It's Our Prom (So Deal With It)

by Julie Anne Peters

  I rush to Owen’s bedroom and knock. No answer. I could call his cell…. Then again, I could prove to him what a valuable member of his team I’d be if he’d only give me a chance.

  It snowed overnight, about an inch, and it’s still coming down. The town cars are all out on calls somewhere, and anyway, five people is too many to cram into a town car. The only vehicle available is Owen’s Black Panther. Oh, God. Maybe I should call him, leave an urgent message. I check my watch and see that six minutes have already elapsed while I’ve been wussing out.

  As I slooooowly back out of the garage, I think, Crap. I have two tests today, and a final oral project that’s sixty percent of our grade in Civil Liberties. It’s Flacco, too, who hates me. I call Radhika and explain the situation. I tell her about my exam, and she says if I’m not there in time, she’ll stop in and make an excuse for me so Flacco won’t flunk my ass. She says she’ll drive to school and pick up Azure.

  I love that girl so much.

  Oh, shit. The gas gauge is fluttering on empty, but I can’t stop now. I pray I have enough fuel to get me to and from the airport.

  The side streets are slick, but I-70’s been plowed, so I make up time there. Pena Boulevard is plowed and sanded, too. The snow is heavier here, though, and I feel the back of the limo swerve on icy patches. I almost fishtail into a ditch and my heart thrums in my chest. Get a grip, Luke, I think. Deep breaths. I’ve never been to the private-jet hangars, so it takes me a while to find them. By the time I squeal into hangar three, I’m fifteen minutes late.

  A guy in a skullcap saunters up to me. “You from A-1?”

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him as I get out. I scurry to the rear door to open it. He scans me up and down and says, “You don’t look like a chauffeur.”

  “My uniform’s at the cleaners.” I should’ve grabbed one of Owen’s company caps.

  “You don’t even look old enough to drive.”

  “If you’d like to see my chauffeur’s license…”

  He waves me off. “Our ride’s here, ladies,” he calls to a group of girls sitting on instrument cases, shooting the breeze.

  Oh my God! It’s Mercy Her!

  “Hey,” Leilani says. She’s the lead singer.

  She hands me her guitar case and slides into the back of the limo. All the band equipment piles up at my feet. The guy, Skullcap, must be their manager. He says, “Well? Are you going to just stand there, or put those in the trunk? There’s luggage, too.”

  I load everything as fast as humanly possible.

  OMG. I’m driving Mercy Her. Azure will die. My hands sweat as I crank over the ignition and check the side-view mirrors. I head for the exit and Leilani says, “Do you have any bottled water?”

  Shit. I forgot to equip the limo after Owen brought it back from detailing.

  “Sorry, I don’t. I could stop….”

  “No, that’s okay.” She rolls her eyes at the other band members. Owens’s right. I’m a spaz.

  The band members joke around, or key into their iPhones and BlackBerrys. I try not to eavesdrop or slide off the road. But it’s Mercy Her, for God’s sake.

  Owen’s told me about all the times he’s driven celebs from the airport: basketball players and politicians and once even a Saudi Arabian prince. I thought he was full of shit.

  My cell jingles and I pull it out. It’s Radhika.

  “Mrs. Flacco is not happy about your Civil Liberties project. I told her you were on your deathbed, but I don’t know if she’s going to let you reschedule.”

  “Thanks anyway,” I tell her. Then I lower my voice: “Guess who I have in the limo at this very moment?”

  “You’re driving a limo?”

  “Yes, and quite capably.”

  “You shouldn’t be on your cell, Luke.”

  “Mercy Her,” I say.

  “What?”

  “I’m driving Mercy Her.”

  “I’m hanging up so you don’t get stopped by the police or get in an accident.” She disconnects.

  No one will believe I’m driving Mercy Her. Unless… I lift my phone over my shoulder and snap a picture. The manager, or whoever he is, grabs my cell. “Didn’t I say no paparazzi?” He figures out how to delete my pic, then throws my cell over the seat. “Kid, you just blew your fare.”

