two spacious carriage homes.” He holds the clipboard in front of me, and I see the word “permit” stamped in big red letters.
“Riley? What happened?” I hear Owen’s breathless voice behind me.
My mouth opens, but before I answer, a skinny guy with leather pants and two tufts of gray hair on the sides of his otherwise bald head steps out of a blue van.
“Grandpa’s here,” Desmond says.
“Hey, Des. Where should we set up?” Grandpa holds up his electric guitar.
Another guy with white hair, wearing jeans and cowboy boots, emerges from the van, clutching drum sticks, looking dazed and confused. “Where’s the stage? Desmond said there would be a generator. We need a hookup for the amps.”
Desmond’s grandpa coughs to clear dust from his throat. “My voice isn’t what it used to be. I need power for the mic.”
Jordon turns to the construction foreman. “What happened to the tent? And there was a portable shed my dad gave me to keep our tools and extra supplies. We were almost finished building the stage. It was sitting right there.” He points to an empty spot next to the excavator.
The foreman clears his throat. “The previous owner gave us permission to demo whatever was left on the land. We hauled everything away earlier this week.”
Hunter stands with her hands on top of her head, elbows out to the side. “My art project. Those samples took weeks to design,” she whines.
“Please no,” I whisper. “This can’t be happening. I’m cursed. I’m the Albus Severus Potter of the Muggle world.”
Owen grips my arm. “Don’t panic, Riley. This isn’t over.”
Is he not seeing what I’m seeing? “We have no prom site, Owen. Mrs. Cleary sold the land, and her name is on the contract. Hunter’s decorations are gone—we locked them in the storage shed. The stage was demolished. And Ray’s smoker equipment is probably in a junk heap somewhere, destroyed. We’ll need to find a way to repay him for the loss. Because we have no prom insurance. We have nothing.” I pull away from Owen and turn back toward my car. “As of now, prom is officially canceled. We’re…we’re done here.”
I leave everyone standing in front of the rubble as I throw my Kia into reverse, kick up mud in my tires, shift back into drive, and zoom away. Vin Diesel ain’t got nothing on a despondent Riley Hart.
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine
Three weeks until prom
I watch Riley’s little silver car speed away as Owen slumps against his Jeep beside me. The air carries a heavy, acrid odor of dirt and debris mixed with something that smells like melted plastic. The commotion around us continues as the construction crew carries on with demolishing what was turning into a pretty magical venue for our prom. The damage is so complete, there will be no recovery this time.
Beside me, Owen studies his shoes like he can’t believe they’re attached to his body.
“Owen?”
He lifts his head and turns toward me, his blue eyes vacant.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t believe this. How many things can go wrong? It’s like the universe doesn’t want us to have prom or Morp…or anything.”
“The universe doesn’t care about some stupid high school dance.”
The vacancy dissipates from his features, replaced by clarity and determination. “Okay, then it must be someone. Who is sabotaging our dance?”
“Come on, Owen, who would sabotage prom?”
“I don’t know, but there’ve been too many coincidences for it to be just chance.”
“Sometimes the only kind of luck is bad luck.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “Sure, but come on, Cat, think about it. First it was canceled, then the cash disappeared, then a tornado—okay, that was bad luck—but this…” His hands sweep across the construction site in front of us. “This could have been orchestrated. Maybe if there hadn’t been a tornado, the construction workers would have bulldozed the barn.”
“But why, Owen? What’s to be gained by us not having a dance?”
“I don’t know, but if we can figure out a motive, we’ll have our suspect.”
I roll my eyes at the amateur detective beside me. “Okay, well, you work on that. I’m exhausted.” I glance around the lot, hoping to catch a ride with Hunter, but the only one still here is Jordon. “Do you mind if I catch a ride with Jordon?”
“Sure,” he mumbles, only half paying attention to me, his mind still focused on solving the mysterious identity of Hamilton High’s prom-wrecking culprit.
Jordon glances up as I approach, his expression unreadable.
“Hey,” I say. “Can I get a ride with you? Owen’s got something to do.”
He looks past me, then stares at my shoulder, his eyes refusing to meet mine. “I, um, I’m not going home. I have…somewhere to be.”
“Yeah, sure.” I swallow back the lump in my throat over the awkwardness hanging between us like a physical force, keeping us apart. I massively screwed up what was becoming a good friendship, and now he can’t even stand to look at me. It’s so bad, he’s making up excuses to avoid us being alone together. And who can blame him? I mean, I practically jumped him in his kitchen.
I pivot and head back to Owen, intent on asking him if he can drop me at my house before he goes off in search of a suspect, when Jordon calls my name. Pausing mid step, I turn back toward him.
“I can drop you at your place before I go to my, um, thing.”
Knowing he’d rather pretend to have something to do than give me a ride, I prepare a thanks-but-no-thanks response when I notice Owen pulling out of the lot, leaving me no choice. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“It’s not.” He opens Sarah’s door for me. Once he buckles in, he rumbles out of the lot, pebbles pinging against the underside of his car.
