“Zae.” Dad finally breaks the silence. “I don’t know what to say. This is huge.”
“I didn’t know,” I tell him. “When she first showed me the pamphlet and told me to share it with you, I knew we didn’t have the money, so I threw it away.”
“Who could the donor be?” Mom asks. “Do you think they’ll expect something from us?”
“If they’re anonymous, then no,” Dad says. He looks at me. “Do you have any idea who it is?”
“No!” I’m just as shocked and baffled as them. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“Ultimately, I think it needs to be your choice,” Dad says. Mom nods her agreement through teary eyes. “But we will be happy to work on the pros-and-cons list to make sure you consider every angle.”
We. My parents aren’t together, but we’re still a family. They’re still my team, both there for me. I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.”
I hug each of them, and my brain seems to shut down on the way back to class. Emotions are gone, too. Nothing is computing. This cannot be real. It can’t be my life.
I want to tell my friends, but at the same time I’m terrified. I don’t want anyone to try to talk me into or out of it. I’ve never been so torn about something. But this is monumental for me.
“Are you okay?” my friends ask me after school.
“Fine.” Not fine. In disbelief. Utter freak-out mode. Forced smile activated.
Brent jumps in front of me on the sidewalk down to the parking lot. He grasps the back of his neck.
“Uh, hey! Are you going to prom with anyone?”
My stomach sinks, sending a wave of yuck over me at the thought of prom. “No,” I say soberly. “I’m not going at all. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. With anyone?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “I just really don’t feel like it.”
His lips pull to the side, and he nods. “Okay, then. See you around.” And he runs off toward the baseball field.
“Zae,” Kenzie starts.
“I’m serious,” I tell her for the millionth time. And then it hits me. If I don’t go this year, and I’m in France next year at this time, that means I won’t have gone to any proms. I start shaking.
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Lin asks.
“I feel like there’s stuff you’re not telling us.” Monica cocks her head at me.
Ugh, why can they read me so well?
“Guys . . .”
“You’re scaring me.” Kenzie twines her fingers through mine.
“Do you have a minute,” I ask. “Before I have to drive?”
They exchange glances and nod.
“But you have to promise me you won’t try to give me advice or pressure me about what I’m gonna tell you. I know that sounds weird, but I need you to just . . . listen.”
Another round of glances is exchanged, this time alarmed, and I can’t blame them. We move to the side and sit on the grass, away from students and teachers, and I tell them everything. It’s the first time ever that all four of us cry together. Lin’s tears are usually stored in a steel vault. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry.
Nobody says anything, they just cry, and I know we’re all thinking the same thing. We knew things would change when we graduated. But to take one of us out of the equation a year early would mean that soon, very soon, nothing would ever be the same for the four of us. It would be the end of our carefree days together. But if I stay, we’ll have one more year together. Then again, if they get serious with Dean, Vincent, and Parker, and they all cheer without me, things will be changing anyway . . . I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.
They stick to their promise and don’t try to sway me one way or the other, even though part of me wants to scream Tell me what to do!
We’re quiet and thoughtful the whole drive home.
Mom wraps me in a long hug when I walk in the door, and I let her hold me. Zebby, usually clueless, says, “What’s going on? You’re both acting weird.”
Instead of answering, I go over and hug him, too, rocking him back and forth as his arms swing and flop until he wiggles away and says, “Never mind, I don’t even want to know.” I’m glad to hear it, because I can’t handle another single tear today.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In the course of five days, I’ve successfully decided on giving Mrs. Crowley an absolute yes, and then a firm no, no less than fifty times, back and forth.
Oh, and no more poems, though I scour my locker and the floor around it every day. Mystery poet has probably had a change of heart. I don’t want a fickle guy anyway.
Prom is this weekend, and the entire junior and senior classes are stressing. Between dresses, tuxedo rentals, corsages, limos, nail and hair appointments, and finding last-minute dates, school has taken on a humming atmosphere of anticipation. Everyone wants everything to be perfect, and I’m extra glad not to have those worries. My friends have helped deflect boys who want to ask me—and thankfully most of them ask my friends first, like, “Hey, does Zae have a date yet?” And they tell them I’m not going. So far, the only one who showed interest that I felt bad about was Taro.
But by the end of the week, all those stray guys find girls to ask, and hardly anyone is left without a date. Some groups of friends choose to go together. It’s funny how everything works out.
I do feel sad . . . and left out, though I know it’s of my own device. I’m regretting now that I’m not going to at least be with my friends. On Friday I go to Mrs. Hartt, who’s running the prom court. Kenzie comes with me for moral support.
“There you are!” Mrs. Hartt smiles. “I’ve got your prom ticket and sash.” She digs around on her desk and pulls out a big yellow envelope with my name on it. “I’m so proud of my girls. Do you know this is the first time in nine years that all three nominees are cheerleaders?” She holds out the envelope, but I don’t take it.
“I didn’t buy a ticket.”
“You get one free since you’re on the court.” She shoves the stuff into my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I’m not going.”
Mrs. Hartt puts both hands on her hips. “Zae, I think you will regret that.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But it’s too late now.”