  The whole thing?

  Leilani catches my eye in the mirror and fake-kisses me. Now I’m thinking she’s kind of a bitch.

  We roll up to the Teatro and I get out to open the back door. Everyone scoots out. As I’m unloading the luggage with the help of the hotel porter, Leilani comes up to me. “You’re cute,” she says. “Here.” She hands me a wad of cash.

  I silently take back the bitch thing.

  She says, “What’s your name?”

  I tell her and she calls to the band. “Come over here. One or two pictures with Luke, okay?” She says in my ear, “We’re only here to play a private party, so don’t post it on your Facebook or tweet it.”

  “I wouldn’t even know how,” I lie.

  She cricks a smile. The manager’s disappeared inside, so she asks the doorman to take a few snaps with my cell.

  The limo is running on fumes now, and I have to pee a river. As I turn onto Colfax Avenue, an ambulance comes screaming out of the hospital. It’s heading right for me. I slam on the brakes, skid, and hear squealing brakes behind me. An SUV has to jackknife out into traffic to avoid hitting me.

  The ambulance speeds off and I sit for a minute, my heart palpitating.

  Air clogs my lungs and I release it in a burst. There’s wet between my legs. Damn. I’ve pissed myself a little.

  The SUV behind me hasn’t moved. I get out to see if anyone got hurt. The window is up and I rap on it. I indicate that I was in the limo and the window rolls down.

  It’s a lady with two kids in the back. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She nods, sort of dazed. “I think so. Did I hit you? Because if I get into another accident, my husband’s going to kill me.”

  A millimeter more and we’d have been sharing a grave. I tell her that her children will not have to grow up without a mother, and my brother will not crush my balls.

  A cop stops to make sure everything’s okay. Traffic is backed up now, and the cop gets it moving again. I climb back in the limo and pull in at the first gas station I see.

  My cell rings and I almost answer, then see that it’s Owen. He never calls me at school, which is where I should be right now. He must be home, wondering where the limo is.

  There are times to answer your cell and times to throw it in the glove box.

  I need to pee and I’m starving. I quickly pump five bucks of gas in the tank and head for the cashier and restroom. As I’m paying for the gas, I see a pickup truck pull into the bay across from mine.

  Three guys get out. They cross the island and check out the limo. I have to pee so bad, but I don’t trust these guys. I pay the clerk and hurry outside. “Excuse me,” I say from behind one of them.

  He steps aside, but bumps my shoulder hard. “Excuse me,” he goes.

  “Give us a ride, dude,” another one says.

  They’re not getting a ride in Owen’s Black Panther. When I go to open the door one of them grabs me from behind, spins me around, and gut-punches me.

  PAIN. As I crumple to the ground, my bladder empties.

  Someone kicks me in the face with a boot and I cry out.

  “Hey, get away from him,” I hear. A scraping sound fills my ears before the guys actually scatter. Their pickup squeals out of the station.

  “Are you okay?” It’s the clerk from inside.

  I roll over, pushing to my knees. My stomach hurts and there’s blood all down my front. One eye feels like it’s swelling shut. “The limo.”

  The clerk helps me to my feet. “Is there someone I can call to come get you?”

  “I’m fine.” I’m dizzy, but my first thought is that I have to get the car home.

  Wobbling, I turn around. The part
of my stomach that isn’t throbbing begins to roil and I freak. Please, God, I pray. Tell me I’m hallucinating.

  Right there on the cement I hurl.

  There’s a deep gouge where the thugs keyed the whole entire length of the limo.

  AZURE

  Mr. Rosen says, “Does anyone know where Luke is?”

  Radhika replies, “He called me this morning and said he was going to be late.”

  “I haven’t seen him all day. Let me call him.” I dial Luke’s number and it goes to voice mail immediately. He never turns off his phone. “Huh. Maybe he had a dramedy emergency. Why don’t we go ahead and start? I can keep minutes today.”

