by Marni Bates
Although having Sam standing right next to me definitely helped. Half of the people who snickered as they glanced at me shut the hell up when they looked at her.
I made a quick mental note never to underestimate the power of combat boots.
“Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate your—” I interrupted myself when I caught a good look at her sash. “Does that say Condom Queen?”
“ ‘Condom Fairy Godmother’ wouldn’t fit,” Sam told me by way of explanation. When she didn’t see even the smallest spark of understanding in my eyes, she pulled out a wand and waved it at me. “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo! Safe, consensual sex for you!”
She opened the clasp on a rather large handbag and flourished a long string of condoms. With one easy motion, she ripped two of them off and tucked them into my suit pocket.
“You’re welcome.”
“Um . . . are you for real with this?”
“As real as an unplanned pregnancy.” Sam’s face twisted. “Okay, so that’s not something you need to worry about. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t STDs and—”
“Oh, will you look at that.” I took a hurried step back and glanced around at the students milling around. “People. Other people who are not discussing this. I think I should go say hello to them.”
“Real as . . . oh, hello, Principal Taylor. Good to see you. I assume you didn’t storm over here just to admire my sash.”
Had it been anyone else, I would’ve doubled back to provide some moral support. But there was no doubt in my mind that Principal Taylor would be the one walking away with a killer headache.
“Your sash violates the school dress code, Samantha.”
“Interesting. You know who else is in violation? Ashley McGrady and Steffani Larson. They are definitely showing more cleavage than the school dress code allows. So I will stand here and wait while you discuss it with them.”
Shaking my head with a mixture of disbelief and pure admiration, I moved past the photobooth and the ridiculously long line of eager-looking couples and headed straight for my boyfriend. I couldn’t see him, but I knew exactly where he was standing.
Tim was never all that difficult to locate; I simply had to look for the biggest, loudest . . . shrillest group of girls in the room.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!”
“I love you, Tim!”
“I listened to your song, “To Get Her/Together” about a thousand times when I was breaking up with my boyfriend. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without you.”
“Can you sign my back?”
I pushed my way through the flock of his female admirers until there was nothing between us. Well, nothing except the full attention of a room full of high school students and faculty members . . . not to mention the fact that we were one Instagram photo away from the eyes of the nation.
“Hey, handsome.” Tim’s eyes gleamed and for one moment everything was absolutely perfect. All those hours I had spent agonizing over our relationship now seemed unbelievably stupid—downright pathetic, even—because Tim? Yeah, he was amazing.
“Hey, yourself.” I couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here. You sure you wouldn’t rather crash a rapper’s party or something?”
“Yeah . . . I debated with myself for a while. It was either this or a poker night with Jay-Z, but he’s busy with Blue Ivy so . . . no dice.”
I laughed. “I’m glad you chose me.”
Tim didn’t so much as blink. “Always.”
“Well, if it isn’t our second favorite Oregonian,” ReadySet drummer, Dominic Wyatt, called out. “It’s been too long, Corey. Hey, have you seen Mackenzie?”
“Not since she left for the dance. Why?”
Nick’s smile looked more than a little devilish. “We were thinking she could—”
“Say hello,” Tim finished for him. “Chris mentioned something about getting girl advice.”
That was the first I’d heard of their bass guitarist needing any kind of help with girls. The guy had way too many interested fans trying to catch his eye already. Unless there was something else going on that I hadn’t heard about yet . . .
“I love you, Chris!”
I spun around, curious to see if I could recognize his not-secret admirer or if she would be lost in a sea of dresses. It was a game I sometimes played. I would imagine what kind of girl—or guy, on occasion—would do the I love you screech. But either my Spidey senses had gone offline or the universe was having way too much fun playing a joke on me because the last person I expected to find wheedling attention from a rock star was Lisa Anne Montgomery.
That didn’t seem to fit with her Ivy League aspirations and her disdainful articles for The Smithsonian.