I stare out the window as we ride in silence that grows louder and more oppressive by the minute. More than once, I open my mouth to apologize for the other night, but the words get caught in my throat. Apologies have never been my strong suit, not that I don’t have plenty to apologize for. But admitting I made a mistake aloud is the exact opposite of what I want to do. Pretending it didn’t happen is more my style. Because I have my mom constantly harping on me about all my flaws, I don’t feel like piling on myself.
Jordon finally clears his throat, making me jump. “So…what’s Owen doing?”
I tear my gaze away from the trees zipping past and focus on the dashboard. “He has a theory about prom, or lack of prom, or whatever you want to call it. He thinks someone’s deliberately sabotaging it, like a conspiracy or something.”
“Technically, I think it has to be more than one person to be a conspiracy.”
I lift my gaze and find humor dancing in his dark eyes, and I relax a bit, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “Maybe it is more than one,” I say with a shrug.
“Who would want to ruin a high school prom?”
“Thank you! That’s what I said. I don’t know if he actually believes it so much as he has to prove to himself no one is trying to make our lives miserable. It gives him something to do. Owen needs to feel in control when things like this happen. Maybe he can’t control the weather or keep a wrecking crew from tearing down our tent, but
he’s going to do everything he can to track down a prom-slaughtering fiend.”
Jordon lets out a laugh, further easing tensions, and for the rest of the ride, we toss out potential perpetrators, everyone from our principal, to the janitor, Tristan Fleming, and even Desmond’s grandpa.
An apology for the other night is on the tip of my tongue, but when he pulls up in front of my house, I quickly unbuckle and open the door. “Thanks for the ride.” I exit the car and ever so carefully close Sarah’s door.
I take small steps at first, fighting with myself, trying and failing to find the courage to turn around and tell him I’m sorry for almost kissing him. Instead, I walk up to the porch like the total chicken I am. Only after I’ve opened the front door do I find the courage to look back toward Sarah. Jordon sticks his long arm out the driver’s window and waves at me before rumbling down the street and making the turn out of our cul-de-sac.
Chapter Sixteen
Riley
Three weeks until prom
At home, I shed my school clothes, now covered with construction dust, toss them in the washer, and change into sweats. My phone buzzes and chirps, but I’m not ready to check my messages. First, I need junk food.
I dig through the pantry for Mom’s secret candy stash, the bags of fun-size bars she saves for the end of long days spent dealing with cranky bridal parties. According to her records, wedding disasters occur on a semi-regular basis. Family secrets revealed. Illicit affairs uncovered. Long-held grudges between friends reignited. When I find a bag of Milky Ways, I tear it open and sink my teeth into the chocolate, chewing until my stress level starts to regulate. After devouring two more of the mini candies, I’m calm enough to scroll through my messages. Six from Desmond. Fourteen one-word messages from Jane, followed by ten emojis, also sent separately. She knows how much I hate her text streams and guesses I’ll do anything, even type a reply, to make it stop. The last message is from Owen, promising to help me figure this out.
I’m about to shut my phone down when Desmond calls.
“How upset are you?” he asks. “Scale of one to ten.”
“Fifty-seven.” I sigh hugely. “I blame myself because I should’ve expected this. When Mrs. Cleary disappeared, I didn’t bother looking for another location.”
“Because we paid to have the prom there,” Desmond insists. “It’s not your fault that she backed out of a promise. And she also stole our prom money. Who steals from a bunch of kids trying to throw together a last-minute dance?”
I unwrap another Milky Way. “I don’t have an answer, so please don’t ask me what we’re going to do next. For one night, I don’t want to think about prom, talk about it, or try to find a way to pay for it.”
After a few beats of silence where I polish off the candy bar, he moves on. “So, there’s this party tonight—”
“You want me to go out?” The screech in my voice might crack glass. “Hang out with people who think I ruined their senior prom?”
He snaps a laugh. “Yeah, right, you canceled prom. To be honest, no one really believes you. We know you’ll find a way, because you always do.”
“Not this time,” I say in a small voice. “We have three weeks to go. Three. I can’t start over, Des.”
“Maybe not tonight, but I guarantee by tomorrow you’ll have a new plan. Until then, let’s go out and have fun.” He hesitates before adding, “And if you want to get smashed, I’ll drive you home.”
An hour later, Desmond pulls up in a car almost as old as Sarah and a lot less attractive.
“My grandpa offered us his ride. He feels terrible about what happened.”
I tug the door closed and shake out my hair, which is still damp from the shower. “Just drive, Desmond. We’re not talking about prom, remember?”
Jeremy’s party is rockin’, per usual. Tonight’s get-together is so large that he left the doors to his house open, with the excess crowd spilling into both the front and back yards. As I glance around, it strikes me that this is probably everything we need for prom. Why didn’t I think about setting up a tent in the Davis backyard? Because I wanted more. Candles, nice music, decorations, and enough light to appreciate everyone’s attempt at formal wear. Owen definitely wouldn’t wear a tux if prom was here. And if we relax the dress code, I’d lose the money I spent on my dress.
