Prom

by Laurie Halse Anderson

  Grandma S. came back outside with her robe on over her bathing suit. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I pinned a tiny Eagles shirt to the line. She walked through our gate and set her laundry basket on the ground next to me.

  “Am I hanging up your clothes, too?” I asked.

  Grandma didn’t have her teeth in. She chattered away like a monkey and did a few steps of her sprinkler dance.

  “Ma!” I shouted. “Do we have any ravioli?”

  Ma called through the screen door. “I ate the last can for breakfast. What’s she doing?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

  “Hurry up. Your aunts are going to be here in a minute.”

  “Maaa! Why?”

  “They’re coming over to cheer me up, since you got kicked out of the prom.”

  “Oh, yeah, they’ll be a real help.” I wrung the water out of a thin baby blanket and draped it over the line.

  There were screams and shouts at the front of the house. “They’re hee-re!” Ma shouted.

  “Lovely.”

  Grandma reached into her basket, grabbed a handful of fabric, and pulled, still jabbering. I wished they taught Russian at my school. It would have been more useful than poetry.

  The blender revved up in the kitchen, and Aunt Joan sang the chorus from “Margaritaville.” Ma and the others cackled.

  Grandma shoved her fabric at me.

  “Let me finish the baby stuff first,” I said, pointing to my basket. “Then I’ll take care of yours. And I’ll turn the sprinkler back on. Maybe I’ll join you. Maybe I’ll drown myself in your baby pool.”

  She frowned, grabbed my arm, and forced my hand into her basket.

  “Geez, pushy, aren’t you? Okay, okay, I’ll hang up your undies, keep your hair on.”

  I pulled out a mountain of fabric, all kinds of chiffon, silk, satin, cotton, and gauze in every shade of pink. I shook it out.

  It was a dress, a ball gown with a plunging neckline, an even deeper scooped back, a small waist, and layers of skirts that flowed to the ground.

  “What the hell—?”

  Grandma grabbed my shoulder. For a withered elf in a bathing cap, she had World Wrestling Federation moves. Before I realized what she was doing, she had thrown the dress over my head, prodded my boobs into place, spun me around, and zipped me up.

  I twirled as quickly as my sore toe would let me. It was the weirdest freaking dress ever. Hands down. The skirts swushed and swirled around like I was in a dream or a shampoo commercial. It fit perfectly and was as soft against my skin as my favorite sweatpants.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  137.

  The screen door slammed open.

  “Ohmygodohmygod!!!”

  My aunts poured out of the house shrieking at full volume, a flock of flying dinosaurs landing in a circle around me.

  “Will ya look at that!”

  “A beauty, she’s a freakin’ beauty.”

  “Mary Alice, come look at your beautiful daughter!”

  Ma came down the steps slowly, one hand on her belly, eyes wide. She screamed, “Oh, my baby! My baby Ashley is growing up! Ow!”

  She sat down on the steps. Her real baby had given her a good, hard kick from the inside to shut her up.

  “Stop screaming, Mary Alice,” Aunt Sharon said. “You always make such a scene.”

  Aunt Linny walked around me, her mouth hanging open, tears in her eyes. Aunt Joan felt the fabric.

  “Where did you get it?” she asked me.

  “I guess Grandma Shulmensky made it. I mean, I think she did.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Ma said. “Twirl, Ash.”

  I twirled again, slowly. The skirts caught a little breeze and fluttered.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Ma said. “That’s a prom dress. A little weird, maybe—”

  “Not weird, original,” said Aunt Sharon.

  “Original like Ashley,” added Aunt Joan.

  Aunt Linny looked confused. “But Mary Alice said you couldn’t go to the prom. That’s why I made fudge and brought the tequila.”

  “I still say you should sue,” said Aunt Joan.

  “We were gonna make margaritas,” Aunt Linny continued.

  “To help drown our sorrows,” said Aunt Sharon.

