It's Our Prom (So Deal With It)

by Julie Anne Peters

  I wish he’d include us in his conversations. Or introduce me, at least. He obviously doesn’t feel comfortable associating with a bro. Especially a queer one.

  This band is like retro goth. The whole atmosphere is goth. Older people, more into that culture when it was the rage. I don’t think a hard-core goth band will fly at Roosevelt High.

  Owen yells in my ear. “What do you think?”

  I holler back, “Not so much.”

  He hitches his head toward the door. “We’re outta here.”

  More people fist-bump Owen on our way out. It takes forever to leave. As we climb into the taxi, I suction my ears with my palms, hoping to realign my eardrums and muffle the ringing. I stretch my jaw to pop my ears as Owen pulls into traffic.

  “The regular band broke up. Those guys suck,” Owen says.

  “Major suckage,” Connor and I say at the same time. We both laugh.

  Owen asks, “Do you want to hear DJs, too?”

  “Not really,” I say. “We pretty much all agreed we want a live band.”

  “We’ll try Trex,” Owen says. “See who’s playing.” A man steps off the curb to flag down the cab. Owen zooms by. “Can’t he see I’m off-duty?” Owen growls.

  Owen’s sacrificing fares?

  We stop at a red light and Owen swivels around to face me. He looks at Connor. He looks at me, then at Connor.

  I say what I’m thinking: “I can’t figure out what’s in this for you. Schlepping me around. Pretending we’re not related.”

  Owen doesn’t answer.

  It’s a mean thing to say, but it comes out anyway: “I guess that’s how bros roll.”

  Radhika is waiting on a patio chair outside her condo when I swerve to the curb. It’s a nippy day and she’s wearing her pink hoodie and black skinny jeans. She’s tall and refined. She has this grace about her.

  I get out, trot around the Caddie, and open the front door for her.

  As she slides in, she crunches her knees to her chest and gazes ahead, like she doesn’t want to engage in inconsequential chatter. Which is fine with me, because I have only one thing on my mind.

  We’re almost at Azure’s and still my mouth won’t open. I drive past Azure’s street on purpose.

  Radhika looks at me. “You missed the turn.”

  “Did I?” I smack my head. “Brain clot.” I brake at a stop sign and turn to Radhika. “Will you go to prom with me?”

  She freezes like an ice sculpture. Slowly, she lowers her legs. “Did you just ask me to prom?”

  I nod a hundred times. A car behind me honks. My foot hits the accelerator and we jerk forward. Then I gain control of my reflexes and pull to the curb to park.

  Radhika’s staring at me. Those dark, bottomless eyes. She lowers them and looks away.

  OMG. You know when you realize you just made the worst mistake of your life? This is that moment.

  I click on my signal to merge into traffic and take the next street to circle back to Azure’s.

  “Luke…”

  “Hey, it was a long shot,” I say. “Don’t worry about it.”

  As we enter Azure’s driveway, she hurries out of the house. She opens the front and back doors of the Caddie and waits for Radhika to join her in the backseat.

  Radhika says, “I’ll ride up here today.”

  “Can you smell me from that far away?” Azure asks. She scoots in and shuts the door. “Our water heater went out and I didn’t even get a shower. I know, I stink like a used Odor-Eater.”

  Neither Radhika nor I say a word.

  Azure goes, “Brrr. Turn up the heat, Luke. It feels like it’s going to snow.”

  I slow at the end of her driveway, then take a left toward school. I’d turned the radio off so I could ask Ra-dhika The Question.

  “Is this Day of Silence?” Azure says. “Oh my God. Did I forget it was Day of Silence?”

  “No,” I say. I want to add, It’s Day of Humiliation.

  Radhika twists her head to speak to Azure in the backseat. “Luke asked me to prom.”

  In the rearview mirror, I see Azure’s eyes bulge.

  “I’m really sorry, Luke,” Radhika says.

  “Like I said, it was a long shot.”

  Radhika crosses her arms, like she wishes she could disappear into herself. I know the feeling.

  Azure’s mute.

