Nat’s face got all splotchy. “Yes, I mean, no, I mean, have a seat. I was going to come to your office after this anyway.”
Banks took the chair from behind the teacher’s desk and sat in it.
Gilroy saw me and frowned.
Gilroy liked the “good” kids, people like Nat who joined clubs or Lauren who was real smart or anybody who played varsity anything. Normal kids like me, he hated. If a good kid messed up, he was all “I understand, you’re under a lot of pressure, try not to let it happen again, give my best to your parents.” When a normal kid got in trouble, the attitude was different: “Thought you could get away with it, why are you wasting our time here, they’ve reserved a space for you at the penitentiary, you make me sick.”
Gilroy took a seat by the door. He turned the desk at an angle so he could stare at me.
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” Banks said. “Go ahead, Natalia.”
Nat fiddled with a bobby pin. “Right. Okay. Like I was saying, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that we have a week and a half to pull this off. A lot of people came up to me today and said they really supported our efforts. Prom is important. People care. We can do it.”
Yeah, she was looking at me when she said that.
“And the bad news?” asked Gilroy.
“Um, yeah. I called thirty-five hotels, twelve country clubs, three community centers, and a firehouse. I’m still waiting for the VFW post to return my call.”
“And?” asked Banks.
Nat picked up a piece of chalk from the blackboard tray. “They’re all booked and besides, we can’t afford them with the cash we have left. A couple said we could reserve a date for next year, but I explained that wouldn’t help our class because we’d all be graduated by then.”
“What about the other vendors that Miss Crane dealt with?”
She tossed the chalk from one hand to the other. “The party store guy hung up on me. The rest either cursed me out or told me they are going to sue the school if they don’t get paid.”
The door opened again. Lauren and two other girls came in.
“Sorry we’re late,” Lauren said. “We had an NHS meeting.”
Gilroy smiled. “No problem, ladies, we’re almost done.”
Nat frowned. “I was just telling everybody that we have a lot of work to do.”
Gilroy interrupted her. “But you don’t have a facility.”
“Right.”
“No suppliers of decorations.”
“Right.”
“What about the caterers?”
“They won’t return my calls.”
“The DJ?”
“Nope.”
“The videographer?”
“He laughed at me.”
“And the suppliers for the gift bags?”
She put the chalk back and rubbed the dust off her hands. “They said we should go pound sand.”
Gilroy looked at Banks, who sighed and shook his head. “I was afraid it would come to this,” Banks said. “We all owe Natalia a debt of gratitude for her dedication and extra effort, but I’m afraid the odds against her, against this prom, were simply stacked too high.”
“But I didn’t call everybody yet—” Nat started.
Banks and Gilroy stood up. “I’m sorry, girls,” said Banks. “We have to face facts.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “We must cancel the prom.”
A couple girls cursed. Gilroy’s eyes went buggy, but Banks glared, signaling Gilroy to keep his muzzle on. Bad Gilroy. Don’t bite the students.
Nat started shaking in her sandals. The other girls kept swearing and talking louder and louder and louder. Junie burst into tears.
That’s when the third miracle happened.
55.
I raised my hand.
“Excuse me,” I said.
56.
Banks walked over to Nat, put his arm around her shoulders, and spoke to her quietly.
Gilroy was reaching for the door, trying to get his boss out of there.
I waved my arm in the air, but nobody noticed. The one time in my life when I wanted to participate, and nobody would pay attention.
“Yo, I got a question here,” I said.
Well . . . I shouted it.
Actually, I screamed it. “YO! I GOT A QUESTION HERE!”
The talking stopped.
“That’s better,” I said. “Geez, you guys. We’re not done yet. Nat, are we done? Is the meeting over?” I shook my head from side to side to give her a clue.
Nat wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “Um, no?”
“Good. I was thinking about a few things.”
Nat sniffed. “Um, okay?”
“Do you have a constructive suggestion, Ashley?” Banks asked.
“Yeah, I do. We could use the gym. For the prom, I mean.”
“What?”
“No hotel wants us, we don’t have much money; why don’t we use the gym?”
Monica turned around in her seat to look at me. “If it’s in the gym, it’s just a dance, not a prom.”
“So you’re saying that what makes it a prom is if we spend a ton of money, which we don’t have? Pardon my ass, but that’s stupid.”
Everybody thought about that for half a second, then started arguing and agreeing all at the same time.
“It’d be better than nothing.”
“I can’t get the money back on my dress.”
“Ladies . . .”
“But the gym smells so nasty.”
“Eighth graders have dances in the gym.”
“Ladies . . .”
“If we made it look nice . . .”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“It will be so embarrassing . . .”
“Ladies!”
I caught Nat’s eye and pointed to Mr. Banks. She quieted everybody down by banging her sandal on the desk.
“Thank you. That’s better.” She slid her sandal back on. “First of all, we have to ask the principal—Mr. Banks, is there any reason why we can’t hold the prom in the gym?”
Banks frowned. “I’ll have to check with the legal people, liability issues, you know. . . .”
