It's Our Prom (So Deal With It)

by Julie Anne Peters

  “We Skype occasionally.” I pass the korma to Azure and she spoons some onto her plate.

  “And what have you both been up to?”

  “I’m working on Closets Are for Mothballs,” I reply. She looks confused, so I explain, “It’s a musical drama comedy. And Azure and I are both on the prom planning committee.”

  Azure chokes. Literally.

  I look at her and she scalds me with a glare. What? That didn’t give anything away.

  “Did you go to your prom?” I ask Mrs. Dal.

  “Oh, yes. My prom was unforgettable. My date was so handsome in his tuxedo. He even wore a turquoise cummerbund to match my sari. I wore a turquoise and magenta silk sari with bangles and haar.”

  Azure says, “Did you go with Mr. Dal?”

  “No. He still lived in India then. But our marriage had been prearranged.”

  Azure’s jaw unhinges. “You’re kidding. People still do that?”

  “In our culture, yes.”

  “Your culture,” Radhika says under her breath.

  Her mother casts her a veiled look. “You should be proud of your heritage, Radhika. In this country especially, where difference is celebrated.”

  “It’s not that easy to be different, Mother,” Radhika says.

  Azure and I exchange a knowing glance.

  “I understand that,” Mrs. Dal replies. “Your father and I were both persecuted in this country at various times. That doesn’t mean we aren’t proud of being Indian.”

  Azure asks, “Do you get a choice about who you have to marry? I mean, what if you hate the person? Can you say no?”

  “Of course. But families know their children well, and get to know the other family, so the bride and groom are usually very compatible. Vadish and I were acquainted since childhood. We were friends long before our marriage.”

  “You mean people get married without even being in love?” Azure’s voice rises an octave.

  “Ninety percent of arranged marriages are successful,” Mrs. Dal tells her. “As compared to only, what? Fifty percent here?”

  I’m only half listening, since I’m scarfing food down like I haven’t eaten in months. Which I haven’t. Finally, I take a breath and go, “OMG. This food is to roll over and beg for.”

  Mrs. Dal laughs. “Thank you. What do you have to do on the prom committee?”

  “Everything, practically,” Azure says. “We found out the hotel we had reserved is undergoing renovations, and we can’t find any other place in our price range. Then two of the corporate sponsors withdrew.”

  Mrs. Dal turns to Radhika. “Maybe we can talk to your father about whether his company would be willing to sponsor your prom.”

  For the first time, Radhika looks up and meets her mother’s eyes. “Do you think they would?”

  “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  Azure and I elbow each other.

  “What we want to do—what we’re charged with doing,” Azure says, “is coming up with something completely different. Sort of an anti-prom. An event that’s not so exclusive, you know? One that does celebrate difference. Right now the only people who ever go are the preps and jocks. Not to label people or anything.”

  “Which you just did,” I say.

  Azure curls a lip at me.

  She adds, “We’re pretty tolerant at our school about race and sexual orientation, stuff like that. Not everyone is rich enough to go to prom, and a lot of people don’t go because they don’t have girlfriends or boyfriends, or even arranged prom partners.” Mrs. Dal grins at that. “Not everyone can afford a tuxedo,” Azures goes on, “let alone a dress they’ll probably wear once. Although, if they can, that’s cool. I’m not saying it’s bad to be rich.” Her cheeks flush. “I bet two-thirds of the juniors and seniors aren’t into prom because it’s—”

  “Pretentious,” Radhika finishes Azure’s sentence.

  Mrs. Dal stares at Radhika. Static fills the air. At last, Mrs. Dal says to us, “I understand completely how you’d want more people to feel included, like it’s their prom.”

  “Exactly,” Azure goes.

  “It’s such an important night in a young person’s life. Do you all have dates?”

  The conversation halts again.

  “Never mind. It’s none of my business,” Mrs. Dal adds. “It was nice talking to Connor the other day, though. Maybe he’ll take you, Radhika.”

  For the first time in my life, I see Radhika blush.

  She seethes, “Can we just drop it?”

