Mr. Rosen shakes his head. “It’s my fault. I should’ve confirmed the Sheraton earlier. Then we would’ve known about the renovations.”
Shauna says, “Mrs. Flacco must’ve known. Why didn’t she say something?”
A look crosses Mr. Rosen’s face. Is it… anger?
Shauna must see it, too. “What’s going on? I heard Mrs. Flacco got fired from the committee. Is that true? Is she trying to sabotage it now?”
“She got fired?” Luke and I say together.
Can you be fired from a committee? Under the desk I see Luke pump his fist.
Mr. Rosen says, “I’m sure it’s nothing like that. All I know is, I was asked by Mr. Gerardi if I wouldn’t mind taking on the prom this year. And I’m happy to do it.”
We all look at him, like, Sure you are. Mr. Gerardi doesn’t exactly “ask.”
Mr. Rosen says, “So, we’re back to not having a location.”
“What about sponsors?” Shauna asks.
Mr. Rosen hangs his head. “I couldn’t find any. But I haven’t given up.” He turns to Radhika. “Did you talk to your dad?”
She shakes her head. “He had to extend his trip. I promise to talk to him as soon as he gets back.”
A glum silence settles over the group. I finally say, “We can keep looking for locations, right? And there’s plenty of time to find corporate sponsors.”
Luke says, “Why don’t we talk about music? We absolutely, positively have to have a live band.”
“I’d rather have a DJ than some crappy garage band,” Shauna says.
“Hey,” Connor cuts in. “I’m the front man for my crappy garage band.”
Shauna’s face flares.
“Really?” I say. “You have a band? Are you any good?”
“In my garage, yeah.”
Luke smiles. “What are you called?”
“The Crappy Garage Band.”
Luke’s giggling borders on hysteria.
Mr. Rosen stands and says, “I’m sorry, guys. I have to go to a faculty meeting. If you want to get out of here, go.”
He leaves and Luke says what I’m thinking: “Wow. I’ve never seen Mr. Rosen mad.”
“He has every right to be,” Shauna says. “He gets this catastrophe dropped in his lap, and if it fails, he’ll be the one to blame.”
“Not really,” I say. “We will. And we should be. There’s no reason we can’t pull this off if we put our heads together and get creative.” Knowing that Radhika isn’t going to prom with Connor has freed up my mind for productive thoughts. “My church has a big empty room where we hold community events.”
“You go to church?” Shauna widens her eyes at me.
“I know you think queers are all heathens who are going to hell—”
“I never said that,” Shauna snaps. “I’ve never even thought that.”
I continue, “Jefferson Episcopal Church welcomes everyone. We even have a transsexual pastor. You should come sometime, Shauna, if you’re up to diving into the depths of diversity.”
Shauna says under her breath, “I hate church. My parents make me go, and they’re total homophobes.” She tells us, “I have nothing against gays. And I’ve never once said I thought gays and lesbians were going to hell.”
Luke and I exchange glances. “What about bisexuals?” he asks.
Shauna looks straight at him. “Not even transgenders.”
Wow. I’m surprised she knows they exist.
Luke says, “If we find a church, we could go with an O Holy Night theme.”
Connor and I laugh, and even Shauna smiles. I wish I had Luke’s gift of lightening the mood.
“You know what?” Connor says. “My dad’s company had a reception at the Museum of Nature and Science. In that glassed-in atrium where we ate lunch when we took field trips in elementary school. Remember the atrium, Radhika?”
She lifts her head and blinks at him. “Yes,” she says. “It’s gorgeous.”
“That’d be so cool,” Shauna breathes. “To have our prom in the museum.”
Connor goes, “Our theme could be Night of the Living Dead.”
Luke says, “Or Diorama Drama.”
We all laugh again.
Connor says he’ll call the museum, and I volunteer to check with my church. Luke says, “I’ll go to that church over on Alameda that looks like a big mushroom. I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like inside.”
Connor says, “I’ll go with you.”
