Prom-Wrecked

by T. H. Hernandez

  “She loves Jordon. Or at least, she really likes him a lot.”

  “Yeah, that’s obvious to everyone. And I’m happy for both of them. Because Catherine Reed isn’t the girl I want to be with.” Owen’s blue eyes hold mine in a steady gaze. “If we weren’t here with other people, I’d spend all night with you. I want everyone to know we’re together.” He moves his hands to my elbows, gently drawing me closer. “I want you to understand how I feel about you. Whenever I try to talk to you about us, you run away or laugh it off.”

  “Because it’s so…unexpected. After all these years, I never expected you to see me as more than a friend.”

  Owen’s eyes shift to the single bright star visible through the trees, then back to me. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you when school’s over. I want us to be together, whenever you’re ready for us to be more than friends. Also, I really want to kiss you.”

  My heart hammers in my chest. I feel as if I’ve somehow stumbled into a dream. But Owen’s here, and he’s real. And he wants to be with me.

  “You can kiss me,” I say. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  “I wanted to kiss you as soon as I knew what kissing was.” When Owen leans in and touches his lips to mine, the world seems to pause and grant us this perfect memory. I thread my fingers through his hair, and he deepens the kiss, sending a rush of warmth through me, followed by an electric shiver, then goose bumps, as my sensory system goes haywire. After years of dreaming about kissing Owen, the reality is way better than anything I could conjure using my limited powers of imagination. When a burst of laughter rings out from a group of prom-goers passing by, we finally break apart, both of us gasping for air.

  Owen is an excellent kisser.

  “What just happened?” he asks, eyes wide.

  “What do you mean? You started it.” I shoot him a helpless look.

  We both start to crack up. Typical for me and Owen.

  After regaining my composure, I reach up to fix his crooked tie. “Sorry, I messed up your style.”

  Eyes bright, he stands completely still while I straighten the lapels of his jacket. “Don’t worry too much, no one’s looking at me.”

  “Not right now, but I suspect you have a Prom King crown to wear.”

  He starts to say something else, but we’re interrupted by a loud, adult voice calling for everyone’s attention. Damn chaperones and their lousy timing. Damn backwards prom with things happening earlier instead of later.

  “We need to get inside,” Owen says. He takes my hand and tugs me away from our hiding spot, guiding me toward the open doorway framed with flowering vines. In the main party area, a small stage sits at the far side of the dance floor. String lights dangle from the trees, forming four natural walls around the designated party space, with an open roof granting us a view of the starry sky. Hunter’s new decorations outshine her original version, transforming the vineyard into a fairyland. Girls in sparkly dresses and slick-haired guys, so dressed up they’re barely recognizable, complete the effect.

  “Welcome to Hamilton High School’s Senior Prom. Also known as Project Morp to your student planning committee,” Jane says, taking the microphone from the chaperone. She’s wearing a long emerald dress, and her auburn hair is pulled into a ballerina updo, with a few loose curls framing the sides of her face. “You’ll notice the reverse menu tonight, starting with cupcakes and an ice cream bar, thanks to our sponsors, Wilson’s Creamery and Top Side Bakery. But don’t fill up on dessert! After dinner, we’ll end the night with fruit and cheese plates.” Jane goes on for another minute, talking about logistics and the entertainment schedule. Miraculously, someone managed to track down a popular local DJ, a better alternative to Owen’s playlist and Desmond’s grandpa. “And now,” Jane says, raising a white envelope in the air, “I’m ready to reveal the results of the Prom King and Queen vote.”

  The crowd hoots and hollers.

  “First of all, a shout-out to everyone on the committee who helped to make this dance the best ever.”

  Polite applause. A guy in the back whistles.

  Jane opens the envelope and produces a printed card. The DJ presses a button, and a drumroll starts to play. “The votes have been counted. This year’s Prom King is…Owen Locklear.”

  I smile at Owen and place my hand on his back, nudging him toward the stage. He leaps over the bottom step and bows so Jane can place the crown on his head. Everyone claps for him.