But just because she was capable of geeking out around a celebrity didn’t mean I had to like her now.
“Well, later for you, Corey. We’ve got a crowd to appease.” Chris tapped the mic and grinned when even that little gesture was met with a shriek from four dozen girls. “Hey, Portland! It’s good to see you again. I know this is a very special night, so we thought we’d start you off with this little number.”
As they launched into one of their first chart-topping hits . . . Tim never took his eyes off me.
Which suited me just fine.
Chapter 10
Prom is supposed to bring out the best in people, but it often has the opposite effect . . .
So watch yourself.
—from “Keep Your Promises,”
by Lisa Anne Montgomery
Published by The Smithsonian
There’s not a whole lot to do at a school dance.
I mean, you basically have three options: you can dance with a group of friends, you can stand around the edges of the room and compliment people on wearing something you’ve never seen them in before, or you can eat.
And after being bumped and jostled by all of Smith High School’s diehard ReadySet fans for an hour, I was more than ready to take a huge step back. All the way to the buffet table, in fact.
Say what you will about the overblown expectations and the petty backstabbing that surrounds a glorified high school assembly, the crab dip was addictive.
Plus, it gave me a pretty good view of all my friends, without the discomfort of being tossed in as a third wheel. Mackenzie whispered something in Logan’s ear as they swayed back and forth in one of the less crowded areas of the dance floor. No doubt they had deliberately chosen that location to prevent even a royal klutz like Mackenzie from twisting an ankle in her heels. Isobel and Spencer weren’t dancing together, but I’d never seen her look happier . . . especially when he took the corsage off his wrist and slipped it onto hers. Even if she did wrinkle her nose and say something that made him burst out laughing.
Jane and Scott were both obviously working the event—I was convinced that she had a notepad and a dozen pens in her clutch instead of makeup, and he was armed with his ever-present camera. But the two of them kept exchanging these looks across the room that made it obvious they were looking forward to ditching prom early. I doubted they would have bothered to attend if they didn’t have a good excuse to avoid the dance floor.
Meanwhile, I ate to pass the time.
I was debating the merits of a second cookie when Jane gave a little yelp and moved past me in a blur of black satin, then pulled up short and crossed her arms with feigned nonchalance.
“About time you showed up. I see how it is now. You go spend a little time in Cambodia and suddenly you’re too good for us.”
Chelsea Halloway flashed a stunningly perfect smile that I’d never seen on her face during her reign at Smith High School. She looked radiant in a knee-length gold dress that brought out the burnished undertones of her long blond hair.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” Chelsea pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You remind me a little of this girl I used to know, but . . .”
Jane pulled her into a hug. “Shut up, Chels
ea.”
“Make me, geek.”
A guy in an ill-fitting suit with floppy dark hair shifted uncomfortably next to the girls. “Well, this is fun. Okay, give me a task, please. Someone. Anyone. Anything.”
Chelsea raised an eyebrow devilishly. “Anything, you say? Interesting . . . I might have a few ideas.”
Tall, dark, and geeky turned to Jane for help. “Hey, Jane, would you mind repeating that last thing you said?”
Jane grinned. “Shut up, Chelsea?”
“Perfect. Thanks. Feel free to say that whenever you want. Really.”
Chelsea stuck her tongue out at him and I nearly did a double take at the sight of the Notable queen acting like, well . . . a geek. Then she turned to me.
“Oh hey, Corey! Have you met my boyfriend, Nashville?”
He grimaced as he held out a hand for me to shake. “Houston.”
“But he loves it when people call him Tallahassee. Or better yet—”
“Jane?” Houston interrupted.
“I’m on it,” Jane said dutifully. “Shut up, Chelsea.”
“Okay, we obviously have some catching up to do, right after I dance with Atlanta.” Chelsea pulled Houston into the fray before he had an opportunity to protest. Although when she hijacked one of his arms and did a little twirl, he grinned down at her instead of making an escape.