  Damn. Dammit. In a way, I’m relieved that it’s over with. Still, now I’ll be going to my senior prom alone.

  We ride the rest of the way to school in total silence. Awkward. I check Azure out in the mirror and she’s shooting me a death glare. What? What’d I say?

  As soon as we get to school, Azure flies out the back door and runs off. I figure Radhika will follow, but she lingers. “I don’t know what to say, Luke.”

  “Don’t say anything. We’re still good, right? Still buds?”

  Her eyes pool with tears. She says quickly, “I need to check something out in the library.” She takes off.

  I punch the hood. I’ve screwed everything up. Now nothing will ever be the same between us.

  As I stagger down the hall, everyone’s smiling or saying “Hi, Luke” or asking about the play. It’s like this dull buzz in the background. Suddenly I’m ambushed from the right and slammed into a locker. “I hate you!” Azure screams in my face. “How could you?”

  “What?”

  Her eyes burn with fiery rage. Just when I think she’s going to hurt me in a very physical way, she stomps off.

  What the holy hell?

  AZURE

  Mr. Rosen begins the meeting by asking Luke to read the minutes. I can’t even look at Luke, I hate him so much.

  “Azure?”

  At the sound of my name, I jolt out of my rage-induced blackout. “What?”

  “Do we have the survey up to estimate attendance?” Mr. Rosen says to me.

  “Yes. I haven’t looked at the numbers yet.” Actually, I did look, and they were dismal. Only twenty-six people said they were coming. It’s early, though, and everyone always signs up for stuff at the last minute.

  Luke, my frenemy, says, “Connor and I found two bands who’ll play for our price.”

  “What is our price?” Shauna asks.

  “Five hundred,” Luke answers.

  “When did we decide that?”

  “It’s the least amount they’ll take,” he says.

  Connor adds, “It seems reasonable to me.”

  Shauna shrugs. “I called around to photographers, and the cheapest one I could find was three hundred and fifty. That’s eight hundred and fifty more dollars we have to raise.”

  Geez, I think. People better donate the family jewels for the silent auction.

  Connor mumbles, “The two bands are Devolve Bliss and Putrid Wixen.”

  “What kinds of bands are those?” Shauna frowns.

  Luke and Connor exchange sideways glances and knowing smiles. I wonder what they know that we don’t. Not that I care. They’re both losers.

  “Do we get to hear them?” I ask.

  “Sure. We have their CDs,” Connor says. He pulls two CDs from his pack.

  Luke inserts the first one in his computer, saying, “This is Devolve Bliss.”

  We listen for about two minutes, until I say, “They’re awful.”

  Shauna goes, “I agree.”

  Luke pops out the CD. “This is Putrid Wixen.”

  We listen to them and, although I hate to admit it, they have a unique sound. It’s not screaming metal and heavy guitars, and the lead vocalist is a girl.

  “I like them better,” Shauna says. “Except for their name.”

  “ ‘What’s in a name?’ ” Luke recites. “ ‘That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ ”

  We all look at him.

  “Romeo and Juliet,” he explains.

  I want to punch him in the face. Make those bruises permanent.

  “Go ahead and book them,” I say. “Unless anyone has an objection.
”

  I glance at Radhika, who’s doing her eye-avoidance thing again. If she felt bad about rejecting Connor, she has to feel horrible about Luke. I’ll throttle him, I swear.

  “See if they’ll do it for cheaper,” Shauna says.

  Luke removes the disc. “They won’t. If we want them, we’ll have to pay five hundred.”

  Shauna grumbles.

  Mr. Rosen says, “I talked to our security guard here, and he says he does off-duty work to supplement his income, but it’ll cost three hundred dollars.”

  Shauna’s head hits the art table and she covers it with her arms.

  Who knew you had to raise a king’s ransom to put on a stupid dance? An idea strikes me out of nowhere, and I wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner. “Let’s wait on that,” I say.

  “We can’t wait too long,” Mr. Rosen says.

  “I know. Just until Wednesday.”

  Mr. Rosen says, “Oh, and Radhika, thank your parents for volunteering to chaperone.”

  “What?” Beside me, Radhika startles.

