Prom Queen of Disaster

by Joseph James Hunt

  It must’ve been hard to enjoy yourself when you had a stick shoved so far up your ass. Dylan pulled me on the dance floor as the music cut to a slow song, couples invaded floor, synchronizing in movements, spinning and twirling.

  I rest my head on his shoulder. His fingers ran through my hair, shit my entire body could’ve collapse in his hands. He smelled good.

  Questioning whether or not we were the only ones in the hall dancing to the music, I opened my eyes and looked at him. More people found courage to ask their dates to dance. Beyond their faces, I found Kaleb with Ava. He kissed her before moving toward the girls at the punch bowl.

  “How well do you know him?” Dylan asked.

  I stood straight and creased my face. “Who?”

  He nodded to Kaleb. “New guy,” he said.

  “Oh.” I forced my body back into the swing of the dance. “You know how my mom likes to do her bit for the community.”

  “He was looking at you,” he said with a huge grin. “Thought he was gonna ask you to the dance.”

  I tightened my grasp playfully on Dylan’s hand. “Kidding, right? He’s with Ava; they’re so cute.”

  Another turn of my head and I caught a glance of Kaleb again. He stood over the punch bowl, his shifty eyes watching everyone move around and shuffle on their feet. A split second washed over as he poured liquid from a chemistry beaker into the bowl.

  “I need the bathroom,” I said, pulling my face. I tried to pull away, but he kept my hand.

  “I’ll dance on my own then,” he said, pulling me close for a kiss before letting me go.

  I cleared a path as I walked through the hall to find Kaleb. He stood beside the double doors of the hallway. We had made eye contact before he stormed off through the doors.

  “What are you doing?” I clenched my teeth.

  He paused halfway down the hall and turned to see me. I raised both my arms and in the dim light he shooed me. Two older guys stood at the end of the hall, their faces were familiar, matching the grunge lighting of the hallway, definitely his brothers. He handed them the beaker.

  “What’s she doing?” One of them shouted, pointing at me.

  “Oi!” They both bolted forward.

  I ran back to the dance. People spooned ladles of the punch into cups. Before I could tell anyone anything, my face became numb. I tried to call out to Dylan, but my speech slurred. I licked my lips as saliva collected on my tongue.

  “Someone spiked the punch,” I heard Dylan say. He cupped my elbow as I fell into his arms.

  Nothing was worse than being out of control; unable to control my feet. I’d barely touched any food all day; I wanted to fit in my dress, and God knows it was worth it, but in that moment, my life moving too quick; I wish I’d stuffed my face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked me, taking my arm and guiding me to the tiered seating.

  I took a seat and a sharp breath. “I’m fine,” I said. “I haven’t really eaten.”

  “Babe, want me to get you some food?”

  My body wanted to say no, but I nodded. An earthquake erupted behind my eyes. “What was in the punch?”

  He shrugged. “Whatever it was, I don’t like what it’s done to you.”

  “I should feel better with food,” I said.

  I sat, slouched slightly in my seat. Dylan pulled up beside me again moments later, handing me a tuna fish sandwich. “They’ve got different sandwiches,” he said. But it was amazing; I scoffed it down in one bite.

  “Bet it was Char,” he said.

  I glanced up to Char rushing over, almost like she’d heard her name. “Those bitches!” She shouted, pointing over to the punch table where Mila, Heather, and Kirsten stood. A chaperone edged closer to us.

  “Zoey?” Mr. Brooks, my art teacher said. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, everything is not okay,” Char said, again, pointing at the punch bowl. “They’ve spiked the punch. Look at her; she’s not well.”

  I pulled my gaze up to Mr. Brooks. I could see his face crease as if overly concerned about how well I was doing. In short: I wasn’t. The strobe lights above ran across my face and body, inside I was spinning. I looked down to my feet and the gorgeous white shoes.

  The tuna came back up; it went everywhere.

  I wasn’t the only one. Others around were slowly slipping. It was a mess. Dylan combed his fingers through my hair, soothing the burning sickness in my throat.