  We all eat in silence until Mrs. Dal says, “What are you going to do about a location?”

  “I don’t know.” Azure takes a sip of chai. “I guess until we find more money, more corporate sponsors…” She grimaces at me.

  Open mouth, stuff in boot.

  “Where did you hold your prom?” I ask Mrs. Dal.

  “Oh, that was the best part.” She smiles. “It was outdoors, in the Highlands Pavilion.”

  Azure and I say, “Where’s that?”

  “In northwest Denver. I wonder if it’s still there.”

  “How much was it?” Azure asks.

  “I have no idea. I guess the prom planning committee took care of that. Now that I think about it, what would we have done without a prom planning committee? We had a wonderful theme: Under the Sea.”

  Azure, Radhika, and I all cough.

  Azure stifles a short laugh under her napkin.

  “Did I say something funny?” Mrs. Dal asks.

  “No,” I go. “That’s a super-awesome theme.”

  Under the table, Azure kicks me.

  After dinner we head toward Radhika’s room, but at the bottom of the stairs, she stops. “I feel a migraine coming on. Would you mind if I just went to bed?”

  Azure and I tell her no, not at all. “Thanks for coming.” She hugs us both. “And thanks for… you know.”

  “Not a problem.” Her smile radiates through me.

  On the way home, Azure tells me to look up the location of the Highlands Pavilion. “It’s probably rubble by now, or replaced by apartments or strip malls.”

  “It’s probably underwater,” I say. “As in…”

  “Under the Sea,” we say together and whoop with laughter.

  AZURE

  Dad’s dressed in his best black suit with a white linen shirt and a gray-striped tie. “Wow,” I say. “Who died?”

  “Me. Help me with this tie, will you?” He’s standing in front of the full-length mirror, pulling out the slipknot.

  I move over in front of him and begin it again. Over, under. His cologne tickles my nose and I suppress a sneeze.

  “Too much?” he asks.

  “Nope. Just right.” It’s the cologne I got him for Christmas. Yves Saint Laurent’s L’Homme. I spent fifty dollars, but it was worth it. I slide the knot into place and Dad buttons his suit coat. He looks hot. He even got a haircut. “Let me guess,” I say. “Cloud.”

  “Lynda. She has tickets to Tosca.”

  I let out a short laugh, then slap a hand over my mouth. “Have you ever been to an opera?”

  Dad shoves his wallet into his back pocket, along with a tin of Altoids. “How bad can it be?”

  “Remember how I got a D in Music Appreciation? It was because when we covered opera, I slept through every class.”

  Dad tugs my earlobe. “Well, I am much more cultured than you.”

  The only CD dad plays in his car is Bruce Springsteen.

  At the door he says, “Don’t wait up.”

  I say, “When you drift off, don’t drool in Lynda’s lap.”

  I need to make a pit stop before the prom com meeting, and as I’m leaning over the drinking fountain afterward, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and Desirae’s there.

  “I got the dress,” she says, smiling. “I can’t thank you enough, Azure. There’s no way in the world I could’ve afforded a dress like that.”

  “I’m glad you found each other,” I say.

  Our eyes meet and h
old. A thrill of electricity runs through me and I have to look away. I can’t be feeling this.

  “I’ll see you around.” She touches my arm and the jolt about sends me through the roof. As I watch her go, I let out a stuttering breath. We’re over. She has someone new. I’m in love with Radhika.

  Perspective, Azure, I tell myself.

  When I walk into Studio 2B, Luke spins me back around and says, “Field trip.”

  “Where are we…?”

  “Pavilion,” he whispers in my ear.

  “You found it?”

  He hands me a page of directions from MapQuest.

  “Where to?” Mr. Rosen asks.

  “You’ll see,” Luke answers. He says confidentially to me, “It looks pretty cool online.”

  Sweet, I think.

  We all cram into the Cadillac and buckle up, including Mr. Rosen.

  “Where’s Radhika?” I ask.

  “She went home with another migraine,” Luke says.