“Did you talk to Hunter?” I ask Desmond after he nabs me a beer. “All of her samples were in the shed, and now they’re gone. She must be upset.”
Desmond indicates that I should drink before he answers. I take a small sip.
“I’ve never talked to Hunter, and today probably wasn’t the best time to kick off our new friendship. But, yeah, I’m sure she’s fired up over finding out her decorations are part of the Hamilton city trash pile.” He stabs his finger in my direction. “I thought we weren’t talking about the p-word. Or is it the m-word?”
“We’re not talking about either of those words, but I want to be prepared in case she shows up tonight. I can’t be her favorite person right now.”
We camp out on the raised deck, watching everyone in the backyard play a drinking game involving a small soccer ball that isn’t allowed to touch the ground. Needless to say, the ball spends 90 percent of the game rolling around in the grass. In the center of the crowd, Simone Miller seems to be challenging anyone and everyone. With her amazing hand-eye coordination, she’s beat most of the baseball team in one-on-one competition, an impressive achievement. As I watch her take on Jeremy, who lunges for the ball and misses it by several inches, someone taps my shoulder, and I startle, nearly spilling my drink.
“You didn’t answer my message,” Owen says.
Desmond disappears like vanishing into thin air is his superpower.
“Sorry, I wasn’t in the mood to talk.” I take a cautious sip of beer, which is already warm.
Owen arches an eyebrow. “But you are in the mood to get wasted.”
“I’m not getting wasted tonight.” I lower my cup to my side. “But Desmond thought it might be a good idea…to help me chill out a bit. My first option was downing a giant bag of chocolate.”
“Desmond, huh?” Owen turns to glance over the party crowd, only half listening to what I’m saying.
“He’s my friend. You know that. He asked Carrie to the prom.”
“And you asked Jordon.”
“And you asked Catherine.” I crane my neck, checking out the growing group of girls near the firepit. “Is she here? How mad is she about the collapse of her Prom Queen dream?”
“She didn’t freak out—much. Not in front of me, anyway. I told her if prom really is canceled, we’ll stick a crown on her and have your mom take her picture for the newspaper.”
Between heartbeats, I feel a quick squeeze in my chest. Tonight, even Owen seems ready to admit the possibility of not pulling off our Project Morp. I hide my disappointment by taking another swig of beer. “If all she wants is a picture, I can arrange that.”
Owen takes a long sip of his drink. “I spent the afternoon investigating the most recent incidents. I wasn’t convinced all of this bad stuff is totally random.”
“What, like some evil mastermind is trying to wreck our prom? Probably a waste of your time, but thanks for looking into it.”
He settles into one of two empty chairs on the deck, and I take the seat next to him, straightening my spine so we can more easily make eye contact. Between him and Jordon, I feel like a shrimp these days. I’m used to hanging out with Desmond, who’s one of the shorter guys in our class. Instinctively, I lean over the arm of my chair, closer to Owen, breathing in his familiar scent mixed with the bitter tang of beer and smoke from the firepit, which is still crackling away on the stone patio below us, though the weather has turned warm. Jeremy likes to create what my mother calls ambiance for his parties.
The small amount of beer in my system starts to have its way with me, and my eyes sting with tears. “You’re so—” I stop before saying something I’ll regret. I’m n
ot even sure what word would’ve come out if I hadn’t hit pause. Loyal? Good? Beautiful? Super-hot?
Smiling, Owen leans over the arm of his chair and tugs on a loose lock of my hair. “So are you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Catherin
Three weeks until prom
With Owen off playing Law & Order: High School, Hunter still distraught over her lost artwork, and Jordon barely tolerating being in the same space with me, much less rehearsing, I decided the best way to spend my Friday night was alone. Doing homework. But my thoughts keep drifting to Hunter and all her hard work in a tangled mess of dirt, rock, and plastic. I set my book aside and reach for my phone to call her but end up sending a text instead. Hunter isn’t big on talking on the phone.
Catherine: Hey. How are u?
Hunter: Trying not to curl up into a ball and die. That was my senior art project
Catherine: I know. What r u going to do?
Hunter: Haven’t had time to process yet
Catherine: Want to do something tonight to take your mind off it?
Hunter: Jeremy is having a party. I heard Simone telling Camille that she’s going.
Catherine: Does that mean you want to go?
Hunter: Girl? I know you know the answer to that.
Catherine: Okay. Pick me up
Hunter: Bossy much?
Catherine: Do you want me to drive instead?
Hunter: No your car won’t go over 40. See you soon
Hunter and I have been there for each other through everything over the past nearly four years. She helped me through my mama drama and then leaned on me when she first came out to her parents, even though they were totally accepting. Our classmates, on the other hand, not so much. Jessa tried to get me to do to Hunter what we did to Riley in middle school, but for the first, and last, time in my life, I stood up for something I believed in.
Hunter is a better person than I am. She still loves me but refuses to hang out with Jessa and the other cheerleaders. Other than Riley, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I want to be there for her tonight. Maybe I can help her recreate her masterpiece. I may not be artistic, but I can follow directions and hand her the glue and scissors.
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