  Mr. Rosen says, “Well, the pavilion is run by a foundation and has been declared a historic landmark. Not that that’s relevant. But I talked to the person in charge of renting it out, and she told me it doesn’t open until May.”

  I deflate. My visions of dancing under the stars go dark.

  “I found a Ramada Inn with a ballroom,” Connor says. “They’ll rent it to us for fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “Do they have free parking?” Shauna asks.

  “I… think so,” Connor says. “They do for guests.”

  “But you don’t know about visitors. What about security?”

  “Why would we need security?” I ask.

  “Because there are sickos in the world,” Shauna says. “I want to feel safe.”

  “It’s also a school policy,” Mr. Rosen says. “We do need security at any school event.”

  “How much does that cost?” I ask.

  No one seems to know.

  “How much is the damage deposit?” Shauna says.

  “I don’t know.” Connor grits his teeth.

  Shauna drops her eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell us to ask these questions when we volunteered to check out sites?” I say.

  She goes, “You never asked.”

  I so want not to tolerate her. “We still have time to find more corporate sponsors and do a couple of fund-raisers,” I tell her. “I say we go ahead and make the reservation. What do you think, Radhika?”

  “About what?” She glances up from her paper, where she’s tracing over an infinity sign.

  Shauna adds, “You may need to reserve the room, Mr. Rosen. They’ll probably require a credit card or something.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Just promise I won’t end up paying. You might’ve heard about how dismal teachers’ salaries are?”

  “Wah-wah.” I mock-play my miniature violin.

  “I’ll get answers to the other questions when I call to make the reservation,” Connor says. He hands over the Ramada information to Mr. Rosen, who sticks it in his prom folder.

  On that note, the meeting ends. As we’re walking out to Radhika’s car, I ask, “Have you told Connor yet?”

  “No. And I know I have to. I just can’t think of a kind way to do it.” She expels a long breath. “I don’t know why he asked me when he has a hundred, if not a thousand, girls to choose from.”

  “Because you’re beautiful and fabulous, and who wouldn’t want to go with you?” I say.

  She bumps shoulders with me, which sends tingles up and down my arm.

  As we get into the car, she adds, “Why did he ask me, anyway? We’re just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.”

  I try not to decompose in her presence. My chances with her just plummeted.

  Luke calls to tell me he won’t be in school tomorrow and asks if I can catch another ride with Radhika. He sounds strange—upset or something—so I ask what’s wrong. He goes, “Next subject.”

  Geez. Why is he chilling me out?

  He says, “Connor might’ve found a place for prom.”

  I tell him, “The Ramada. If you’d been at the meeting, you would’ve known that.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” he says and hangs up.

  I’m taking my discouragement out on him and he doesn’t deserve it. Still, Luke doesn’t usually react so dramatically. I mean, he does, but not in a negative way.

  I call Radhika. “Have you talked to Luke?” I ask.

  “Not since he called to tell me he was going to be late to school because he was picking up Mercy Her at the airport.”

  “Oh, right. I’m so sure.”

  Radhika doesn’t reply. “That might’ve been a secret.”

  “Come on.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Good one, Luke.

  “Let me call him,” Radhika says.

  “Conference me in.”

  My phone doesn’t ring. A few minutes later she calls back. “He’s not answering.”

  “I’m going to leave a message and wait for him to call me back,” I say.

  “I will, too. Don’t mention the part about Mercy Her, okay?”

  Damn. I so wanted to call him on it. Lying to me is one thing, but lying to Radhika is like blasphemy.

  I try to study, but can’t concentrate. The last couple of weeks have been an emotional tsunami. I get on Facebook and see that Radhika’s there. I IM her:

  i never heard from Luke. did u?

  Then I wait for an answer.

  She IMs back:

  Radhika: no. i thought he might be online. usually if he sees me here, he IMs me

  Azure: did you talk to Connor yet, about you know what?