“I still can’t believe Chelsea’s dating a college guy like Houston.” Jane slipped her arm around my waist. “I was starting to worry that she’d pine after Logan forever.”
Chelsea did a little shimmy and then burst out giggling as Houston tried to leave the dance floor. He was all rumpled edges to her polished sheen, but the contrast made them look right together somehow.
It wasn’t fair.
Chelsea could bring her college-aged boyfriend to a school dance—where she was no longer even enrolled—but my boyfriend couldn’t be seen even holding my hand. And if I were to mention it to Principal Taylor, the only thing I’d accomplish would be ruining their night. I couldn’t do it.
But the injustice of the whole situation had my stomach tied in knots.
“Hey, all you Portland people! Is everyone having a good time tonight?”
I couldn’t bring myself to cheer in response to Tim’s question. Then again, I didn’t have to make a sound because the ReadySet cheer section was all over it; hooting, hollering, screaming themselves hoarse . . . the works.
“Well, we’ve had a great time with you tonight, but we think it’s time for you to meet your prom king and queen!”
His last few words were nearly drowned out by my classmates, and Tim had to wait for everyone to settle down a little before he continued.
“So, without further ado, here’s . . . Principal Taylor!”
I clenched my hands into tight fists as my classmates dutifully cheered for a man who thought that everyone was entitled to the full high school experience . . . unless they were gay.
Principal Taylor cleared his throat into the microphone. “Um . . . thank you, Mr. Goff. I’d like to remind all of you that underage drinking jeopardizes your life and everyone around you. Be smart, stay safe, and we’ll all make it out of here alive.”
He paused awkwardly, probably because he had planned on leaving an opening for laughter and applause. It didn’t happen.
“Um . . .” He floundered, ripping open an envelope as if he were at the Academy Awards. “Your junior prom king is . . . Logan Beckett!”
I wolf-whistled as the hockey captain made his way over to the stage and accepted the crown with a good-natured shrug and a smile, but I was far more curious to see how Patrick would take this blow to the ego. I couldn’t find him in the sea of sequins and suits, so I began hunting for Steffani instead. Her sparkly silver number was pretty hard to miss, especially because it included a slit that ran all the way up to mid-thigh. Sure enough, I spotted Patrick glowering right next to her Dancing with the Stars–worthy outfit. Judging by the viselike grip Steffani had on his hand, Patrick didn’t have much choice in the matter.
I began moving toward them. There was no doubt in my mind that the only people who would hassle Mackenzie if she won were standing in that little clump. I didn’t slow down until there was only one rather tall girl separating me from the worst of the Notable crowd.
“And your junior prom queen is . . .”
Mr. Taylor fumbled with the sheet of paper in his hands and I glanced over at Mackenzie in time to see her start inching toward the exit.
“Chelsea Halloway!”
Everyone went nuts.
“She doesn’t even go here anymore!” Steffani wailed while Mackenzie cheered for all she was worth.
“Way to go, Chelsea!”
“God, she gets everything she wants. It’s so unfair!”
“We love you, girl!”
Chelsea didn’t seem to hear any of it. She sauntered elegantly on her three-inch heels to where her king was already standing, and accepted the tiara with a grace that nobody else could have pulled off. Mackenzie had been right all along: Some girls were just born to be prom queens, and Chelsea Halloway was one of them.
I couldn’t make out what Steffani said to Patrick, but even though she had lowered her voice, it was obvious she was almost overcome with fury. Hoping her anger would consume her focus, I crept forward to eavesdrop.
Okay, so maybe I should have minded my own business.
Maybe I should have relished the moment and watched along with the rest of the high school as two seniors were crowned with a whole lot less enthusiasm from the crowd. Chelsea and Logan had upstaged the seniors. Again. All eyes were riveted on the pair of them when both couples claimed the floor for the honorary first dance.
