It's Our Prom (So Deal With It)

by Julie Anne Peters

  He texted her? That’s so rude. My respect for Connor just plunged below zero. I’m glad Radhika turned him down.

  “Do you know who?” Shauna asks.

  “No,” I say. I don’t know and I don’t care. We both set down our bins and Shauna gives me this look like she doesn’t believe me. “He could’ve told you in person, at least.”

  She blinks back tears. Wonderful. Now she’s going to get all weepy, and I’ll have to comfort her. “I know people think I’m the one who told the PTSA about what we were doing for prom, but I’m not,” she says. “My mom kept asking, and I told her it was prom. As in P-R-O-M, and we were doing things a little different to get people to come. That’s all I said.” A tear slides down one cheek, then a second tear slides down the other.

  If it was anyone but Shauna, I’d hug her.

  Shauna swipes her nose on her sleeve. “I really do support this prom. It could’ve been anyone who told their parents. Everybody has access to Prom Central.”

  Which, I realize, is true. Any of the prommies could’ve run to their mommies.

  “I don’t think we should change anything we planned to do,” Shauna says. “I know we have to take all those activities off Prom Central, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still do them. I’ve been thinking about it, and we can put up a closed Facebook page. We’ve come so far,” she says. “We can’t stop now.”

  Am I hearing these words from Shauna Creighton’s lips? She makes me feel fired up again.

  “At our Monday meeting, let’s talk to Mr. Rosen about it. I know he’s on our side,” I say.

  Shauna heads for the door. “I’ll be in to help sort after church tomorrow.” As she exits, I watch her go, thinking, Whatever my affirmation for today was, I’m rewriting it to read: “Once you get past the dark side of a person, you might just find the light.”

  As I drag into the house, I interrupt Dad and a woman in the kitchen, laughing. I stop in my tracks and say, “Excuse me.” Is this Lynda? It has to be. I duck my head and scurry across the living room toward the hallway.

  “Azure,” Dad calls. “Come back.”

  “Forget I’m here,” I say. “I was just leaving.”

  Dad stands at the end of the hall. “Come back here. I want you to meet Lynda.”

  Sure, her profile photo was far away and blurry, but she has to weigh at least twenty pounds more than her picture showed. Make that thirty pounds. I’m livid. She misrepresented herself to my dad, and he’s so naïve about women that he bought it.

  I don’t even take my jacket off; I just storm back to the kitchen and stand there with my arms crossed.

  She extends her hand to shake. “Your dad’s told me a lot about you,” she says.

  I have to take her hand, but I give her my wimpiest shake. I look her up and down. “All lies.”

  “Even the good stuff?”

  I eye Dad. He can’t possibly be into this woman. He’s a cop. He’s trained to see through people.

  He says, “I’ve asked Lynda to go to prom with me, and she’s accepted.” He beams at her.

  I’m going to be sick. I answer, “Groovy,” as Mr. Rosen would say.

  “Maybe we can go shopping for dresses.” Lynda smiles at me.

  Thanks, I think. I don’t shop at dressbarn.

  “Lynda’s cooking up paella,” Dad says.

  Which is why it smells fishy in here.

  “You’re welcome to stay, of course,” Lynda says.

  “I’m going out.”

  Dad’s eyes widen. “On a date?”

  I mock his shock. “It’s not unprecedented.” I leave them there and head out to parts unknown, wishing I’d just told the truth so I could hang in my room and decompress to music. I call Radhika. Voice mail. I call Luke. Busy. For the first time in my life, I go to the movies all by myself.

  Luke swings by to pick me up on Monday. “Radhika’s not riding with us anymore,” he says, answering my unspoken question. “She’s reenrolled in that early-hour seminar.”

  She’s buckling under her father’s threat. “We can’t let her father do this,” I say to Luke. “We have to pay for this prom. It’ll be cheaper now that we won’t need a license for the car show, and we’ll probably be forced to use a DJ after the PTSA hears Putrid Wixen. By the way, it wasn’t Shauna who narced on us.”

  He lifts his eyebrows, like, Oh, really.

  “She wants this alternative prom as much as we do. We were talking on Saturday, and she’s thought of a way we might be able to go ahead with everything we planned.”

  “Is it legal?” he asks.

  “Legal, yes. Ethical, questionable.”

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my senior year in detention,” he says.

  “So you’re ready to just give up?”

  He shrugs. “Who really cares about krunking and a poetry slam?”

  I can’t believe him. “What about the drag show?”

  “We can do that at Rainbow Alley whenever we want.”

  Unbelievable. Why is he even on this committee? He starts to get out of the car, but I yank him back in by his sweater sleeve.

  “Hey,” he snaps. “Don’t stretch the cashmere.”

  I stare at him, wondering who he is, really. I always thought he was on my side, my confidant. If not my best friend, then my second-to-best friend.

  “Oh, hey.” His eyes gleam. “Did Shauna tell you she asked Connor to prom?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That girl is so clueless. He asked me how to say no without hurting her feelings.”

  So he was the one who told Connor to text Shauna that he was going with someone else? I slug him so hard on the arm I hope it leaves a welt.

  “Ow! That really hurt.”

  “Good.” I swing my door open. Now Shauna’s heart is broken. If prom is supposed to be such a blissful event in everyone’s life, why is it only causing pain?

  There’s an extra person at prom com, and it isn’t anyone we want to see. Mrs. Flacco snarls, “You’re Azure, right?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Take a seat.” Everybody else is already here. Mrs. Flacco says, “We’re missing a person. I won’t abide people being late, even if this is an extracurricular activity.”

  I turn to Mrs. Flacco and say (even though I hate to confirm it), “Radhika is dropping out.”