“Security would be a nightmare,” Gilroy said. “We’d have to negotiate with the custodial staff, food service . . .”
My hand shot up again. It had a mind of its own all of a sudden.
“Yes, Ashley?”
“I don’t think we should use our cafeteria staff, no offense.”
That got a round of applause.
“What do you suggest?” Banks asked.
“We could cook for ourselves, or get our families to help. My mom’s macaroni and cheese is famous in our neighborhood.”
“Or we could just have cookies and stuff,” said Monica.
“More liability issues,” said Gilroy. “Potential food poisoning.”
“You saying my mother can’t cook?” I asked.
“Wait, wait,” Nat said. “The football boosters make food for football games.”
“Good point,” Banks said.
“A lot of kids won’t go,” Lauren said. “They won’t think it’s a real prom if it’s at school.”
“I see more negatives than positives in this scenario,” said Gilroy.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Banks said. “I think we should try it.”
The committee cheered. Gilroy pouted.
“Don’t anybody leave, we have to make up to-do lists,” Nat said. “Ash, you’re going to help, right?”
“Oh, no, no, no, that won’t work,” Gilroy said. “Ms. Hannigan here has way too many detentions to be able to participate in an extracurricular activity like this.”
“How many does she have?” Banks asked.
When Gilroy gave him the number, the girls gasped.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “That sounds a little high to me.”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Let’s reconsider,” Bank
s said. “These girls need all the help they can get. Even convicts get time off for good behavior.”
He laughed.
I didn’t. Neither did Gilroy.
“What if we cut her number of detentions in half?” Banks suggested. “With the requirement that she help the committee every day.”
“That would be great!” Nat chirped.
Gilroy’s eyes reminded me of a ferret we used to have. It liked to bite, too. “A noble idea, Mr. Banks, but contrary to district policy. The board wants us to enforce a ‘no exceptions’ discipline. If we let Miss Hannigan off the hook for her infractions, we set a dangerous precedent. I’m sure she understands.”
“But, but . . .” Nat said.
I wanted to pick up Gilroy by his smelly ferret tail and dangle him out the window.
“I see your point,” Banks said. “We’re sorry, Ashley. You earn detention, you serve detention.”
Gilroy opened the door. “That’s the way things work in the real world.”
We were on the third floor. If I was dangling a ferret out the window and it tried to bite me, I’d drop it.
Nat grabbed Mr. Banks’s sleeve. “But she can still help, can’t she? I mean, as long as she does her detentions, too.”
“You said we need all the help we can get,” Lauren said.
“I don’t see a problem with that,” Banks said. “Do you, Mr. Gilroy? I think it shows character, to help out friends in need. What do you say, Ashley?”
Everybody turned and stared at me.
Like I had a choice.
57.
My so-called “knight in rusting armor” was not waiting for me after school. Not that I expected him or anything. Jerk.
Nat said she’d drive me to work. We stopped at my house first ’cause I wanted to change. Before I opened the front door, I put my finger in her face.
“Do not, I repeat, do not, say anything about the prom. Don’t even say the word ‘prom.’ Promise me.”
Nat rolled her eyes. “Promise.”
My brothers and father and dog were in the kitchen. Dad was dressed for a softball game: dirty cleats, tube socks, bright red shorts, and a tank top that showed too much hairy back. He was using tongs to pluck hot dogs out of a giant pot of boiling water. Mutt was spinning in the middle of the floor, his spit flying through the air like Silly String.
So far, so good, you’re thinking. All-American dad cooking All-American food. Hungry dog freaking out.
Think again.
Dad waved a steaming hot dog in the air, shouted, “Pop fly!” and threw it across the kitchen. Mutt jumped and missed.
“I got it,” Shawn screamed. He reached over Mutt and caught the hot dog in his glove. But the play wasn’t over. “First base!” he hollered.
Steven, his nose in a book at the table, flopped open his glove. Shawn tossed the hot dog high, but Steven looked up in time, stretched, and snagged it before it smashed into the window screen. Mutt sprinted towards Steven, hit the brakes too late, and slid into the wall.
“Ouch,” Nat said.
“Look out!” shouted Dad. “Runner stealing home!”
Steven put his elbow on his book so he didn’t lose his place, picked up the hot dog with his right hand, and threw it back across the kitchen to Dad who caught it and handed it to Billy, standing on a chair next to him.
“We got ’im!” Dad said.
“We got ’im!” Billy squealed.
Mutt shook his head, turned once in a circle, and lay down.
I turned to Nat. “And you wonder why I want to move out?”
Dad reached in the pot. “Give your sister a glove, Shawn. Ash—go long.”
“Time out.” I teed up my hands. “Where’s Ma?”
“At Aunt Linny’s,” Steven said. “She won’t be home for hours.”
Billy waved his arms. “She won’t be home for hours!” His hot dog snapped in two, and the top piece fell to the floor. Mutt was on it in a flash.
“Time in!” Dad lobbed a dog at me. “Catch!”