I walk out with Radhika and Luke, while Shauna trails behind. Connor says, “See you guys next time. Call me, Luke.” He takes off for the exit.
Luke hollers, “Count on it.”
Radhika says to me, “Is there anything I can do to help with locations?”
Shauna says, “Me, too. Just tell me what to do.”
When did I become the leader? “Radhika, you’re still on corporate-sponsor detail. That’s enough.”
Shauna says, “If you find anything, leave a note in our Google docs. Everyone give me your gmail addresses, or create one, and I’ll set you up. The file is called RHSPROM.”
I’m suddenly thankful for her organizational skills, since I have zero.
“Does anyone know Connor’s gmail?” Shauna asks.
Radhika says, “I’ll call and ask him.”
I almost say, I’d rather Luke called.
It doesn’t matter. She’s not going to prom with Connor, so what difference does it make?
My affirmation of the day is: “I will believe in my own potential.” That seems prophetic. Yesterday I felt powerless to effect change, and today I’m leading the prom com. Of course, I may lead them into quicksand.
I remember this one time I must’ve been paying attention in science class. Our teacher explained synergy as “the multiplied power of people working together toward a common goal.” I think that’s what we have now on prom com.
I can’t figure out Shauna. I’m trying to tolerate her, the way we’re supposed to, but it’s hard. I hate that word, tolerate. It seems like the lowest form of acceptance. I know I can’t change Shauna, so the only power I have is to tolerate—make that accept—her for who she is.
Honestly, all I know about her personality is what I’ve seen at prom com. I haven’t taken much time to get to know her, really. I just know her type.
Note to self: I will once and for all stop classifying people by “types.” I despise that tendency in others, and I hate it in myself.
I decide to walk the mile to Jefferson Episcopal Church, where maybe I’ll find strength in a higher power, and also a location for prom. I love how the spire rises above the old lodgepole pines and how the sun catches a stained glass window so it looks like Christmas every day. From the moment I first stepped into this church, I felt a sense of belonging.
Pastor Thomas is floating down the winding stairs in his long white robe as I enter through the Hall of Fellowship. He used to be Pastor Ruth, until he transitioned. He’s always been a really spiritual person, sort of what I imagine angels to be.
“Azure, hello,” he says.
“Hi, Thomas.” There are no formalities here, because, like Thomas says, “Everyone is equal in the eyes of the Lord.”
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I need to ask a question. Or a favor.”
“Come with me. I have a baptism in fifteen minutes, and I’m running late.”
I have to hurry to keep up with him. “I’m on the prom committee at school, and we’re looking into places to hold the dance because our usual hotel isn’t available, and I was thinking we have that big community hall here.”
Thomas arranges a white silk cloth on a table and sets a silver basin atop it. “We might be able to arrange that.”
“Cool.” I’m already imagining how we can decorate to make the room look totally romantic.
“When’s the dance?” Thomas asks.
“April sixteenth.”
He pauses with the water pitcher over the basi
n. “I’m afraid the month of April is out. We have our food drive, remember?”
My spirits sink. I want to say, Can’t we collect and store food in PODS or trucks instead of the community hall? Then I realize I’m putting our prom before a food drive. Selfish, selfish, selfish. How self-centered can I be? New affirmation: Stop putting yourself first when others are in need.
“I’m really sorry, Azure.” Thomas meets my eyes.
“No. That’s okay.” I can’t hold his gaze. “I just forgot.” I take in the baptism scene—the basin and candles and flowers. It’s beautiful.
“What else? You look like you have something you want to talk about.”
How does he do that? Read minds, or hearts? “I don’t want to interrupt your baptism.”
“Do you hear any screaming babies?”
I smile.
“Do we need to go to the Vestry?” he asks. The Vestry is where he talks to people in private.
“No. I didn’t murder anyone.”
He laughs, then indicates a step up to the podium. He sits beside me and clasps his hands in his lap.
“There’s this girl I like,” I say.
Thomas’s eyes widen.