  Dylan handed me a bottle of water. “Drink this,” Dylan said. “They’ve switched the punch bowl now; someone stole some pure ethanol from the science labs.”

  Great. “I’m poisoned?” I asked. Kaleb pouring the liquid into the punch bowl ran through my head.

  He stroked the back of my neck. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s happened to loads of people. Someone knocked into me after you went to the toilet, so it didn’t get me.”

  I grinned. “Lucky!”

  “Want me to take you home?” he asked.

  I shook my head and wrapped my arms around him. “No,” I said. “It’s a night to celebrate. Can I have some more water? I’ll see if I’m feeling better to dance.”

  “Almost half the people are going home,” he said.

  I picked up my head up from his shoulder to look around. I noticed people sitting around sipping cups of water. The band continued, and people still danced, but not many were sticking around.

  “Come to my house; my dad’s out of town,” he said. “Only if you don’t want to go home.”

  I nodded, feeling the warm sting of tears fill my eyes. “I can’t have my mom see me like this,” I said. “She’d kill me.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, kissing my forehead. He put my head on his shoulder. “School will look into what happened.”

  “How long’s it been?”

  “Over an hour,” he said.

  I reached into my clutch and handed Dylan my phone. “Text my mom,” I said. I could barely enter the passcode. “Tell her we’ve gone for food and that I’m sleeping over at a friend’s house.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Do you wanna go for some food then?”

  I nodded and squeezed his hand. “In-n-Out?” I said, smiling. I mainly wanted water, but fries were a close second. I squeezed the bottle with the remaining water in my mouth.

  Leaning against him, he pulled me up to stand.

  “Such a wasted dress,” I said, as he wrapped his arms around me.

  “Still the most gorgeous girl here.”

  “Love you.”

  Chapter Six

  I woke cuddling up to Dylan’s bare torso. A few thin hairs spread across his chest, now stroked between my fingers. Almost comfy again in the still warm air. Streams of uninterrupted light fell on us. He turned attacking me with a prod at my side. I reached down to grab it; I thought it was his phone, but it definitely wasn’t. I moved my hand and glanced up to the smile on his face.

  “Good morning,” he said, dipping his head to kiss me. His dry lips on my licked-wet lips, the pucker sent my eyes shut. “How are you?”

  “Better,” I said, inhaling deeply. “Much better.”

  He took a long, drawn-out stretch putting a hand on my back. He kissed me again. “Char sent you a text last night, she wants to know what you’re doing today,” he said.

  “She’ll want to go for lunch,” I said. “What even happened?” He handed me my phone from the bedside table. I noticed my clutch bag on the side with it. I reached for my neckline. “What happened to the necklace?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, with a boyish smile. “It’s in your bag. I folded your clothes too.”

  I was no heart expert, but mine skipped a beat at the thought of losing it. I kissed him hard on the lips. “I love you,” I said. Much of his bedroom was a mess, except for the chair beside his desk where he’d folded my clothes neatly.

  “Had to clean those too,” he said, nodding to the shoes. “It’s fine, my mom’s been sick too many times in her shoes, I know how to remove
the evidence.” He laughed.

  “Thank you,” I said, squeezing him against my body.

  I looked through all the texts on my phone. The light was blinding as names scrolled by; my mom had messaged me after Dylan had told her I was at a sleepover, she told me to have fun. The rest were group messages, mainly Char beginning a witch hunt for the person who’d spiked the punch bowls.

  Ava and Libby had been hit too. They’d posted pictures of the aftermath. Images of puke puddles and stained clothing. I replied to them. Dylan took care of me. Slept at his house.

  Social media feeds were a frenzy, everyone asking if we were okay. Some website news pages had even posted the information on their sites, asking for anyone with information to come forward. Char had even given a statement to a few of them, sharing the links alongside a picture they’d taken of Char as a pageant toddler.

  “It was buzzing all night,” he said.

  “Yeah, Ava and Libby were ill too. I think they drank more than me,” I said. “They’re blaming the committee.”

  Dylan sighed. “I think it was.” He hummed. “They had access to it.”