  “And now the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Jane says. “This year’s Prom Queen title goes to…” At Jane’s dramatic pause, everyone turns to Catherine, who’s standing at the back of the dance floor, talking to Jessa. Catherine whips her head around, turning her attention to the stage. She makes a slight adjustment to her dress and clasps her hands in front of her, waiting for her name to be called.

  “Riley Hart?” Jane turns the paper sideways and repeats my name. Her eyes light up, and she scans the crowd. “Riley! You won!”

  A spotlight skims over the dance floor, coming to a stop when it finds me, weak-kneed and slightly dizzy. Desmond appears and hooks his arm through mine. “Let’s go, PQ. Time to claim your crown.”

  “But I didn’t save prom,” I say to him as he escorts me to the bottom of the stage, where Owen waits, smiling at me. “Catherine should be queen.”

  “No, you’re wrong. Without you, we wouldn’t have had a prom at all. Catherine just found a last-minute location.” Desmond waits for Owen to reach me before backing away and disappearing in the crowd. Owen and I walk up the three steps, toward Jane. He’s saying something, but I can’t hear him over the thunder of applause.

  Jane sets the crown on my head and secures it with bobby pins. “Very well deserved, Riley. Take a bow.”

  But a wave of shock tightens my muscles, and I stand there, practically frozen. Watching me struggle, Jane laughs and gently shoves me toward Owen. “Just…go dance.”

  Owen helps me make it down the steps without tripping over my dress, and we move to the center of the dance floor. The music starts, and Owen drops his hands to my waist, holding me close.

  I should probably say something. Congratulate him on his Prom King win. Apologize for wrecking his ex-girlfriend’s plan for total prom domination. “So, this is interesting,” is what comes out of my mouth.

  Owen laughs. “You know what I hate wearing more than a tux? A ridiculous crown.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” We share a laugh as Owen swings me around in a wide circle. I spy Catherine standing at the edge of the dance floor. She smiles and nods her approval. My balance wavers, and I loop my arms around Owen’s neck. He reacts by tightening his hold, supporting me until I regain my footing. It’s not the dreamy, romantic first dance it could have been, but still, I think it sets the right mood for our prom. This is a happy night for all of us.

  Happy for about ten seconds, until the screaming starts.

  I tear my attention away from Owen to find Jessa yanking on the strap of Catherine’s dress as she pulls her onto the dance floor. Catherine curls her upper lip and shoves Jessa away. Standing back, Jessa gestures at Catherine’s gown, an exact replica of her own, and Catherine throws her a smug smile. Jessa’s face contorts with rage, and she lunges at her friend. The two girls turn into an angry knot of tangled arms and legs.

  Sighing, Owen releases me. “I probably should help my date.” He ambles over to the girls and steps between them, prying them apart. “What’s going on?” he asks in a loud but calm voice. The happy prom music abruptly cuts off.

  Jessa stabs her finger at Catherine. “She’s wearing my dress.”

  Catherine straightens her shoulders. “No, I’m wearing my dress.”

  “Oh, come on, Catherine. You were with me at Francine’s Frocks when I bought this dress.”

  Catherine crosses her arms. “And I told you I was already planning on getting it.”

  “But I bought it first.”

  “You never said I couldn’t get it, did yo
u? And this dress cost three hundred and fifty dollars, plus another hundred for alterations. Where exactly did you come up with that much money?”

  “I told you my mom gave it to me.”

  “The same mom who works two jobs just to help keep food on the table?”

  As they argue, I do some calculations in my head. Three hundred and fifty dollars, plus tax and alterations…I flash back to the day I lost the prom deposit money…Jessa was there, with Catherine…in the hallway. I gasp, loud enough that Owen glances my way. When he does, Jessa throws out her arm, aiming for Catherine. Owen blocks Jessa before she makes contact.

  “What’s going on, Riley?” he asks, managing to keep his voice even despite the girl-turned-battering-ram trying to knock him over and take down his date.

  “The prom deposit that went missing. The cost of the dress is about the same as the lost cash.”

  Catherine calmly steps around Owen and places her hand on Jessa’s shoulder. “Where did you really get the money, Jess?”