  Ma stood up, waddled over to me, and smoothed down my skirts. “No margaritas for anybody. My baby is going to the prom. I mean, look at this dress, for crying out loud. It was meant to be. I’ll talk to the principal, get an exemption. Something. Anything.”

  I turned my back to her. “Unzip me.”

  While Ma fumbled with the zipper, her mouth shifted into high gear. “Linny, she needs a better bra for this. Joanie, could your friend Pely come over? What time is it, almost six? Forget Pely, we’ll do her hair ourselves. A loose bun, maybe. And we’ll curl the tendrils, what do you think? God, this zipper is stuck something awful.”

  “Tug harder,” I said. “I am not going to the prom and I am not spending the rest of my life in this dress.”

  “Shut up, Ashley Marie, you are absolutely going to that prom. This dress is a sign from God.”

  Ma and her sisters paused to cross themselves.

  Great. Now the prom was a sacrament as well as a pain in my butt.

  They all started talking a million miles an hour about shoes and a purse and hairpins and curling irons and if it was possible to find a date who happened to own a tux in the next fifteen minutes.

  I got so distracted by all the hands futzing with my dress and my hair that I didn’t even notice Aunt Joan reach down the front of my dress. She grabbed my tube top and yanked it over my head. The dress stayed where it should, thank God.

  “Voilà. She don’t even need a bra!” Aunt Sharon cackled.

  “She don’t need a date either,” added Aunt Linny. She pinched my cheek. “She’s perfect the way she is.”

  “Speak of the devil and he appears,” said Aunt Joan.

  138.

  TJ rolled into the backyard wearing a slightly too big black suit, a black shirt, a red necktie, and red high tops. My aunts whistled. Ma’s eyebrow arched up.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” I asked.

  “Your dad made me,” he said. “I already returned the damn tux, so he said I had better find a suit.”

  “Why? We’re not going to the prom.”

  “No, but we’re going out. You look hot, babe, way hot. Fine.” He reached out to touch me.

  I stepped back. “We’re going out?”

  “To a restaurant.”

  “Another big night at Burger King?”

  Grandma Shulmensky spit on the ground, muttered something, and went into her house.

  “No, honey,” my mother butted in. “You’re going on a nice date. Our treat. Your dad got you a car, too.”

  “Surprise!” shrieked Aunt Linny. She pulled a camera out of her pocket and snapped a picture. The flash blinded me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  TJ blinked, too. “Did he say what kind of car it was?”

  Ma checked Aunt Sharon’s watch. “He should be out front by now. Go take a look.”

  A white Cadillac was purring at the curb in front of the house. Dad opened the driver’s door, cut the engine, and got out.

  “Wow.” He looked me up and down, and up and down again. “Wow.”

  “Go ahead,” Ma said. “Spin.”

  I spun, sort of. The dress flowed over the grass like the wind. Aunt Linny snapped away with her camera.

  “Wow, princess,” Dad repeated. “Wow.”

  “You already said that,” I pointed out.

  TJ circled the car, looked in the windows, and whistled. My aunts jiggled up and down, squealing.

  I turned back to Ma. “This is real? You did all this for me?”

  She shrugged and folded her hands over her belly. “Maybe.”

  TJ coughed. “Maybe? They said if I didn’t take you out to a n
ice place tonight, I’d never get to see you again.”

  Aunt Linny gave Ma a hug. “Ain’t she great?”

  “What about this car?” I asked. “We can’t afford this.”

  “I had a friend who owed me a favor,” Dad said. “Let’s leave it at that.” He tossed the keys to TJ. “Any scratches or dings and your legs will get broke, so take it easy.”

  “No pressure,” TJ muttered.

  Dad slipped his hand around Ma’s back. They looked so cute for a second I wished they were the couple going off in the white Caddy.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Did you get Grandma Shulmensky to sew my dress, too?”

  Ma shook her head. “Nope. That one has me stumped. Maybe she’s a mind reader or something.”

  “You were supposed to wear one of the dresses we got for you,” Aunt Linny said. “They’re still in my car. Imagine our shock when we got here and you were dressed up and ready to go.”