  My eyes scrolled the next couple of text messages as they flickered across the screen. “Shit!” I sat upright in bed, pulling the comforter up to my chest. “Some of the juniors and sophomores are talking about suing the school.”

  He laughed. “Your mom would probably sue too if she saw you,” he said.

  “That bad?”

  “You were drunk,” he said. “Like, really drunk, from one drink. I pulled the roof of the car and locked the doors while I went to get food.”

  My cheeks felt warm in thought of needing to be locked in the car. “We still have winter formal,” I said. “I’ll make sure we don’t drink anything unless it’s from a sealed bottle.”

  “We do,” he said, reaching out for his phone.

  “I think the girls want a catch-up,” I said. “Are there any of my clothes here?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, grab a shower, I’ll get them for you.”

  “Which clothes are they?”

  He shrugged. “Whichever ones you left last time. Skirt and a top, I think, they’re clean, so it’s better than putting your dress back on.”

  “Underwear?”

  “If you left them here, then yeah,” he said.

  I climbed out of the bed, wearing only a thin sheet I’d wrapped around myself. I had panties on, I’d worn a strapless bra, but it hadn’t held much up anyway. The thought made me smile as I stood in the doorway of Dylan’s bedroom. “I’ll be 5 minutes,” I said, holding a hand up.

  “I’ll find them and leave them in the bathroom,” he said.

  “Your dad’s not home is he?” I asked. “Don’t want him coming in.”

  Dylan laughed, almost like it was the funniest thing I’d ever said. But if his dad was home, it was possible. “No, he’s away for the weekend. I told you.”

  I hummed and smiled. “See you in five.”

  I avoided washing my hair. God forbid the process of shampooing, conditioning, blow drying, and then straightening. I also highly doubted Dylan, who lived alone with his father, would have a blow dryer or a flat iron. The only body wash they had smelled like men’s locker rooms, nothing to the notion of soft or relaxing. I found an unused bubble bath under the sink; it had honey in the title.

  “Your clothes are on the toilet seat,” Dylan shouted over the sound of the shower.

  “Thanks!”

  There was a short white layered skirt with a white cheer top. It was something I’d worn for practice and left at his after getting changed. He’d supplied me with several underwear options, apparently I’d left several pairs, and none of them matched, maybe that’s what Victoria’s Secret was, matching bras and panties.

  Dylan gave me a gray hoodie and a pair of unworn sneakers; too small for him to wear.

  “Cute as hell,” he said.

  “I feel it,” I laughed. “But seriously, why do I have so much underwear here?”

  “Because you never take your clothes home,” he said. He jumped up from his bed and opened up his wardrobe. There was a small space at the bottom where he’d put things I’d left. “Cute or creepy?” he asked. At least he’d cleaned most of his room to create a walkway.

  “I’m glad you’ve not thrown anything away,” I said, pulling at the top, wondering whether or not it had shrunk. “What will you do with the dress?”

  “If you’re not taking it, I’ll put away, or bring it over later.”

  “You could come for dinner,” I said, “I mean, your dad’s not home, and my mom will more than happily set a place for you.”

  He pulled me to his bed by the waist. “Okay,” he said. “As long as your dad agrees. I still don’t think he likes me.”

  “Oh my god, he does,” I said, pushing myself back up and grabbing my clutch bag. “Does these go together?” I laughed.

  “Perfect.” He grabbed at my waist again kissing me.

  “Good!” I said. “Are you gonna drive me?”

  He stood and pressed a thumb inside the waistband of his sweatpants, clearly without any underwear. “Like this?”

  “Maybe a t-shirt,” I said, “and shoes.”

  He would catch me off guard whenever he did that. The V shape of his pelvis was hypnotic, pulling everything I’d believed to question. It was worse when he was out of the shower, and he would wrap a towel loosely around his waist.

  “So?” I hacked at the dry in my throat. “Are we going?”

  I met the girls at the entrance of the mall. Char sat on the hood of a stranger’s car, sipping from a Starbuck’s cup. Ava, Libby, and Hannah stood around her, from what I assumed, they were waiting for me.