But a full-fledged Notable freak-out was too entertaining to resist.
“I told you!” Steffani hissed at Patrick. “The only way to beat Chelsea is to get your hands dirty! But you had to go wimp out on me!”
“Hey, I did not wimp out! I’m just not as desperate for attention as you are.”
So . . . that relationship definitely wasn’t going to last the night.
Steffani laughed coldly. “I’m desperate? Me? That’s a good one. I’m not the one who anonymously posted a YouTube video because I was worried other people wouldn’t like it.”
“Back off, Steffani,” he growled.
“Or what? You’ll try and share my embarrassing moments with the world? Good luck with that, Patrick. I’m not a freak like Mackenzie Wellesley.”
I stood frozen in place, unable to think or breathe or . . . do just about anything beyond feeling a layer of ice begin encasing my heart.
Patrick Bradford had been the one to humiliate Mackenzie.
He had intentionally posted that video to exploit her moment of embarrassment for social capital. And I really, truly, honestly didn’t care that he hadn’t intended for it to go viral. It didn’t make a difference if he had planned to share it with five people or five billion.
There was no way I was going to let him get away with hurting my best friend.
Chapter 11
If you’re not good at public speaking, please don’t try to prove yourself wrong at a big event.
It’s going to be embarrassing for you and painful for everyone else to watch.
—from “Preaching at Prom,”
by Lisa Anne Montgomery
Published by The Smithsonian Online Edition
It was strange watching Chelsea dance with Logan.
Together they were an undeniable power couple; all that confidence and poise and freakishly great genetics combined to make them every bit as golden as Chelsea’s dress. They looked completely at ease with each other too. Considering that they were exes, I would have expected tension or awkwardness or . . . something. Instead, the Notable queen grinned up at Logan before he dipped her with the same move he’d used on Mackenzie only a few hours earlier—although this time he kept his mouth to himself.
I studied Mackenzie closely just to make su
re she was okay with all of this. It was one thing to create posters for your former arch-nemesis and something entirely different to watch your boyfriend whirling his stunningly beautiful ex-girlfriend around the dance floor. But Mackenzie was beaming at them as if the whole thing had been her idea.
Which I guess was the truth.
So instead of detouring over to her, I headed straight for the stage as soon as the special dance for the prom court ended. It was slow going because I had to squeeze between couples who had no intention of leaving any space between each other—or anyone else, for that matter.
“Hey, Houston, what do you think of my new accessory?” Chelsea posed jokingly in front of her boyfriend.
“I always knew you were a princess.”
“Yeah, but you rarely meant it as a compliment,” she pointed out.
I didn’t hear his response because a sliver of space opened up in front of me and I seized the opportunity to move forward. Tim was halfway through a new song he had co-written with Nick in L.A. by the time I reached the stage. There was no way I could cut him off mid-performance, so I stood right next to Darryl while I waited for them to finish.
Tim could tell that something was wrong.
He cocked his head slightly to the side and began scanning my surroundings, obviously trying to identify the threat to my well-being so that he could eliminate it. Or at the very least get Darryl to take care of the situation.
His concern should have made me feel all warm inside, but I still felt cold. Numb with a seething hatred that had seized me the instant I had overheard what Patrick had released online.
I didn’t bank the fury in my eyes as I waited for the final notes to make my move.
“Uh . . . Corey O’Neal, everyone!” Tim said lamely, by way of introduction as I climbed up the steps onto the stage. He leaned over to my ear and whispered, “Are you okay, Corey?”
I nodded jerkily, took a deep breath, and then spoke clearly into the mic.
“Hey, everyone! I know that we’ve already crowned our prom king and queen, but there are actually a few other people I think we need to recognize for their contributions tonight. So let’s put our hands together and give Lisa Anne Montgomery a big round of applause for being the worst, most condescending journalist The Smithsonian has ever seen. Well done, Lisa Anne.”