Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  “It would be nice if you could still contribute something toward the costs, but they understand what happened. However, because this is currently being negotiated, they don’t want any press at this point. If it falls into place, though, they’d love for you to call the newspaper and television stations to do a feel-good piece about it. The couple has been bad-mouthing them all over social media, and they could use some good publicity.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m going to Francine’s today to see what I can do. And Hunter did all the decorations before. They were completely ruined, but since it was her senior art project, I can see if she’s willing to recreate them with help from the rest of us.”

  “Good.” She gets back to work, but when I turn to leave, she calls out, “Catherine?”

  “Yeah?”

  “In second grade, you wrote a story about what you thought your life would be like when you were thirty. Do you remember that?”

  I shake my head, but I think I know where this is going.

  “You said you were going to be a lawyer just like your mom. You didn’t want to stay home and burn things like your dad did.”

  My hands fly up to cover my mouth. “Oh no. How awful. Did he used to burn a lot of food?”

  She laughs. “He’s gotten a lot better at cooking, but baking has always been his thing.”

  Just the thought of his soft and gooey chocolate chip cookies makes my mouth water.

  “I guess I took that seven-year-old’s essay to heart, because I wanted it to be true. So much so that I never entertained the idea that you’d change your mind.”

  “I tried to tell you, but you didn’t want to hear it.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I guess I didn’t. I’m sorry I missed all of your performances. I…had no idea. I thought those were activities your father thought you should do. He was sort of clueless when it came to raising a daughter. I always thought he just looked on a website for ‘things girls like’ and enrolled you in all of them.”

  “I really do love it, Mom. Maybe you can come to see a performance of Wicked?”

  “We’ll see.”

  That’s more than I expected from her, and I’ll take it.

  The LEAF silently pulls up in front of Hunter’s house when I pick her up on my way downtown. She runs out the front door to meet me, breathless as she climbs into the passenger seat, looking about a thousand times better than she did yesterday morning.

  “How’d things go after we left yesterday?”

  “Yesterday? About the same. But this morning was a total one-eighty.” I proceed to fill her in on my conversation with Mom.

  “No way! Wow.”

  “Yep. There’s a chance that it could all work out. But, no matter what, I say prom’s back on. We can’t give up. I’ll keep looking for other options for a site and food and stuff. Do you think you can work your magic again for the decorations? I can help, and I can probably drag Owen and a few others along.”

  “I don’t know. I was kinda thinking of going in a different direction for my final. But…if you’re serious about helping me, I can probably do something.”

  “I am serious. This is important to you so it’s important to me. But even with everything else, we really need to get Francine to donate some funds toward this.”

  She pulls her sunglasses down from the top of her head and pushes them up her nose. “No prob. I’ve got this.”

  I crank some Taylor Swift, a compromise between her love of country and my love of anything that’s not country, and we both sing at the top of our lungs until I pull up to the curb in front of the shop shortly after it opens.

  Ms. Baxter looks up when we enter and smiles broadly. “Good morning, girls. Ready to pick up your dresses?”

  “Oh no. I thought you’d heard. Prom’s been canceled,” Hunter says.

  “What happened?”

  “Everything,” Hunter says. “Anything that could go wrong, did. We lost our venue, food vendor, decorations, everything.”

  “Well, wow, how awful. I’m so sorry.”

  Hunter rubs a hand across the top of her nearly shaved head, bristling against what remains of her hair. “So, is there any way we can get a refund for our deposits?”

  “Oh, honey, I’d like to, but honestly, it’s against policy. You signed a document—”

  “I’m a minor. It’s not legally binding.”

  Ms. Baxter’s eyes narrow, and she stands straighter.

  I cross my arms. “You know my mom’s a lawyer, right?”

  She presses her lips together and pulls out a spiral-bound book, flipping through it until she finds the receipts for our deposits.

  “There are a lot of other girls in the same situation we are,” Hunter says.

  Mrs. Baxter’s face pales, and she clutches at the glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck. “What?”

  “All the girls we convinced to come in here and put a deposit on a dress from our school are also promless. If we find a way to make prom happen, I’m sure the online stores would be happy to take their orders.”

  “I can’t…but that’s not…”

  “You know what you could do?” I say.

  She glances up at me, wide-eyed.

  “You could sponsor our prom and help us pay for an alternate location. Let’s say, 10 percent of what you stand to make in profits from our dresses.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  I laugh. “Hardly. It’s a business proposition. The local news is going to cover our little mishap of a prom disaster. Imagine if Francine’s Frocks steps up at the last minute as our savior. That’s some pretty good PR. The kind you can’t really buy. Or in this case, you can.”

  “Other businesses are also offering to help out. You don’t want them to get all the publicity, do you?” Hunter asks.

  Ms. Baxter stares at us for a long time, her mouth twisted in anger, before nodding and pulling out her checkbook. She writes a check, rips it out, and hands it to me. “Will this be enough?”

  My eyes widen for a second at the sum, but I nod and back out of the store before she changes her mind.

  Hunter lets out a laugh as the door closes behind us. “Oh my God, that was epic.”

