He’s right about that.
“You could join the Peace Corps after college,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt.
I trek to the kitchen to make mac and cheese for dinner. As I plop a tablespoon of fake butter into the fake cheese, I consider what he said. Is it worth being miserable for four years of college so you can do what you really want when you get out?
Dad’s changed into his sloppy jeans and a grungy sweatshirt. He sprawls on the sofa and turns on the TV. I hand him his dinner and he says, “Thanks, Paula Deen.”
I say, “So if I told you I didn’t want to go to Yale, you’d make me go anyway?”
“Yale?” He swallows a spoonful of goopy macaroni and eyes me. “Azure, I can’t make you do anything,” he says. “It’d be your decision, babe. But some opportunities only come around once in a lifetime, and Yale is one of them.”
It always confuses me when he sounds right.
“So,” I say, changing the subject, “when are you taking out Cloud?”
I motion for him to lift his legs, and I slide in underneath. He clicks around and settles on the Colorado Avalanche game. “I’m not sure I will. I really like Lynda.”
“Dad, you can’t tell by one date.” Which, I realize as soon as I say it, is absolutely untrue. You know right away if there’s chemistry.
“For your information, Lynda and I are going out again on Saturday.”
“Nice,” I say. “Where’s she taking you?”
He’s practically inhaled his dinner and sets his bowl down on the coffee table. I know he’s still starving, so I give him the rest of mine. He says, “This time I get to choose.”
“Ooh. Where are you going?”
The Avs are losing six to one, so he switches to the Denver Nuggets game. “To the shooting range.”
“What? No, Dad. Are you nuts?”
He leans forward and sets my emptied bowl inside his. “She wants to learn to shoot.”
I get up and toss a pillow at him. “Yeah, so she can kill you in your sleep. Does anyone do a background check on these lonely women?”
The pillow hits me in the face and it’s an all-out war.
LUKE
Azure and I try to keep the conversation light on the way to school, but I can tell Radhika’s lost in her own little world. When we pull into the parking lot, the first thing she says is, “I didn’t have to ask my dad about corporate sponsorship for our prom. My mom brought it up at breakfast, and he said it was out of the question to expect his company to give us money. Then he made it sound like prom was the most superficial thing in the world, and he and Mom got into a huge argument. Which means if I ever bring up Yale, it might be cause for divorce.”
“Can you get divorced if you’re in an arranged marriage?” Azure asks.
Radhika snips, “Of course.” She sucks in a breath. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take any of this out on you. I know you both love and support me, no matter what.”
“We do,” we assure her.
In the rearview mirror, I see Azure take Radhika’s hand. I wish it were me back there. Why do I always have to play chauffeur?
“I put the survey up on Prom Central,” Radhika says, “so we should make an announcement this morning that seniors can begin to vote.”
Azure goes, “I think you should do it, Luke. Say something funny so people will want to log on and express their opinions.”
“No pressure,” I tell her.
The announcements are at the beginning of second period. I sprint from Flacco’s room to the office with no time to gargle or practice different voices. At least I wrote down what I wanted to say during Flacco’s lecture on… whatever it was.
In the microphone, I say in my radio-DJ voice, “Coming to you live from K-I-S-S MY ASS. It’s time to pimp your prom. That’s right, folks. This year you—yes, you—get to participate in what you want your prom to be. Your prom committee has created a survey to gather all your opinions so we can make this the best prom EVAH. Just log on to Prom Central with your student ID, password PIMP, and link to the survey. It should only take ten minutes or so, and your answers are anonymous. Since we’re, like, way behind, move your ass, class, and get your answers in by Monday.” From his chair next to me, Mr. Gerardi scowls. I hand the microphone back to him. Was it pimp or ass I shouldn’t have said? Anyway, I got it done.
At play practice, the Mothballs ask if I’ve thought about costumes for them. I have and haven’t. Most of my creative talents have gone into writing the dramedy and song lyrics. Britny, who plays my mother and my short-lived girlfriend, Haley, and who is also in the chorus, says, “I might be able to get my mom to sew us big round balls that we could stuff with batting.”
I form an image in my mind. “Make it so your heads and arms and legs stick out. ’Cuz you’ll have to dance and sing.”
Ryan clears his throat. “Have you thought about set design?”
“Actually, I have. I saw some of your art in your Facebook album. I was wondering if you’d paint simple black-and-white backgrounds. We only need the three scenes: one at home, one in the closet, and one in school.”
“You looked at my art?” Ryan says.
“Yeah. It was amazing.”
He lowers his eyes. “Not as good as yours.”
Well, no. But I don’t work in black and white.
“I think the closet should shrink around me. In the second act, it gets so claustrophobic, I have to break out. What do you guys think?”
Everyone goes, “Cool.”
Mario says, “I’ll write a few dramatic bars for your breakout.”
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Okay, so let’s do a quick run-through. Mothballs, you’re on.”
When I descend the stage steps to direct, I see Radhika in the back row. She’s not alone. Gabe’s there, with his head bent close to hers. I walk back and tell Gabe, “We’re ready to start.”
“Oh, all right.” He tells Radhika, “Laters,” and she smiles at him.