  “And Azure, your dad volunteered, too, so thank him.”

  “My dad?”

  “Is my mom chaperoning?” Shauna asks. “Because I told her absolutely not.”

  Mr. Rosen checks his list. “I don’t see her on here.”

  Shauna exhales relief. “Thank God.”

  Mr. Rosen adds, “We have less than two months now to put on this prom. Can we do it?”

  The silence lengthens. Why is everyone staring at me? Finally, I say, “Is the Pope gay?”

  That gets a giggle from Luke, but I glare him down.

  Shauna says, “I don’t know. I have this bad feeling that something disastrous is going to happen at the last minute.”

  My anger bubbles over. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “I don’t mean to be negative,” she adds.

  No. You just mean it’s all on my head if the prom sucks.

  It’s after ten by the time I get home. I took the bus straight to work so I wouldn’t have to look at my demon ex-friend’s face. Dad’s snoozing in front of the TV, sitting up. I wish I could sleep sitting up; I always have to lie on my stomach with my pillow punched down and my earbuds in, fantasizing about Radhika until eventually I drift off.

  The only thing I’ve had to eat all day is a salad at lunch, and I’m famished. I try to be quiet, but as soon as I rip open a bag of Doritos, Dad calls, “Is that you, Azure?”

  I wander into the living room. “Astute powers of deduction,” I say. “You should apply for detective.”

  He yawns.

  I stand before him, crunching a Dorito. “I wanted to run something by you,” I say. “You’re not chaperoning my prom.”

  He says, “Am, too.”

  “Are not. Because we need you on security detail.”

  His brow knits.

  “We have to have security, and the guard at school says he’ll do it, but it’ll cost us three hundred dollars. Isn’t that extortion? You should book him, Danno.”

  Dad lets out a short laugh.

  “I figure since you’re coming anyway, you can pat everybody down on their way in. See if you can borrow a metal detector for knives and box cutters.”

  “Azure…”

  “So that’s settled.” I head for my room.

  He catches up to me in the hall, snatching away the Doritos bag. I chase him back to the living room. He plops on the sofa and I grab the bag back.

  “Seriously. Will you do security?”

  He opens his hand for a Dorito and I give him one. “Moonlighting is frowned upon in the department.”

  “You’re not getting paid, so it’s actually not moonlighting. Is it?”

  “And I wondered how you got into Yale. Forgive me for ever doubting you.”

  I fake-smile at him.

  He wiggles his fingers for another chip and I sit next to him to share the bag. “Are you taking a special someone to prom?” he asks. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “You got that right.”

  “I only ask as your banker,” he says. “Since I know how much prom costs.”

  “Still none of your biz.”

  Letterman’s on, interviewing Angelina Jolie, who I used to be in love with. Now I’m only slightly infatuated.

  Dad says, “You know if you need money you can ask me.”

  “Okay. Give me money.”

  “For prom only. I assume you have a full scholarship to Yale.”

  I watch as Angelina moves her luscious lips. “How was your date with Annie Get Your Gun?” I ask, meaning the voluptuous Lynda.

  He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re a pistol.”

  “Glock or snub-nosed revolver?”

  We empty the bag of Doritos, then I head off to bed. It’s been an exhausting day, what with Luke almost destroying Radhika and me losing a third of my triumvirate. Surely Luke knows how fragile she is right now. What the hell was he thinking, asking her to prom? If he thought it’d lessen the pain of her stomping on Connor’s heart, he’s delusional.

  A blip of guilt pops on my radar. Maybe that’s exactly what he thought, as a friend. If he’d asked me, I would’ve told him to leave it alone. Then another possibility stakes a claim on my cerebral cortex: What if Luke asked her to prove he’s bisexual? Maybe she brought it up to him the way she did with me, and he saw it as a way to show us he’s an equal-opportunity asshole. If that was his reason, I’m going to crush him into fairy dust.