  Dylan had kissed me before I left his car. “Have a shower,” I said. “Before dinner, or my dad might actually hate you.”

  He sniffed himself. “I don’t smell, maybe like fast food, but that’s the car,” he laughed. “If you want I’ll pick you up later.”

  “I’ll see what they’re doing, but I’ll text you.”

  The girls stood watch, their eyes crossed my body, looking at the mismatch of clothing.

  “Were you mugged and beaten?” Ava asked, placing a hand theatrically on her chest.

  “I came straight from Dylan’s,” I said. “I’d left these at his house.”

  “Last semesters training clothes,” Char said. “Could’ve been worse, could be wearing that hideous pink eye shadow.” She nodded at Ava’s face. Her eyelids were beaten with a luminous pink powder.

  “I’m a little heavy-handed,” she said. “Remember, I had spiked punch too, it affected me.”

  Char threw her head flippantly. She jumped from the car with her Starbucks and pursued through the automatic doors of the mall. “First things first,” she said throwing her empty Starbucks in the trash can, “more coffee.”

  We headed to the sit-in Starbucks Café. There were plenty of coffee shops around, but nothing was better than Instagramming a picture of a Starbucks cup with the girls, and going through some ironic hashtags.

  I ordered a Strawberry Shortcake Frappuccino, very basic white girl of me. It was apparently only a seasonal drink, but I asked for it every time, and they never failed to deliver.

  We grabbed our drinks and snapped pictures of them. It wasn’t all about social media for me, but it was essential for a girl of the 21st century to be in contact with the world, that and I loved to tweet about TV shows in my pajamas with ice cream. I was relatable, with the popularity prize set on prom queen, even though I was hush, hush about that near Char.

  “Zo,” Char said, pulling me from thought. “Did you?”

  “Huh?” I asked, sipping on my drink.

  “Did you and Dylan have sex?” Ava asked. They all pushed themselves closer.

  I shook my head. “I told you guys, we’re waiting until prom night, you know that.”

  Char gave her sympathetic awe and the puppy eyes. “But Benny told me Dylan didn’t want to wait.”<
br />
  “He’s a guy,” Libby said. “What guy wants to wait?”

  “I know you’ve given into guys, so they expect you to now,” I said. “Dylan knows I’m more than some late-night fuck.”

  Ava raised an eyebrow with something to say. They went quiet for a moment before she spoke. “But sex is a maturity thing too; it’s not just about giving it to a guy.”

  “Benny said Dylan didn’t want to wait,” Char added again, “he’s a guy, give him something to hold onto, don’t just tease him like that.”

  “Tease him?”

  “Well you do sleep at each other’s houses,” Libby said.

  “Guys,” Hannah spoke up. “That doesn’t mean they need to sleep together.”

  “Exactly,” I said, taking a large gulp of the drink, cooling inside my throat and chilling the blush in my cheeks. “It’s not that he doesn’t try, but we’re waiting.”

  “Give him a handy or a blowy at least,” Char said, pushing her tongue out slightly. “He’s a goddamn guy.”

  I rolled my eyes, conscious they could see. “It’s better than giving it up for any,” I said. “Because there could be worse things, right?”

  They went awkwardly quiet, identifying them as giving it up to guys whenever they asked. I knew it was true, but they’d like to think differently. They’d call themselves empowered, or whatever. My mom told me an empowered woman was someone who knew what they wanted and could defend that.

  “Damn, Zo,” Char laughed. She took her phone out of her pocket. “Tweeting that,” she said. “So what’s everyone doing tonight?” There were unanimous shrugs and sighs before Char spoke up again. “I know who’ll be doing me,” she laughed.

  “Benny?” Ava asked.

  “Are you guys exclusive now?” I asked.

  “Well, we’ll give you and Dylan a run for your money at prom, that’s for sure,” she said.

  A laugh erupted from the depths of my throat. “Prom isn’t until Spring,” I said. “Besides, you’re already prom queen.”

  Char placed her hands above her head. “See the crown,” she said, pressing her lips into a pout and smiling. “My mom was prom queen her boyfriend was king; it’s in my genes.”