  “It wasn’t illegal, was it?”

  “I don’t think so. At least I hope not.”

  Holding the check from Francine gives me an idea. “Hey, do you need to be anywhere?”

  “Nope. Why? What are you up to?”

  My eyes travel up and down the block. “Let’s see if any more of Hamilton’s small businesses want some positive press.”

  I can barely stand still as I knock on Owen’s front door. His mom pulls it open, a grin spreading across her youthful face. Her sleek blond hair is pulled up into a messy bun.

  “Well, Catherine, what a nice surprise. We haven’t seen you around here much lately.”

  “I know, Mrs. Locklear. You know how it is at the end of senior year. So much going on.”

  “Yes, of course. Come on in.” She closes the door behind me and calls up the stairs, “Owen, dear, Catherine’s here.”

  “Just a minute,” he says, followed by a bunch of scrambling and something hitting the floor.

  “What the heck?” I ask.

  Mrs. Locklear laughs, her blue eyes, the same color her son inherited from her, crinkling at the corners. “He’s just playing that crazy Quest of the Undead game or whatever it’s called.”

  “Oh, Immortal Quest. Yeah, I don’t get the appeal.”

  Owen stumbles down the stairs a few moments later in a rumpled T-shirt and pair of sweats. “Hey, Cat. What’s up?”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah, c’mon.” He leads the way up to his room.

  “Leave the door open,” his mom calls.

  Owen groans but leaves it ajar just to humor her. His bed is an unmade mess, his headset thrown on his desk, his flat screen monitor displaying a countdown to the beginning of the next Immortal Quest challenge. “How are things with your mom?
”

  “Good. I mean really good. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  “Yeah, that’s…that’s great, Cat. I’m happy for you.”

  “No, you giant dork.” I shove him in the shoulder. “I mean she’s on our side. She’s working with Miami Valley Vineyards, and they may have an opening. We won’t know for sure for a week or maybe more, but it’s a possibility.”

  “What?” He runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “Really?”

  “Yeah. They’re a client and happen to have had a last-minute wedding cancelation. And Hunter and I stopped by Francine’s today and picked up this.” I float the check in front of his face.

  He looks at it, his eyes widening, and he laughs, picking me up and swinging me around. “That’s awesome!”

  “I know! I also got the bakery to donate cupcakes, the craft store to donate supplies for Hunter’s decorations, and a bunch of stuff for the prize pack. You should tell Riley.”

  He grabs his phone but pauses before setting it back down. “Naw. Let’s make sure everything is a go… I don’t want to disappoint her again.”

  I shake my head emphatically. “But she likes to plan. Riley makes lists and does things according to those lists. She needs to get her dress and shoes. Right now she’s thinking she doesn’t need any of that.”

  “Riley’s not like that.”

  “Yeah, she is.” A small breath puffs out between my lips. “Riley and I used to be really close.”

  He nods. “Yeah, like when we were in diapers.”

  “No. Well, yeah, but longer than that. Don’t you remember the three of us hanging out together?”

  He nods. “Well, sure, but…” He tilts his head to one side, then the other as he studies me, his chiseled features scrunching with the gymnastics his face is going through. “Did something happen between you two?”

  “You could say that.” I glance down at my fingers and chew on the inside of my bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze. Being true to myself means that step one in reclaiming the old Catherine is coming clean on what I did. The last person I want to tell is Owen, but he’s also the natural choice to start with. “My mom had so many expectations for me that included hanging out with the right kids, being part of the in crowd… I let Jessa come between me and Riley. I was awful to her.”

  “Define awful.”

  “Jessa wanted me to kick her out of our group. She said Riley wasn’t cool enough to hang with us. I-I…” I sigh and close my eyes. “I told her Riley was cool and we’d been best friends since kindergarten, but she told me that if I didn’t dump Riley, I was out of the group, too, and the repercussions would be worse for me.”

  I open my eyes and find Owen’s blue gaze steady on me, but his expression is otherwise unreadable.

  “I wasn’t strong enough to handle full-on bullying. And I thought if I stayed with Jessa’s group, I could protect Riley from it as well. It made sense to me at the time, but saying it out loud all these years later, I realize I was the worst friend. I tried to make up for what I did by sticking with Hunter, but I’ve never made it up to Riley. I’ve never even apologized to her,” I whisper. “I should have stood up to Jessa. I didn’t. I let her tell me what to do.”

  He nods. “Like I’m always telling you, it’s your life.”

  “I know. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to stand up for what I want.”

  “Because you’re a pleaser. You go with the flow, so you don’t rock the boat.”

  I let out a short laugh. “Care to add any more clichés?”

  His flowing laughter joins mine. “You know what I mean. You don’t like conflict. Just look at us. We’ve never fought over anything. Maybe that’s why we stayed together long past when we should’ve ended things. We’re easy together.”

  I lean back against his desk and cross my arms over my chest as I stare at the boy who has been such a big part of my life over my high school years. He’s right. It’s always been easy with us, but that’s all it’s really ever been. We’re two lifelong friends who tried to create something magical but fell short. We both deserve something more.