Damn thing was hot. I bobbled it twice, then tossed it to Shawn, who flipped it to Steven, who took a bite out of it before he threw it at Billy. Billy caught it in both hands, stuck it in a smushed-up bun, laid down a line of mustard and offered it up to me. “Hungry?”
“What is going on here?” I asked.
“Softball game tonight,” Dad said. “Cabbies against the roofers.”
Shawn grinned. “Dad’s team is gonna get crushed. You coming to watch?”
“Can’t,” I said. “I have to work until ten.”
“Your loss,” Dad said. “Hot dog, Nat?”
“I’d love one, Mr. Hannigan.”
I shook my head. “Eat that at your own risk. It’ll take me two seconds to get changed.”
58.
My room was over the kitchen, so I could hear them babble. Dad asked Nat if there was any more news about our thieving Math teacher, and Nat filled him in. I had just pulled off my shirt when she explained how I was helping with the new prom.
“Shut up!” I grabbed my clothes and ran down the stairs. “Shuttin’ up, Nattie, for real!” I skidded into the kitchen pulling on a clean T-shirt. “You swore you wouldn’t say that word!”
“Is it true?” Dad asked. “You really going to the prom after all?”
I stepped into one leg of my jeans. “Read these lips: I am not going to the prom.”
“She’s just helping,” Nat explained.
Dad spread relish on a hot dog. “Helping? Like what, serving punch?”
Billy hit Steven’s arm. “Punch,” he said.
Steven took a bite out of Billy’s hot dog. “Bite.”
Billy leaned over to bite Steven. Dad grabbed Billy’s collar, pulled him off Steven and handed him another hot dog. Mutt sat up and whined and Dad tossed him a bun.
I pulled up my jeans and zipped them. “Nobody drinks punch anymore. I’m just helping with . . . what was it you said?”
“Organizational details,” Nat said.
“Yeah, that.”
“Cool,” Dad said. “You gonna need a limo? I know a guy down in Fishtown, he owes me, has classic cars and limos in his fleet. Your ma is going to flip about the dress. God knows that woman can shop. I suppose you’ll need shoes, too. The strappy kind you can dance in. Your mother loves those.”
“No dress. No shoes. I don’t dance.” I buckled my belt. “I am just helping. And get this—nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to tell Ma. If she finds out I’m helping with this dance—”
“It’s not a dance, it’s the prom,” Nat said.
“—with this dance, she’ll flip. She’ll have such a fit about dresses and flowers and shoes and limos and food and hair and fifty million other stupid things that she will have her baby right here in the kitchen, in front of everybody. Trust me, that is one kind of gross you don’t want to see.”
“Ew.” Shawn put down his hot dog.
“Serious ew,” I said. “Think about last year, Dad, when you renewed your vows. It got so bad around here you almost divorced. When it comes to this celebration stuff, she’s out of control.”
Dad stroked his beard. “You have a point, princess.” He jogged towards the living room. “Hang on, I know what to do!”
I took a freshly boiled hot dog out of the pot and stuck it in a clean bun. Mutt licked my ankle and I pushed him away. “You have no idea the bullet we just dodged,” I told Nat.
Dad came back holding a thick book. “We’ll swear on this. Like a holy oath.”
Nat read the title. “You guys swear on The Lord of the Rings?”
“I couldn’t find the Bible.”
Steven stuck a piece of hot dog roll in his book to mark his place. “For some people, The Lord of the Rings is holy, too.”
The boys gathered around, each one with a hand on the book.
“We swear that we won’t say a word,” Dad said.
“We swear that we won’t say a word,” my brothers repeated.
“About the prom to Mary Alice.”
“About the prom to Mary Alice.”
“No, I mean, to Mom.”
“No, I mean, to Mom.”
“So help me God and Tug McGraw.”
“So help me God and Tug McGraw.”
“All right then, men. Let’s crush the roofers!”
59.
I had one question rattling around my head the whole time at work.
What was I thinking?
I took orders, delivered them to the kitchen, served flat soda and undercooked pizza, smiled, danced, cleaned tables, mopped floors, and danced some more, a confused rat on cruise control.
What was I thinking!?
No way could I help with the prom. I had a million detentions to serve and was behind in most my classes. I had to go to work and help Ma at home. And I had a social life, sort of, if I was still speaking to TJ and he was still speaking to me.
What the hell was I thinking???
I messed up three orders and spent fifteen minutes switching pizzas from one table to the other. My manager made me mop the floors.
Why did I raise my hand in that meeting? Could I blame my hangover?
Maybe.
Was I just trying to piss off Gilroy?
Probably.
Did this prove that bad things happened when you raised your hand in school?
Absolutely.
60.
When I came home, Mutt was stretched the entire length of the couch, his belly fat with hot dogs and buns. Something was up. The house was too quiet for ten-thirty at night and the dog never got the couch to himself.
“Ma?”
“In the kitchen, Ash,” Dad called.
He was on his knees behind the kitchen table, scrubbing the wallpaper in his softball clothes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He dipped the scrub brush in a bowl of soapy water. “Cleaning up.”
I looked him over for bruises. “Did you get hit on the head?”
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