  LUKE

  I close the door of the Caddie just as a taxi pulls into the garage. I recognize the driver by his thick neck. Dobbs. Now the chili cheese dog I ate at Sonic threatens to come back up. I hurry to the house, hoping to avoid a confrontation. It works. But then I stall at the door, waiting for him to emerge from the garage to drop off his mileage record with Owen. He doesn’t. Don’t ask why I’m curious about what’s taking so long. Or why I’d purposely make myself a target. Or why I saunter back to see what he’s doing.

  The taxi door is open as I approach. I see that Dobbs has one leg sticking out. He’s bent over, doing something underneath the taxi’s odometer. I clear my throat and he thrusts his head up, banging it on the rearview mirror.

  “What the fuck?” he says.

  My question exactly.

  He’s holding a small screwdriver, which he slips into his pocket before lunging out of the cab at me. “Back off, faggot.” He pokes me in the chest. I wince because it hurts my bruised ribs.

  Dobbs slams the taxi door and swaggers off. He gets into his Jeep Grand Cherokee and roars away.

  Hmm. I open the door and check the cab’s odometer, making a mental note of the mileage.

  It bugs me all the way to the house. Not that Dobbs didn’t leave his mileage record; Owen has a system with his trusted drivers to bill them once a month. Something else isn’t right.

  Owen’s out on a run and his radio’s squawking. I hear him calling one of his drivers to pick up a fare at an assisted-living facility in Montbello. He keeps his books by hand and they’re a mess. I told him once I’d help him computerize his files, but heaven forbid I’d be involved in his business. The fares for yesterday and today are still waiting to be entered in his record book, and I see that Dobbs just took an airport run.

  He’s made thirteen DIA runs this week, counting this one. I know the mileage there and back, thanks to Mercy Her. Dobbs’s numbers don’t add up. I sit down to calculate what the total should be and what the odometer readings are. Sixty-eight miles are missing. Dobbs is pocketing fares.

  Busted. Owen needs to know that his wingman is robbing him blind.

  I can’t seem to get into my play, and my lack of focus rubs off on the cast and crew. Everything’s going wrong. The Mothballs miss their cue; Mario forgets a stanza in the first act; T.J. can’t remember the two lines of dialogue he does have. Finally, I say, “Let’s call it a wrap.”

  A presence looms behind me as I’m getting ready to leave. I turn and see that it�
��s Ryan. “I don’t have the sets done yet,” he says, “but they’re coming along.”

  “That’s good. You have time.”

  “Also…” he stalls.

  I shoulder my man bag, waiting for him to continue.

  He sticks his hands into his back pockets. “I had an idea for the closet. As it closes.”

  I thought we’d worked that out by having a door onstage that I’d slowly close, but I say, “Let’s hear it.”

  He scrapes his foot across the floor. “I was just imagining… since we’re going with black-and-white sets… if it wouldn’t be more, like, experiential to darken the stage and have people dressed in black come in and manually move two freestanding walls closer and closer together. You’d be between the walls.”

  I think about it, conjuring the scene in my mind. “Wouldn’t the audience be able to see what’s happening? I mean, even if the lights are out, they’re going to catch the movement.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’d be sort of symbolic that society has a role in keeping you in the closet. If you think it’s dumb—”

  “I think it’s genius.” I can see it now, how it fits into the theme and everything. “Maybe I’ll even get Mario to compose a number.”

  “It’d be more moving, or haunting, if it was done in silence,” Ryan says. He adds hastily, “Not that I’m trying to write your play.”

  “No.” I nod. “You’re right. Silence can be powerful.”

  His eyes meet mine. I notice for the first time they’re the color of soft moss. He smiles and backs away, picking up his backpack and jacket from the floor and dashing off. As I head out, I realize that the play was feeling stale. Or over-rehearsed. A new element may be just what it needs to add that spark.

  “Luke,” Radhika calls from the back of the theater. She gets up and heads my way. At the sight of her, my stomach goes into a tailspin.

  “I never answered your question. We are still good.” She smiles and all my bones turn to jelly. I’m overjoyed that my idiocy hasn’t affected our friendship, even though I wish we could be so much more.

  “Hey, Radhika,” Gabe says, coming up alongside her, “did you understand the limit with the Riemann integral? I’m so lost in AP Calc.”