  “She’s not quite ready,” said Aunt Joan. “Go put your face on, kid.”

  It took me four minutes to pin up my hair in a sexy bun and put on foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and Eternal Passion lip gloss. There was no point in trying on any shoes. I wasn’t going to the ball, and besides, my toe hurt too much. I put on my slippers, checked my teeth for lipstick, and hiked up my boobs.

  I gave myself the once-over in the mirror.

  Not bad. Not too shabby for a normal kid.

  Maybe Nat was right. I did deserve a night out.

  Let the fairy tale begin.

  I began my float down the stairs like a video diva, or a princess—no, a queen. Ashley Hannigan, Queen of the Not-Prom.

  That’s when my mother screamed loud enough to break windows in a three-block radius.

  I picked up my skirts and hobbled down the stairs as fast as I could. Ma was so pale her freckles looked green.

  “She’s gone!” She held up an empty can of ravioli. “Grandma escaped!”

  139.

  Ma took charge of the phone to alert the neighbors. I sent the aunts to check out the surrounding streets. Dad’s job was to watch Ma and make sure she didn’t do anything stupid like go into labor.

  “What if she was hit by a car?” I asked TJ. “What if she got kidnapped, or she fell and she can’t get up?”

  “Calm down,” TJ said. “She’s a hundred years old. How far could she go?”

  “She’s a little weird. She could be in Delaware by now.”

  “She probably went home to take a nap,” he said.

  “That’s right!” I grabbed his hand and kissed his cheek. “You’re right! She went home!”

  “Your mother already checked,” Dad said.

  “We’ll look again,” I said. “Grandma can be sneaky.”

  We checked all the closets, the attic, and behind every box in the basement. Nat’s bedroom still smelled like nail polish. Grandma’s room smelled like soap and cinnamon. I froze there for a second in the doorway. Her sewing machine was on a folding table in the corner of her room, with fabric scraps from my dress and old-fashioned heavy scissors.

  TJ came up the steps munching on a pastry he took from the kitchen.

  “What?” he said. “I can eat and look at the same time, can’t I?”

  140.

  Ma was hanging up the phone when we walked back in.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “You?”

  “No one’s seen her. Your aunts are still looking. I’m gonna call the cops.”

  “She’s been missing for fifteen minutes. Cops won’t get involved until she’s gone for twenty-four hours,” Dad said.

  “That’s for normal people,” I said. “They’ll search right away if it’s a crazy old lady.”

  “Especially if you tell them she can bake,” TJ said, licking the sugar off his fingers.

  “I think we should tell Yevgeny and Natalia,” Ma said.

  “You’re overreacting, Mary Alice,” Dad said. “This ain’t good for you. Just relax, okay? She’ll be back before you know it.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Ma yelled. “That poor woman is out there alone and lonely—”

  “Hold it!” I stepped in between them. “I know where she is. Grab the condoms and get in the car.”

  “The old lady needs condoms?” Dad asked.

  141.

  Two minutes later, we were headed for my school in the white Caddy. Ma rode shotgun. I was stuffed in back like a forgotten piece of pink Kleenex.

  “This is a real hot date,” TJ muttered.

  “Don’t be an ass,” I said.

  “What is it with you?” he asked. “First you love me, then you hate me, get a tux, take the tux back. Now we’re tracking down the old kook. . . . ”

  I flicked the back of his head with my fingers. “Shut up and drive.”

  “Hey,” he yelled. “I’m just saying.”

  “Don’t yell at my kid.” Ma slapped him upside the head. “And step on it.”

  142.

  As we pulled into the school driveway, TJ had to slow the Caddy to a crawl.

  “Damn,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Stick enough limos in a parking lot, and even Carceras can look classy. Crowds of parents and friends lined the sidewalk that led up to the front door. The dressed-up, glammed-out prom couples strolled down the sidewalk, smiling for the cameras and waving to their fans. It was our very own red carpet show.