“She’s straight. But open-minded. She’s also my best friend.” He’s quiet for a long minute, so I go on. “I don’t have very good judgment, do I?”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all. You’re wondering if you should tell her how you feel.”
Our conversation is halted abruptly by the aforementioned screaming baby. We both stand. Thomas places a hand on my shoulder and says softly, “Follow your heart, Azure. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
The right thing being…?
I guess I’ll have to wait for a sign from above. The only problem is, will I know it when I see it?
LUKE
Right on time, Mom and Dad call for our Skype visit. The conversation is always the same: “How’s everything going?” Dad asks.
“It’s going.”
“Are you keeping your grades up?” Mom says.
“Define up.”
“Is your brother there?” Dad asks.
Owen stands on the other side of the computer, out of view, snarfing a burrito. He burps.
“Owen?” Dad says.
Busted, I want to say. Owen shakes his head at me, like, no, no, no.
“Yeah, he’s right here. Hang on.”
I turn the computer around so the camera’s on him. He flips me the bird thigh high, out of camera range.
“How’s business?” Dad asks.
“Never better,” Owen deadpans. “Here’s Luke.” He twists the computer back to face me.
“Is he on something?” Dad says to me. “Because he can’t be driving if he’s high and putting lives at risk.”
Owen’s never done drugs that I know of.
I catch the fire in Owen’s eyes before he storms out of the living room and slams the front door.
He and Dad have a hate/love relationship, in that order. Dad wanted Owen to enlist after high school, but Owen had his own plans. Like working at crapola jobs for years to support himself. I have to give Owen credit for starting his own business and being The Man. Dad doesn’t, of course. What is it with parents and their expectations?
I think it pisses Owen off even more that Mom and Dad still love me, even though I’m queer. It took a while, but they’re fine with it now. In a way I have Owen to thank for that—he’s such a disappointment to them.
“What are you doing in your free time?” Mom asks me.
“Watching porn and doing Jell-O shots,” I say.
“Oh, Luke. Is that what Owen does?”
“Oh, Mom,” I say. “He works. That’s all he has time for.” I don’t mention Saralee. Owen’s a guy. He’s got needs.
The phone rings in their off-barracks apartment and Dad says, “I better get that. Take care. And let us know if you change your mind about coming to live here. You can always get your GED, or make arrangements to finish school here, then stay or go back to the States for college and live in the dorm.” He disappears from the screen.
I won’t change my mind. My play, my friends—they’re too important.
“I’m on the prom committee,” I tell Mom.
“You are?”
“Why do you sound shocked? Queers know how to party.”
She says, “You mean study.”
“Did I say party?”
She smiles.
“Did you and Dad go to prom together?” I ask.
“No. We didn’t meet until later. After boot camp. But I remember my prom all right. It was pouring rain, and we’d rented this old barn that leaked.”
“You had your prom in a barn?” I say. “That’s thinking outside the ballroom.”
“It was great. Lots of atmosphere.”
“Like having to clean the cow pie off your shoes?”
She says, “Do you have a date?”
“Our connection’s breaking up,” I say. “Oops, I just lost the visual. Good talking to you, Mom.” I call louder, “You, too, Dad.” I hang up.
I wonder if that barn is still standing, and leaking. If there are mice or rats, dead bodies to be unearthed. Maybe if we hold our prom in a house of horrors, no one will notice I’m there alone.
I call Radhika, but her cell goes to VM. Again! I’d better find the nerve to ask her soon, before someone else beats me to it.
Just as I’m thinking that, my cell rings and it’s Ra-dhika. “My mother would like to invite you to dinner tonight. If you’re not busy. Say you’re busy.”
“I cannot tell a lie. I’m bored and starving.” It’s fate. I’ll ask her tonight.
Radhika sighs. I hear her ask her mom, “What time?”
Mrs. Dal says, “Sixish?”
“Six,” Radhika tells me. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Please, please be careful what you say about you know what.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die a gruesome and bloody death if I even bring it up.”