“It’s never too late. You drive, right?” She looks at Kenzie. “Surely you or one of the girls, or even your sisters have an extra dress Zae can wear.”
My cheeks burn. “No! It’s too much.”
“Zae,” Kenzie says softly, “it’s really not too much. You can come to my house today and we’ll find you a dress. We can call the restaurant and add one more to the reservation.”
I shake my head, feeling humiliated that I’m waffling the day before prom. It’s just that all the reasons I didn’t want to go feel so flimsy now. I’m regretting not taking advantage of this experience with my friends.
“I’ve already told guys no,” I say.
Mrs. Hartt laughs at that. “Who cares? Believe me, they’ll get over it and move on.”
I look at Kenzie and her adorable smile slides into place. “Pretty please?”
I sigh and look down at the prom sash. Mrs. Hartt grins. “See you there, hun. No regrets.”
All right, fine. No regrets.
I opt out of the dinner, and decide to show up to prom an hour late. I’m wearing a maroon, strapless, long satin dress that Kenzie’s big sister wore as a bridesmaid. It’s tight in the chest, but at least I know it won’t fall down. Mom put my hair into fat curls and piled them on my head in a regal upsweep. I did my makeup in black, gray, and silver.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous when I show. I keep smoothing down the white prom-court sash that lies over my shoulder. I’ve rehearsed what I’ll tell anyone who asks why I changed my mind, “Mrs. Hartt said I had to make an appearance because of prom court.” It’s a half-truth, but oh well. It’ll save m
y butt from looking too stupid or hurting some nice guy’s feelings.
I wobble just slightly in the gravelly parking lot on my heels, borrowed from Monica, as I walk around the side of the hotel. Two guys in tuxedos are smoking, and I move to the edge to give them a wide berth. A sweetness like cotton candy wafts over.
“Thought you weren’t coming,” says a familiar, smooth voice that makes my insides jump. I wobble a little as I stop and face Joel in a black-and-white tux. Next to Kwami. Both their bow ties have been undone and hang loose around their necks. I can’t help but smile at how slim and dapper they look.
“Dang, y’all clean up nice,” I say. “But I think it’s against the rules to smoke at a school event.” I put a hand on my hip and eye the tiny vape in his hand. “New toy?”
Joel’s cool half grin makes me shiver. “Oral fixation, remember?”
“Maybe you should find something better to do with your mouth.”
I’m so glad it’s dark out because I feel the blood rush to my face as Kwami bends over, laughing in spurts.
Joel’s easy demeanor never wavers. “Perhaps I should.”
I look around. “Are your dates inside?”
“We came stag,” Joel says. “Kwami’s my date.”
“Yeah, J thinks he’s gettin’ lucky tonight, so I’m gonna have to fight him off.”
Joel’s laugh is slow and smooth. “Right, right. Can we escort you inside?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.” They each hold out their elbows, and I slide my hands in.
It dawns on me as we’re walking in that people might think I came with a date after all, but I’m so happy not to be alone that I don’t care. Inside the ballroom, lights twinkle, and everyone looks like young movie stars. People are excited to see me, stopping to hug me.
“You look beautiful!”
“Look at your hair!”
“Girl, I love that dress.”
Every single girl is busy complimenting another, and it warms my heart to see us building each other up.
Kenzie is the first at a table to spot me and jump to her feet. I meet the girls halfway, and we converge in a group hug, squealing and laughing. Parker, Dean, and Vincent jump up and hug each other, bouncing in a circle with their heads thrown back as they fake yell. It’s pretty funny, especially to see Vincent letting loose, and Parker, who just met these guys tonight. I turn around and Joel and Kwami are nowhere to be seen. I strain my neck to peer around the room. Where did they go?
“Selfie time!” Lin says.
We spend the next ten minutes posing together and with any other friend who comes along. When a dance song we all love comes on, “Girl Anthem,” we scream and run to the dance floor, leaving the dates in the dust. In fact, almost every girl at prom rushes onto the floor with their hands in the air, and we dance like crazy, laughing, beautiful, and free. I feel so lucky, so grateful, in that moment, realizing I almost wasn’t part of this.
No regrets.
Our song is followed by a slow song, so I take my exit as the guys come up to find their dates and hold them in their arms. This was the moment I thought I would hate—the moment I wanted to avoid—but it turns out I don’t care after all. They look happy. They’re being treated nicely. Come what may in the future, on this night they are smiling, and that’s all I can ask for.
The chair next to me whispers across the carpet as Joel pulls it out and sits in it backward, straddling the seat. He’s sipping from a clear plastic cup as he regards the crowd.
“Why did you decide to come?” I ask.
“Surprised?”
“Kind of.” Totally.
He shrugs. “Something to do. Parties. Prom. All these things are entertaining.”
“So, you just like to people watch.”
“Precisely.”
“You don’t ever join in? You don’t dance?”
“Not usually.” He keeps staring out at the dance floor, and my hope dissipates. He turns to regard me with serious eyes. “Why did you decide to come?” It’s really a loaded question, and to answer it would mean I have to reveal all the sadness and insecurity I’m facing. So, instead of responding, I stand and hold out my hand.