  “Are you sure she’s here?” TJ asked.

  “Pull over.” I grabbed the cardboard box. “We’ll get out. You park and meet us at the door.”

  I got out first and helped Ma. That baby of hers was getting bigger by the minute. We caught some confused looks as she took my arm and we got in the line of couples waiting to get in. Not many girls take their pregnant mothers to the prom, I guess. Not many show up in their slippers, either.

  As we got closer to the door, a few kids recognized me.

  “Ashley!”

  “Shake it, mamí!”

  “Whoa, girl!”

  “Looking good, Hannigan.”

  Ma pulled my arm closer. “Let’s cut to the front of the line.”

  “We can’t. It’s too crowded. And don’t you dare pull the ‘baby’s coming’ routine again. Nobody will care, trust me. They’re here for fun.”

  The line inched forward. Ma and I scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of Grandma. I knew she was here, knew it in my bones. All of this was coming together in a weird way, like when it was done, it was going to make sense, but we weren’t quite there yet.

  A minute later, TJ joined us. “Yo, Ash. We got a problem.”

  “We got a lot of them.”

  “I heard that Gilroy is checking tickets at the door. With school security and a cop.” He held me back. “We can’t let him see me.”

  “What are you talking about? You dropped out last year. He can’t do anything to you now.”

  TJ ran his hands through his hair, keeping his eyes on the door. “Gilroy said he’d press charges if I ever showed my face again.”

  Ma was pretending not to listen, but she was catching every word.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We were going to come here, before I got busted. To the prom. How were you gonna get past Gilroy then?”

  TJ wiped the hair gel that stuck to his hands on his pants. “I was going to pay a buddy to open a bathroom window so I could sneak in.”

  “Very sophisticated,” Ma muttered.

  TJ stepped closer and whispered in my ear. “Come on, babe. Your mother can talk to Gilroy, explain about old Grandma. We’ll wait back here, hang by the wall, check everybody out.”

  The line ahead of us moved and the line behind us pushed. I took a few steps forward with Ma. TJ came, too, his eyes on the door.

  “I need to go inside,” I said. “I’m sure she’s there. She’s batty about this whole prom thing, just like Nat. Look at the dress she made, for crying out loud.”

  “
Just explain who you’re looking for to the security guards,” TJ said. His voice was tight.

  I held the box up. “I want to sneak these in, too. The security guards won’t like that.”

  TJ wrapped his arms around me and blew gently in my ear. “Let ’em get their own damn protection. You and me have better plans for that box. Come on, babe.”

  “Let go of me,” I said.

  TJ squeezed tighter. “You don’t want to be a part of this shit.” He nibbled my neck and whispered. “I want to get you out of that dress.”

  I peeled his arms off me and stepped away.

  “Hello? Are you crazy? I do too want to be a part of this ‘shit.’ And I’m keeping the dress on, thank you very much.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “You don’t like it, you can leave,” I said.

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Maybe I’ll find somebody else to take home.”

  “Knock yourself out, asshole.” I grabbed Ma’s arm. “Emergency!” I shouted. “We got an emergency here!”

  Ma and me butted and barged our way to the front of the line. TJ fell back into the shadows.

  “About time you told him where to get off,” Ma said.

  143.

  The security guards stood in our way.

  “We’re looking for an old lady,” I said. “I know she’s here.”

  “We don’t got old ladies here,” the first guard said, eyeing my mother. “This is the prom.”

  “Watch it, buster,” Ma said.

  “What’s in the box?” the second guard asked.

  “Her medication,” I said.

  “Right. That’s a good one. Go home now.”

  “No, listen—”

  Mr. Gilroy stepped in between the two guards, a sick ferret smile on his face.

  Damn.

  “Miss Hannigan. I was afraid of something like this. You are determined to force a confrontation, aren’t you?”

  The kids behind us pushed a little, complaining about the delay.

  “Mr. Gilroy, it’s not what you think. Let me explain.”