  I check my cell and see that she texted me after lunch. How did I miss that? Luke has this look of concern in his eyes that I feel. I want to call her, but she’s probably in bed. Shauna says, “I need to let my mother know if I’m leaving the school grounds.”

  I say, “After school? You’re kidding.”

  Shauna’s voice hardens. “Just tell me where we’re going.”

  “Tell your mommy we’re going to Wally World to buy Tampax,” Luke says.

  Shauna shrinks visibly in her seat next to Connor. Luke should be smacked for that remark; even I’d cringe with guys around.

  “Read the directions, Azure,” Luke instructs.

  I scroll down the sheet. “Turn left at the light and get on Sixth Avenue.” Mercy Her comes on the radio and I turn it up.

  Shauna says, “I hate this song.”

  I turn it up louder, then think, Tolerance, and turn it down again. We almost miss the exit because my head is back on Desi, wondering what that was about. You always want what you can’t have? At the last minute, I say, “Luke, get off here.” He has to swerve across two lanes of traffic to catch the off-ramp.

  “Geez,” he says. “Give me a wedgie.”

  Mr. Rosen’s beside me, hyperventilating like he’s going to have a heart attack.

  “Okay, now we have to get on Tennyson Street,” I tell Luke.

  He turns at a light.

  “Slow down. It must be somewhere inside this loft community.”

  “There.” He indicates a huge concrete structure at the end of a drive. We park in the lot and all pile out.

  “Where are we?” Shauna asks.

  I answer, “The location for prom. Maybe.”

  The pavilion might’ve been something in its day, but it’s all boarded up now. Luke says, “It didn’t look like this online.”

  “I know this place,” Connor says. “My mom said there used to be a carousel in here when this whole area was an amusement park. Then they moved the carousel to the zoo and transformed the pavilion into a concert space. I’ve been here a few times in summer to hear bands. And my parents have come to dances.”

  The pavilion is like something out of Victorian England. Ornate patterns are molded into the concrete columns, which support a domed roof. The roof is undamaged, but a lot of the concrete pillars have been tagged. It’s gone ghetto, as Luke would say. But if you use your imagination…

  If we cleaned it up…

  There’s no entry that I can see—only a knothole in the plywood planking, where I peek inside.

  Oh, wow. It’s spacious. Cavernous, actually. The plywood siding would have to be removed, but there’s a wooden floor, like a dance floor. If we can get permission to use the pavilion… if it’s in our budget…“This would be awesome for our prom,” I think aloud. “Who do we talk to about renting it?”

  Mr. Rosen says, “The city, I suppose. Although it might be privately owned. If you want, I’ll check into it.”

  “That’d be great,” I tell him.

  “Since I failed miserably at finding any more sponsors, it’s the least I can do,” he says.

  As we’re leaving, I glance out the back window and can see it: the pavilion all lit up like a palace, and people dancing long into the night.

  I call Radhika on my way to work and she says she’s feeling better. “We went to the pavilion today, where your mom had her prom.”

  “It’s still standing?” Radhika goes. “I figured it’d be in ruins by now.”

  I wish I would’ve thought to take pictures to send her, but we don’t even know if we can get it. I hear the train coming and say, “I’m glad your headache’s gone.” Her migraines are debilitating. “If you feel like it, call me later.” She promises she will and my spirits soar.

  The first thing Louisa says to me when I walk in the door is, “Your friend came in to pick up her dress.” I cringe, wondering if Louisa’s going to fire me for practically giving it away. But she says, “You have a real knack, Azure. I couldn’t have bribed anyone to take that ugly dress off our hands.”

  I exhale relief. She adds, “I was thinking about clearing out that whole room and making a space for used appliances.”

  “No!” I cry. “You can’t.”

  She cocks her head at me.

  “I mean, you can. It’s your store. But I was thinking people could come here to buy prom dresses. A lot of the vintage clothes are back in style, and we do have gobs of old prom dresses in there at really reasonable prices.”

  Louisa looks like she’s considering it. “When’s your prom?”

  “April sixteenth.”

  “I suppose I could hold off until then.”