“Dance with me?” I ask.
He looks at my hand and hesitates. My heart pounds in preparation for rejection, but after half a beat he stands and puts his warm hand in mine. I let out a breath and lead him to the dance floor, my fingers falling into place between his. I pull him into the crowd of bodies until we’re submersed in the sea, then he lifts my hand to his shoulder and takes my other palm in his own. I feel his free hand circle my waist, warm against my lower back as he pulls me until our bodies are flush. He smells like cologne and spun sugar from the vape. The latter I can do without. The former makes my knees weak.
We don’t speak a word. I take nervous glances at his serious blue eyes before deciding to rest my head against his shoulder. He feels . . . nice. Steady. I let myself relax and the song is over too soon. It’s not until I pull away from him that I realize just how much of us was touching.
Monica catches my eye as Dean leads her off the dance floor, and she’s looking back and forth between me and Joel in question. I can’t exactly respond, so I just give her a smile.
To my surprise, Joel hangs out with me. We go up to the cake table for a slice when it’s cut, and then we both make gross faces when we realize it’s lemon, not vanilla.
“So wrong,” Joel says, and I laugh a little too hard.
Flynn Rogers, the bassist, passes us, holding hands with Emi. I guess they’re together now.
“Hi, Flynn,” I say. “Hi, Emi.”
“Hey!” Flynn smiles, but Emi just stares me up and down as they go by. Ouch.
Joel’s eyes widen, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“I guess she doesn’t like me,” I mumble under my breath. I don’t recall doing anything to her other than talking to Flynn.
“Girls are harsh like that to each other,” he tells me in all his wisdom. I wish he wasn’t right.
The microphone system screeches, making everyone flinch and some cover their ears.
“May I have your attention,” Mrs. Hartt says. “It’s now time for our junior- and senior-class prom court to come to the dance floor so that we may announce the prince, princess, king, and queen!”
People lightly cheer, and my stomach flops.
“Get up there, Miss Popular.” Joel nudges me, and I groan. “But you might wanna wipe the frosting from your face first.” I gasp and wipe at my face, making him laugh. “Nah, just messing with you.” I slap him, and Monica joins us, taking my hand and leading me onto the dance floor. We move next to Meeka, gorgeous in sleek, thin braids. She got suspended for a day and Camille got three for attacking her. But Meeka has healed from her scratches and bruises, and holds her head high.
I take her hand, too, and the three of us stand together with the three junior guys to our left. The spotlights make me squint.
“First, I’d like to announce our junior-class prince,” Mrs. Hartt says. “Congratulations, Dean Prescott!”
I clap, and Monica whistles through her fingers, nearly blowing out my eardrums and making everyone laugh. Mrs. Hartt puts a manly, thick, gold circlet on his head. The obnoxious one with red velvet is reserved for the king, along with a velvet cape.
“And now, for your junior-class princess!” I grasp hands with the girls again. Please say Monica, please, please, please . . . And then . . .
“Zae Monroe!”
I stand there frozen. The sound of applause warbles in my eardrums. Both Monica and Meeka shove me. I turn to Monica, and she gives me the kind of smile that only a friend can give you when she is surely feeling wrecked with disappointment.
“Go,” she mouths.
Mrs. Hartt is trying to adhere a tiara to my curls, and I trust her not to mess it all up. “There,” she whispers, giving my shoulders a squeeze and beaming at me before she urges me to stand next to Dean.
I�
�m in a complete daze as the king and queen are announced. I smile for pictures and marvel at how this is my life. I didn’t believe my name would be called. I really didn’t.
“And now it’s time for the royal court dance!” says Mrs. Hartt.
The what? A slow song comes on and Dean turns to me, not meeting my eye. Ugh. Freaking ugh. We pause long enough to make things uncomfortable. Then I suck it up and put both hands on his tall, wide shoulders. He puts his fingertips to my waist. We proceed to hold each other at arm’s length as we rock stiffly back and forth, looking everywhere but at each other, fully aware that everyone is staring at us and taking pictures.
Most awkward moment of my life. And I’m pretty sure it’s the longest song in history. I glance toward the cake area where I left Joel, wondering if he’s laughing at me, but he’s not there. I look all around and find him in a corner talking to Sierra. My mouth and throat suddenly go dry.
As the song ends, I mutter, “Congratulations,” and he says back quietly, “You, too.”
Dean and I walk back to where we were all sitting and proceed to get dogged by our entire group of friends. Kenzie is giggling too hard to talk.
“What the hell was that?” Lin asks us.
“You looked like prom zombies,” Parker says.
Dean’s face is red, but he gives that dimpled smile. “I was just trying to be respectful.”
Monica squeezes herself under his arm and gives me a wink. I wink back.
“Look at this picture,” Kenzie says, showing how ridiculous we looked, like middle schoolers afraid to touch.
I push her phone away with a laugh. “No, thank you.” I lived the moment, that’s enough for me. I look toward the corner where Joel and Sierra had been talking, but they’re not there anymore. I don’t see either of them anywhere.
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