“Let me give you the gate code so I don’t always have to buzz you in.” She rattles off a sequence of numbers and symbols. I note them down. I feel so special to have 24/7 access to her.
As soon as Radhika hangs up, Azure calls me. “Will you pick me up?”
“For what?”
“Dinner at Radhika’s. Duh.”
She’s invited? I imitate Radhika’s sigh, doubly loud. “Are you ever going to get your driver’s license?”
“Maybe when I can afford an electric car. We have enough pollution killing the planet.”
“You don’t mind riding in my Caddie. At best it gets eight miles to the gallon. And that’s if I run all the red lights.”
She doesn’t have an answer to that. “Could you just pick me up?”
It’s a little after four, so I have an hour and a half to primp. I saw this men’s grooming segment on a talk show once where it said the best way to put on cologne without drenching yourself was to spray a mist in a crosswise motion, then walk through it. Just enough cologne should land on your clothes and skin to give you a fresh, manly scent.
As I’m doing this I hear a donkey bray at my bedroom door. It’s Dobbs. “Owen, come watch your zitwit of a brother,” he calls out to the living room.
Owen appears. I slip into my shoes and head out, but Dobbs blocks my exit. “Where you off to, fag rag?”
“Leave him alone,” Owen says. He returns to the living room, but Dobbs stands there bobbing back and forth to keep me from advancing.
“Dobbs!” Owen says.
Under his breath, Dobbs goes, “You make me sick.”
I almost say “Ditto.” But I don’t want to show up at Radhika’s with a fat lip or a severed spleen.
Azure’s dressed up, as far as I can tell under her bulky ski parka. She’s wearing lacy leggings and shiny boots. Top-of-the-line thrift fare.
“Did Radhika tell you to be careful—”
“About mentioning prom com. Yeah. Zipped lips.�
�� Together, we pretend to pull zippers across our lips.
As we approach the gate to Radhika’s condo, I feel a flutter in my stomach in anticipation of being with Ra-dhika, even though we won’t be alone together in a romantic setting. Mrs. Dal greets us at the door. “Luke.” She hugs me. “Azure.” The same. “How nice to see you both.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Azure says before I can.
“Radhika,” Mrs. Dal calls up the stairs, “Luke and Azure are here.”
She emerges and I go all goose-pimply. “Hey,” she says, smiling. It looks forced.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Mrs. Dal says. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
We move to the living room. The Dals’ condo is a miniature HGTV Dream Home. Very stylish. Pricey furnishings. I love all the Indian art and collectibles.
The aroma wafting from the kitchen makes my mouth water.
“Why didn’t you guys have anything to do tonight?” Radhika asks, flopping onto the sofa between Azure and me.
“Stop it,” Azure says. “We used to come over to eat all the time.”
Radhika slumps. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s not you.”
Azure reaches over and puts her hand on top of Ra-dhika’s, which is resting on the cushion. “What is it? What’s going on?”
Radhika’s eyes pool with tears and Azure scoots closer. I do the same.
A tear rolls down her cheek just as Mrs. Dal comes in and says, “Dinner is served.”
Quickly, Radhika wipes away her tears.
“We’ll talk later, okay?” Azure whispers.
Radhika nods.
We sit down to eat, Radhika taking a chair across from the two of us. Mrs. Dal says, “I don’t know why I’ve been craving Indian food lately. Radhika is not a fan.” To confirm, Radhika sticks out the end of her tongue. Mrs. Dal points to a dish. “This is chicken and lamb korma. And basmati rice.” She indicates a bowl of green, spinachlike goop. “Saag,” she says. “And fried vegetables. Lentil soup with naan.”
I sing, “Heaven. I’m in heaven.”
Mrs. Dal smiles. She pours us each a cup of chai.
I take a sip and it’s so sweet and creamy, my eyes roll back in my head. I’m already thinking about making a plane reservation to India.
“What do you hear from your parents?” Mrs. Dal asks me as she slides into her chair.
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