  “You should ask Riley to prom.”

  His lips part, and his eyes widen. “What?”

  “I’m not blind, Owen. You like her, and she clearly has it bad for you.”

  “What? No. We’re just friends. She doesn’t think of me that way.”

  I snort. “She does. The way you look at her, the way you’re always laughing together. You can lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself.”

  His face turns dark red, and he shakes his head. “How’d you know?”

  I shrug. “I’m an actress. Or at least I want to be. Part of that is studying body language and the small gestures that give away thoughts and feelings. Does she know you like her?”

  His head falls forward. “I don’t know.”

  “You should ask her to prom. Then you’ll be sure she knows.”

  “What if she turns me down?”

  A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Right.”

  “She’s already going with Jordon.”

  At the mention of Jordon and Riley going to prom together, my heart twists a little in my chest. My gaze drops to my shoes, and I curl my lips inward.

  “Now your body language is giving you away. What’s up with you and Jordon?”

  “I don’t know. My life is so complicated right now, and Jordon is just another complication. You’re right about us. We’ve never been complicated. At least not when we aren’t trying to play the roles that other people cast for us.”

  He nods and moves next to me, slinging an arm across my shoulders. “Best friends forever, Cat.”

  That’s all it takes for me to spill my guts. After I told him about how awful I was to Riley, the girl he secretly likes, he still considers me one of his best friends. I tell him about almost kissing Jordon after rehearsing. “And now it’s like he can’t stand to be around me. I screwed this up.”

  “J’s a good guy. At least what I know about him. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but I think he likes you, too. Based on what you told me about that night, it sounds like he’s not into cheating. He thinks we’re still together.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but then that means he thinks I was okay with being a cheater.”

  The corner of his mouth tips up. “So, tell him the truth.”

  Could it really be that easy? I mean, telling Owen everything and getting these thoughts out in the open has made me feel lighter. Lighter than I have in weeks. As if I could be launched into the air and complete a triple before landing.

  “Okay. But then you need to ask Riley to prom.”

  He shakes his head. “I said I’d go with you, and I stick by my word.”

  “Even if I release you?”

  He nods. “Yup. Riley’s going with Jordon.”

  “Only because she thinks you’re taken. If I come clean with Jordon, you need to do the same with Riley.”

  He steps away from me and shifts his feet, his gaze going to the window. “Well, um, I kinda told her we broke up.”

  “What?”

  When he turns back toward me, his eyes are still downcast. “Yeah. Last week.”

  I shake my head, not sure I heard him right.

  His eyes finally meet mine. “I know we agreed to keep it between the two of us, but…”

  “But you like her. It’s okay, Owen, really. What did she say?”

  With a deep sigh, he shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Well, I still think you should ask her, and you should do it when you tell her about the donations and potential new site.”

  “Okay. Maybe. I don’t know. I should probably wait until we know for sure if all this is going to work out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Riley

  Two weeks until prom

  In the middle of our game session, a message pops up in Q-Chat.

  HOL: Any news about prom?

  ESL: Nothing. I
’ll stop by Slater’s office tomorrow and ask if he’ll consider helping.

  HOL: Let me know how it goes.

  ESL: Will do.

  He clicks off, leaving me alone to fight aliens.

  I swallow a lump that seems permanently lodged in my throat. I have no plan for saving prom. The money from our ticket sales paid for Hunter’s art materials, the tent rental, some random stage materials Jordon needed to buy, and Ray’s deposit, before the equipment he left at the Cleary field was hauled away and demolished. Thank goodness he has insurance to cover the replacement costs.

  A nervous tremor shakes my chest. What if I can’t find a new prom location? Will the entire senior class hunt me down for refunds? I have no money to return, and I’m tired of pestering everyone on the committee for ideas. Other than a basic sponsorship, I still haven’t asked my parents for help, so I wander into the kitchen, wondering about the balance of my college savings account.

  Mom glances up from her laptop. “Francine from Francine’s Frocks called, Riley. Your dress is hemmed, steamed, and ready for pickup.”

  My eyes fill with tears.

  Mom clicks her mouse and closes her laptop. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. What’s going on? Did Jordon back out on you?”

  I run my sleeve over my face. “No, this isn’t about Jordon. Project Morp exploded. Everything’s destroyed.”

  “What’s a morp?” Mom asks. “Am I missing something?”

  I tell her about the prom committee failures, one by one. She manages to keep a straight face through it all, but I know it sounds ridiculous.

  “So now, I have about five hundred people expecting a prom, and unless we invite them to party in our backyard, I’m screwed.”

  Mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “Why not just have it in the school gym? I’m sure after everything that’s happened, Mr. Slater will allow you to use the school.”

  “Because I wanted it to be different. I didn’t want prom night to smell like dirty socks and old tennis balls.” But somehow I was okay with the smell of burning meat from Ray’s barbecue. My shoulders drop as I concede defeat. “You’re right. I’ll ask Mr. Slater about moving everything to the school. Maybe Desmond’s grandpa’s band is still available. And I can make some snacks. It won’t even be as nice as the homecoming dance, but at least it’s something.”