  Bryan Stevens, Jessa’s date, steps forward and looms over Catherine. “She said her mom gave her the money. Are you accusing my girlfriend of lying?”

  Owen moves in front of Catherine. “Hey, calm down, man.”

  “Out of my face, dude, or I’ll mess up your pretty hair.”

  Owen tenses, his hands curled into fists. “Try it, Stevens.”

  Bryan’s fist slams into Owen’s face.

  Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on the two of them. Owen draws his arm back, ready to retaliate. Before he throws a punch, Jordon and Desmond rush forward, dragging Owen back.

  I steal a glance at Catherine, wondering what she must be thinking. She didn’t win Prom Queen, and now this. But, instead of looking crushed, she springs to action, calling to the chaperones for help.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Catherine

  Prom night, Eight thirty-five P.M.

  I can’t believe Bryan punched Owen. After calling for the chaperones, I step back, tears stinging my eyes. I do my best to hide them by forcing a smile, although I’m not sure it comes across that way. This is a complete disaster. I lift my gaze to Riley. This should have been her perfect night, but it’s going about as well as our entire prom. This right here is a tornado, lost check, and bulldozed tent all rolled into a ghastly fistfight on the dance floor.

  As Owen and Bryan continue to pummel each other, Desmond and Jordon circle them in some sort of male testosterone-fueled display of intimidation. And damn if it isn’t a little bit hot. Still, I feel responsible, since Owen’s defending my honor against my accusation of Jessa. I take a step toward them, intent on breaking up the fight before either one of them loses a tooth or gets a broken nose. The two chaperones who came running when I called stand back from the brawl, waving their arms in a completely useless attempt to break it up.

  Before I reach them, someone grabs my skirt and yanks me back hard. I lose my footing in my four-inch heels and slip, landing hard on my shoulder, my head bouncing off the wooden dance floor.

  Jessa stands over me with a satisfied smirk, her lithe arms crossed.

  “Oh, hell no,” Hunter yells.

  Rolling to my side, I hold my head with one hand and attempt to push myself up with the other. Someone reaches down to me, and I glance up to find Simone offering me a hand. She helps me to my feet, and the room swims a little before righting itself. I orient myself in time to find Hunter sitting on Jessa’s back, a fistful of her long dark hair in each hand.

  “You do not go after my best friend,” Hunter yells.

  Jessa squirms beneath her and manages to twist around, reaching up to claw at Hunter’s face.

  Simone stands beside me as I watch in horror, unsure what to do. The boys are in an all-out brawl across the room. Bryan’s friends must have jumped in to help fend off Owen, and now Desmond and Jordon are in the thick of it. Tuxedo jackets have been tossed aside, and white shirts are splattered with blood from split lips and dripping noses. Riley circles the group, her hands twisting together in front of her.

  I see one of the parents we guilted into providing adult supervision across the dance floor and wave my hand frantically in the air. She tears herself away from trying to referee an argument to rush over to us.

  A high-pitched scream calls my attention back to the girls, where Hunter has Jessa in a headlock. Jessa scrambles on the floor, trying to get up.

  Loud pops that sound like gunfire erupt near the food tables, bringing a halt to the action on the dance floor.

  “What was that?” a girl asks.

  One of the chaperones who was attempting to break up the fight between the boys rushes toward the sound. My fellow classmates storm after him, their shoes creating a thunderous explosion across the wooden dance floor, drowning out everything else.

  Kicking off my shoes, I dash after the crowd on bare feet. Fireworks shoot up into the night sky as a couple of juniors laugh and high-five each other.

  “Look out! Fire!” Jane yells.

  Beside the boys, a white tablecloth draped over a wine barrel serving as a dessert table goes up in flames, cupcakes and buttercream frosting igniting as the barrel’s wood slats pop and snap under the heat.

  “Someone call 911,” a chaperone yells, and a hundred phones are whipped out at once, all dialing the same emergency number, likely overloading the circuits.

  Oh my God, this is a nightmare.

  I whip my head around, searching for Jordon, Owen, and Riley, but there are so many kids gathered nearby, it’s impossible to find them in the swarm of bodies.