  Impulsively, I give her a hug. I don’t think you’re supposed to hug your boss, but I don’t care. “Would it be okay if, after my shift, I took some pictures of the dresses and suits? I can post them online for people to see.”

  “Sure. And tell you what: Anyone who comes in to buy something for prom gets a twenty-percent discount. Tell them that.”

  “I will. Thanks.” I’m torn because I want all the money to go to Kids with Cancer.

  Just as my shift is about to end, the door opens and Desi walks in. “Hi.” She smiles. “I was hoping you were working tonight.”

  She has another girl with her and I wonder if it’s her new girlfriend. “This is Christine,” Desi says. “She saw my dress and asked where I got it, so I told her, and she wanted to come check out the thrift store herself.”

  “Be my guest,” I say.

  As I’m sweeping up the front, Desi returns from the back room and says, “Do you have any jewelry that might go with my dress?”

  “You can look.” I show her the jewelry cases. As she’s examining the collection of earrings, I say, “Everything you buy for prom is twenty percent off.”

  Desi swivels her head. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  She returns to browsing. I study her from the back—her hair, which she’s streaked with purple, and her cute, round butt in her tight jeans. I shouldn’t be admiring her butt.

  She says, “Would you show me these red and gold ones, and the hoops?”

  I rest my broom against the shelf and skirt around the counter. I unhook the gold and garnet studs from the velveteen board. She holds them up to her ears and studies them in the mirror.

  “You like?” she asks.

  “Yeah. They’re perfect.”

  She checks out the price and goes, “Eek!”

  “I know. Some of the jewelry’s pretty expensive. Especially if it’s antique.”

  Her GF reappears from the back with the dress I’ve had my eye on for a month. “I’ll take this,” she says. “Can you put it on layaway, or hold it until I can come back with the money?”

  I want to say no because it’s my dress. “Sure,” I say, and take it from her.

  “Everything’s twenty percent off for prom,” Desi tells her.

  “Wicked cool,” she answers.

  Who says that anymore?

 
Desi asks her, “Which of these earrings do you like?”

  Christine asks her to hold them up. “Actually, neither. I like these long beaded gold ones. Can we see them?” she asks me.

  I unhook them from the display card.

  “Yeah, those are the ones.”

  Desi pooches out her lips. I want to say, Buy the garnets. They’re so much prettier. But Desi goes, “Okay. Would you keep these out for me, Azure?”

  I take the earrings and grab the dress. As I’m walking them to the back room, I’m wondering what Desirae sees in Christine. She seems overbearing, a little like Ami. It’s none of my business, though, and I certainly have no place telling Desirae who she should and shouldn’t see. The bell over the door tinkles and Desi sticks her head through the curtain. “Azure,” she says, “forget the long beads. You’re right. I want the garnets.”

  LUKE

  I leave a message in our Google docs that the mushroom church is a bust. It’s amazing inside, like a spaceship. There are prayer meetings and services on Saturday nights, though. I see that Connor’s left a message that if the pavilion doesn’t work out, he may have a lead on a cheap hotel. Just seeing his name stirs my latte, no whip. Lust, I tell myself. Nothing more.

  The phone rings and rings as I’m buttoning up my jeans for school. Owen must be out on a run, so I pick up. “A-1 Car Service.”

  “Is this a person or a machine?” the guy asks.

  “Flesh and blood,” I say.

  “The limo service that was recommended to us is out of business, and we need a ride from the airport to the Hotel Teatro in Denver.”

  I scramble to find a pen and paper. “We can handle all your needs, sir,” I tell him. “How many passengers?”

  “Five,” he says. He hollers to someone, “What hangar?” He relays to me, “Hangar three. How soon can you get here?”

  I guesstimate the time to Denver International. “Forty minutes?”

  “That long?”

  “I could make it in thirty.”

  He sighs audibly. “Can you keep it on the DL that we’re in town? Otherwise, we’ll be swarmed with screaming teenyboppers.”

  “Privacy is our mantra.” I just made that up. I wonder who “they” are. If they care, they’re obviously high-profile.