A smile that would make Haley Zeligman, now Gabe’s girlfriend, put a hit out on Radhika—everyone knows Haley has a short leash on Gabe. It makes me glad she didn’t have time to rein me in. “Do you mind if I study here?” Radhika says to me. “I promise not to watch.”
“You can watch all you want. I’d really like your feedback.”
She turns that smile on me and I melt into a pool of dark chocolate.
“We could sell roses for Valentine’s Day,” I suggest, since VD is so soon and I know just the person I’d give a rose to.
“Where are we going to get money to buy roses?” Shauna asks. “What about a cupcake sale? I bet if we asked the PTSA, we could get a bunch of moms to bake the cupcakes for free. My mom’s president of the PTSA.”
I don’t even have to look at Azure to catch her reaction.
“We’re going to need more than a cupcake sale,” Azure says. “What about a silent auction, or a tag sale? Everyone has junk to sell.”
“That’ll take too long to organize,” Shauna says.
Before Azure blows, Connor jumps in. “What about a Battle of the Bands? We could charge the bands who want to play, like, twenty-five bucks, and also charge admission. If one of the bands wasn’t major suckage, maybe they’d agree to play at the prom.”
Major suckage. I love that.
“Has anyone even talked to a photographer?” Shauna asks. “Do we know how much they charge?”
Everyone’s quiet.
Azure says, “We can ask the photography club if one of them wants to do it.”
“I don’t want some amateur photographer taking blurry pictures of my senior prom,” Shauna says.
“Fine.” Azure huffs. “But if a professional is going to charge us something like a thousand dollars, we’re going to have to sell a shitload of cupcakes.”
“Unless we get more corporate sponsors.” Shauna looks directly at Mr. Rosen. His head’s bobbing forward, like he’s drifting off. “Mr. Rosen,” Shauna raises her voice. He jolts awake. “
Have you found any more sponsors?”
“No,” he says. “Sorry. I just don’t have time. Not with evaluations coming up. You guys may be on your own.”
Shauna turns her attention to Radhika.
Radhika says softly, “My dad can’t help us.”
Shauna sighs. “What about favors? Have we talked about that?”
“What exactly are favors?” I ask. “Like, friends with benefits?”
Connor stifles a laugh.
Shauna deadpans me. “Party favors. Keychains and pens and candles and picture frames. Mints, buttons, tote bags—”
Azure says, “I didn’t know we had to finance Target.”
“It’s tradition,” Shauna says. “People like having something to take home with them that they can keep forever to remind them of prom.”
“How much do the favors cost?” Azure asks.
“I don’t know. Ten dollars or so per person, I guess, if the decorations committee buys in bulk.”
Azure goes, “So they’re responsible?”
“Yeah, but it still comes out of our budget.”
“Anything else?” Azure asks Shauna.
Shauna considers. “No, I think that’s it.”
“Thank gawd,” Azure mutters.
This is adding up to be more of a royal wedding than a prom.
AZURE
My self-affirmation for the day is: “Love can be found in surprising places.” Since I’ve flipped so far ahead, I check today’s date and see that it’s Valentine’s Day. My favorite day of the year—when I have a girlfriend to lavish with love. Since I don’t… but I’m working on it… I find some construction paper and cut out a heart for Radhika. In my drawer are lots of lace gloves that I’ve sheared the fingers off of, so I choose a pink one and cut out a small heart, which I glue to the paper. I also trim my affirmation in the shape of a heart and stick it inside. I sign it Anonymous, even though she’ll know it’s from me.
As soon as Luke, Radhika, and I split up to head for class, I run back and slip the heart through Radhika’s locker vent.
After first period, when I open my locker, something drops to the floor. It’s a computer-generated card, with a rose-petal border and a poem that fills the page. The title is “Longing for the One You Love,” and it’s by ShirLotta Tidwell. It says things about longing to touch my face and kiss my beautiful lips. Longing to sing and dance. Longing to be with me and join hearts…
The signature is a hand-drawn heart filled in with red ink. Wow, I think. Romantic. This isn’t a card one friend would give to another. And it’s all about longing. Dare I hope? My insides glow. She must’ve slipped it in my locker between first and second periods.
She slides in across from me at lunch and I smile at her. She smiles back. I’m going to ask her. I am. I know now she’ll say yes.
“I got four valentines,” she says. “I know one of them is from you. Thank you.”
Four! My self-confidence dissolves. I have to ask her before someone else does. I open my mouth, but the words won’t form. Instead, she asks me how she should tell her parents about Yale and I launch into my regular incoherent babble. Lunch ends without me asking her to prom.
Gaw. I have to do it today, on Valentine’s Day.
The next time I see her is after school in Studio 2B. Before I can even whisper a word, Shauna says, “Do you have the survey results?”
The survey. I almost forgot. I reach into my backpack and pull out the stack of stapled reports.
“Wow,” Luke says. “Who organized these?”
“I did.”
“I’m impressed.”
I mock-sneer at him. “Let’s start with page one,” I say.
“Oh, I wanted to start at the end.” Luke fake-sulks.
I kick him in the shin.
“Ow!” he cries. “You just bruised the walking wounded.”