  Tristan Fleming, ex-prom committee chairperson, grabs the punch bowl and runs toward the flames, laughing like he’s been possessed by a demon.

  “No, don’t,” Jeremy says as Tristan pours the contents onto the fire.

  The alcohol-spiked concoction is like lighter fluid. The flames roar before climbing higher. White-jacketed servers rush over, fire extinguishers in hand, but the flames are already licking at the oak tree above, singeing the leaves. Francine’s banner melts before hanging limply by one corner and falling to the ground.

  The servers spray the repellant on the burning table, white foam spattering the black tuxedos and bright dresses of those standing closest. The flames on the table wither as the ones overhead are just getting started.

  In the distance, the wail of a siren grows louder. At least someone was able to get through.

  I turn back toward the dance floor, not interested in being in the vicinity when the fire truck arrives. My foot catches on something, and I stumble into Bryan. He’s leaning against a tree, munching on a bacon-wrapped date.

  He shoves me off him and turns back to the action with a bemused expression on his swollen face.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Riley

  Prom night, Nine P.M.

  My head is spinning. I don’t know where to look first. The fight between Owen and Bryan ends when fireworks explode in the night sky. Stray embers fall into the party area, and everyone scatters. Tristan dumps the punch bowl over a plate of burning cupcakes, laughing maniacally as the small red flames grow into big blue ones.

  Beside me, Jane yelps when a spark catches the hem of her dress, and Jeremy all but tackles her, forcing her to stop, drop, and roll. I run a lap around the dining area, making sure everyone’s safe as the smoky haze thickens. At some point fire engines pull up and start blasting foam all over the place. The dance floor morphs into a battlefield, with the wounded covered in sticky foam shot from fire hoses, red liquid (which I hope is punch and not blood) and falling ash from the overhead leaves eaten up by lingering flames.

  I throw my arms above my head, shielding my hair and face. Owen appears next to me, the beginnings of what’s sure to be an ugly bruise marking his lower jaw.

  “This isn’t what I planned at all,” I admit.

  Grinning, he bumps his shoulder into mine. “I know. Not even you could plan this. But it is kind of awesome, isn’t it?”

  “If
by awesome you mean the prom version of Immortal Quest, then sure.” Amid the screams of terror and total dance-floor decimation, my eyes catch his. I tilt my head toward the exit. “Should we get out of here?”

  “Let’s do it, Evil Skater Girl.” He takes my hand, and we press through a maze of our classmates snapping selfies using the prom wreckage as a backdrop. Gripping the fabric of my chiffon skirt to prevent irreparable damage to my dress, I duck my head and stick close to Owen. Smoky air paints a glaze on my vision. Someone turns the music on again, the heavy jam accompanying cannons shooting foam and water into the night sky as the trigger-happy firefighters do an extra-superb job of dousing the flames.

  “You think we’ll make it out of here alive without our Immortal Quest body armor?” Owen asks, pausing to watch everyone else flee the scene.

  “On the off chance we don’t, tell me this. Did you decide about Bucknell?”

  He turns his attention on me, eyebrows raised. “I’m going. Will you talk to me if you see me on campus?”

  “Only if you wear your Prom King crown to class.”

  Scowling, he rips the crown from his head. “I’ll wear the crown if you let me call you Evil Skater Girl in public. Every day.”

  We spend a minute staring each other down.

  “See you at orientation,” I say.

  “I think you’ll see me before that. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

  My heels click on the dance floor as we stroll through the carnage, hands linked. We pass a charred wine barrel that splintered apart when it toppled over. I kick aside a piece of wood, and something rolls out over my sandal. Bending down, I pick up a stray bottle and raise it to my nose, catching a whiff of the strong odor wafting out. “What do you think this is?” I ask Owen, holding it up to him.

  “It’s whiskey,” says a female voice behind us. “Which means you’re under arrest for underage possession of alcohol and carrying an open container.”

  The bottle falls from my hands, hits the floor, and shatters. “It was empty,” I say, and rush to add, “But I didn’t drink whatever was in it.”