  Radhika: no. i want to do it in person when i can catch him alone. i’m not looking forward to it

  Azure: he’s a big boy. he’ll survive

  Radhika: it’s not him I’m worried about. much. it feels like the prom is coming together. i mean, all we need is a little more money. and if ur wondering whether i’ve asked my father about being a corporate sponsor yet, the answer is no

  Azure: i wasn’t even thinking about that

  Which is true. I’m stuck on how and when I can ask Radhika to prom, and what she’ll say, and if I should do it or live with the regret of never even trying and wondering what might’ve happened if I had expressed my true feelings….

  Radhika: he only got back today and I want him to be in the right mood. whatever that is

  Who’s she talking about? Oh, right. Her dad.

  Azure: no hurry. don’t feel pressured

  Radhika: b cuz time is on our side, right?

  Is she being sarcastic? That’s not like her.

  Radhika: what r we really doing differnt 2 get people 2 come?

  Azure: the drag show. karaoke. gaming competition

  Radhika: we haven’t decided on those things 4 sure, have we?

  I thought we had. Maybe I’m the one who decided.

  Radhika: u know what we should do? A survey monkey. Get everyone’s opinions so they feel involved in the prom

  Brilliant. She’s brilliant. She should be the leader, not me. I know about survey monkeys because we had to team up in Sociology the first semester of this year to poll people on the issues that affected their school lives, like dating and drugs and bullying. The survey monkey was cool because it compiled all the answers and spit out a report.

  Azure: ur a genius. which is why you’re going to Yale, of course

  Radhika doesn’t write back for such a long time, it feels like she’s waiting for me to write more. Just as I start to ask if she’s excited, she writes back:

  Radhika: we should all come up with questions and post the survey online at Prom Central

  Azure: u don’t think Shauna will go bananas when we tell her we want to invade her precious Prom Central?

  That was a joke, of course.

  Radhika: if u want i’ll post a message in our Google docs asking prom com what they all think about the idea

  Azure: sure. that’d be gr8

  I can predict who’ll be in favor and who won’t.

  My cells rings and it’s Luke.

  Azure: Luke’s calling! Hang on

  I answer, “Where have you been?”

  “Hello to you, too. I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Rad
hika’s on IM. Why don’t you log on…”

  “Later.” He disconnects.

  Azure: that was weird. he wanted to talk about something, then he hung up

  Radhika: can I ask u a question, Azure?

  My heart hammers in my chest.

  Azure: u no u can

  Ask me. I’ll say yes, yes, yes.

  Radhika: do you really think Luke is bi?

  Why does she care about that?

  Azure: only on tues, thurs, and sat

  Radhika: LOL. What about Haley? he did love her

  Azure: i’m not sure he knows what love is. I think it was a lost case of lust

  Radhika: it sure seemed like love. anyway, I better go. i still have at least two hours of homework.

  She logs off. I sit there rereading our conversation, picturing her in the glow of her computer screen. Do it, I tell myself. What’s the worst that could happen? She’d say no and you’d feel like a jerk. Then everything would change and she’d drift away from you; maybe never speak to you again. I’d die. I would actually, seriously cry every day for the rest of my life.

  LUKE

  Owen didn’t kill me. Obviously, since I’m still alive. He was pacing on the porch with his cell to his ear when I drove up. Shutting it, he stalked over. I got out and he froze solid.

  He didn’t speak at first—working through all the ways to murder me, I assumed. “Who did this?” he asked.

  I stared at the jagged gouge across Black Panther. It represented the total loss of trust Owen would ever have in me. “I don’t know,” I said flatly. “They didn’t sign their work.”

  “Not the stupid car.” Owen hitched his chin. “Your face.”

  That’s when I began to cry. Everything just poured out of me. All the pain and humiliation and fear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve called you. I should’ve peed before I left. I shouldn’t have taken your Black Panther. Please don’t hate me. I shouldn’t have taken your Black Panther.”