He’s right. “I’m sorry.” It pains me to even look at his two black eyes.
Shauna reads from the survey, “Sixty-eight percent of respondents chose Under the Sea for the theme.” She gloats. I bite my tongue. “Second place was Starry, Starry Night. Combined, the three Rainbow themes didn’t even add up to thirty percent.”
“Only ninety-two people responded,” Radhika says. “Maybe if we’d given them more time…”
“No one really cares,” Shauna says. “All we did was waste a week.”
I glare at her, and I’m not the only one.
“I’m just stating a fact. Look at the survey.”
We turn the page and Connor and Luke must read the write-in themes first, because they break into laughter. The list includes:
Psycho Killer in the Crowd
Nude Beach Party
Tranny Transformers
Food Fight
Vamps and Tramps
Send in the Clowns
Shauna says, “I warned you about letting people write in their own ideas.”
I sigh. “Let’s turn to page three.”
We flip in unison. Music. Fifty-one percent want a live band, while forty-nine percent want a DJ. Pretty even. That’s all we asked, but there are, like, fifteen write-ins for bands people want us to get.
Lady Gaga. I’m so sure.
The Black-Eyed Peas.
Mumford & Sons.
“Hey,” I say, “someone wants Mercy Her. Since you have a close, personal connection, Luke, why don’t you see if you can get hold of Leilani? I bet she’s waiting for your call.”
He curls a lip at me.
I read from the survey, “Rockabilly Willy?” I snort. “Are they for real?”
“Hey,” Connor goes, “don’t diss my dad’s band.”
Shauna giggles. It’s a weird sound coming from her.
Radhika says, “It’s hard to know if these are real bands or made-up ones. If they’re local and legitimate, we might be able to hire them.”
“I recognize a couple of the names,” Connor says. “Maybe if we organize a Battle of the Bands, we can audition them and see how good they are.”
We turn to the next page. Prom traditions: Do you want a prom king and queen? A royal court? If yes, what kind of royal court?
More than ninety-three percent answered yes. The royal court was prince, princess, duke, duchess, blah blah blah.
“They’re not thinking outside the box,” I say.
Luke says, “Or even outside the closet.”
Shauna shrugs. “That’s what people want.”
We have no response to that.
The next page forces people to open their minds a crack. I’m the one who came up with the question: If we have a nontraditional prom, what activities would entice you to come?
We gave them choices like a drag show, karaoke, and a gaming competition.
“Hey,” Luke says, “who removed Chippendales and the Thunder from Down Under?”
“I did,” I say.
“Party pooper.”
Around thirty percent liked our ideas. More were added:
Pony rides
Tatting and piercing
Car show
Face-painting
Disco dancers
Street-dance contest
Poetry slam
Paintball war
Free weed
Pin the tail on the prom com donkeys who are planning this prom
“They’re making fun of us,” Shauna says.
“You think?” Connor goes.
Shauna’s cheeks flush.
He adds, “People are just so closed-minded.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I guess we could do face-painting. A car show might get more guys there.”
“I really, really want a drag show,” Luke says.
“Or we could have a drag race,” I suggest.
Shauna asks, “What’s a drag race?”
Luke explains, “People in drag race. But it’s hard to run in heels.”
It takes her a minute, but she actually smiles.
“Let’s look at the last page
,” I say. There are lots of positive responses for the people-matching program, and for signing up to join groups on Prom Central. The only write-in is blind dates.
“I hate blind dates,” Shauna says.
“Me, too,” everyone chimes in.
We mull over the numbers and suggestions. I say, “The only way to please everyone is to go with everything. How much are pony rides?”
“Get real,” Shauna says. “That was a joke.”
“How do you know?” I reply. “You’re the one who said to give them what they want.”
Shauna’s jaw clenches. “Mr. Rosen?”
He glances up from the survey. Up until now he’s been quiet.
“You know a lot of this is bogus,” she says.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he answers.
“Come on!” Shauna cries.
“Did we say this was a democracy, that we’d act on the majority vote?”
We all look at him. Is he suggesting that we… cheat?
He leans his elbows on the table. “Okay. We know the majority of people will always go with the status quo. It’s what they know and what their expectations are. Remember, your prom is about maintaining the status quo while expanding the traditional prom to pull in the outsiders.”
“Right,” I say.
“Pony rides?” Shauna goes.
“We might leave that one off the list.” Mr. Rosen smiles.
“We did get some interesting ideas,” I admit. “And band suggestions. And people said they want to come in groups. The survey shows there are those who’d come if they had a date, so I think Radhika should work on the matching program.”
“It’s already done,” she says. “All I have to do is put it up on Prom Central.”
Connor says, “If it’s okay, I’ll post the Battle of the Bands and see who signs up.”
“Fine with me,” I say.
Shauna sighs loudly. “We still need a theme.”
“Not Under the Sea,” I plead. “Please?”
“I love Over the Rainbow,” Radhika says.
I so want to kiss her.
“Me, too,” Connor says.
I’m pretty sure Luke’s thinking he’d like to kiss Connor.
“Do I get a vote?” Shauna asks.
It's Our Prom (So Deal With It) Page 12