  “No!” Shauna cries. “She can’t. We need her.”

  “She has a, um, conflict in her schedule.”

  Connor says, “What is it?”

  I want to snap at him, None of your business.

  Mrs. Flacco says, “Let’s get started. First of all, I’m supposed to pass out this letter from Mr. Rosen.” She opens a folder and takes out several sheets of paper. “Read it quickly.” She hands them all to me. I take the top one and pass the rest to Luke.

  Dear Azure, Luke, Connor, Shauna, and Radhika,

  My sincerest apologies for the situation you now find yourselves in on the prom planning committee. I take full responsibility for allowing the alternative prom ideas to get out of hand. I’ve been asked to resign my position as faculty advisor…

  I gasp.

  … but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your prom goes off without a hitch. I know what a special day it is for everyone, so I do hope you can encourage as many people as possible to attend. I believe in your goal of inclusivity, and I believe in you.

  It’s been a joy to work with you, and I wish you all the best.

  Phil Rosen

  Shauna’s in tears. Then she’s sobbing uncontrollably. Next to me, Luke murmurs, “Traitor.”

  Connor’s eyes are downcast. I doubt Shauna’s crying so hard about Mr. Rosen leaving.

  “Who are the officers?” Mrs. Flacco asks. “I don’t see that in any of Mr. Rosen’s notes.” She flips through his folder. “These notes are a mess.”

  No one answers. “Shauna, for heaven’s sake. Pull yourself toge
ther. You of all people should’ve been aware that the prom you were planning was a sham.”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” I jump in. “We were all in this together.”

  Mrs. Flacco doesn’t say, Then you’re all to blame, but the look on her face does.

  “Who’s the president?” she asks.

  At first, no one volunteers any information. She doesn’t scare me—much. “We don’t have officers,” I tell her. “We just discuss what we want to do, and agree or disagree. And we did a school survey.”

  “Yes, that ridiculous survey.”

  My blood begins a slow boil.

  “Has anyone been keeping notes, at least?” she demands.

  Luke’s hand shoots into the air. “I have, I have.”

  She narrows her eyes at him. “I’d like a copy.”

  “Do you have a printer on you?” he asks.

  She shoots him a steely glare. “If you could print them out and put them in my box tomorrow, that’d be sufficient.”

  “Done,” Luke says.

  “Also, I see that the prohibited activities are still listed on Prom Central. Who’s maintaining the website?”

  “Shauna is,” Luke says.

  He should shut up. The less Mrs. Flacco knows, the better.

  “And how are you set financially? Mr. Rosen’s records… according to what he has here, you’re still short more than fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “Only, like, a thousand,” I say. Maybe more now, what with the decorations committee draining the whole budget. “And we’ll have that by the end of our silent auction this week.”

  “You plan to make a thousand dollars with a silent auction?” She shakes her head.

  “We’ll get there,” I tell her. “We might have to hold two auctions, but we have plenty of donations.”

  She closes the folder and sits for a moment, looking at us. “I’m very disappointed,” she says. “Especially in you, Shauna. But I don’t blame you. You needed a knowledgeable and intelligent adult to guide you, and you didn’t have one. I’m very sorry you’re in this position. Shauna, if you’ll correct the website tonight, I’d appreciate it. And Luke, get me those notes. We need to work on organizing the auction.”

  “It’s already organized,” I say. “I know how to run a silent auction.”

  “So you have the tally sheets for each item, and the bidders’ numbers printed?”

  “Um, not yet,” I tell her. I sort of forgot.

  “And you do know the printing expense will have to be deducted from your earnings,” she says.

  “I planned to print everything at home, so there won’t be any cost.”

  She makes a noise, like harrumph, or something. Like she can’t believe I had the brains to think of that.

  She says to Luke, “Did you keep notes from this meeting?”

  He covers his mouth and goes, “Oops.”

  Mrs. Flacco scoots back her chair. “Meeting adjourned.”

  LUKE

  Azure’s partway right. I should be more devoted to the alternative prom. But I also know a lost cause when I see one. Flacco stepping in as advisor is major suckage. But maybe if she sees what a fabulous secretary I’ve been, she’ll raise my Civil Liberties grade a notch on her whipping belt.

  As I’m running the meeting notes through spell-check and cleaning them up nice and tidy, I log on to Prom Central and confirm what our prom’s been reduced to.

  What’s this? I refresh the screen to make sure I’m not seeing things. On Prom Central there’s an ad for free limo service. Free. Limo. Service.

  I call the number, and it’s an answering machine. Stan’s Super Sedan. I don’t leave a message. Who’s going to use Owen’s company when they can get Stan’s Super Sedan for free?

  I send a note to Shauna on Google docs to move A-1 Car Service to the top of the transportation section. I tell her to write underneath: “Best service in town.”

  That sounds like a hooker.

  I change it to: “Best value in town.”

  That sounds like a plumber.

  “Door-to-door service.”

  A given.

  “We make your prom special because you’re A-Number-One with us.”

  Gag. But I leave it. Then I have a thought. To Shauna, I write, “Say, ‘Free champagne and roses.’ ”

  Instead of bottled water, I’ll spring for fizzy apple juice and place a rose on the backseat.

  Owen comes in, whistling, and I punch off my computer. “What are you so happy about?”

  He pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and sits, tilting back and resting his feet on another chair. He twines his fingers behind his head. “Life is good. By the way, I had Black Panther stripped and painted. It’s now Silver Wolf.”

  I wince. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Chillax, bro,” Owen says. “The insurance paid.”

  I never know if he’s telling the truth.

  Owen glances over at the phone. “You’ve been taking prom reservations, right?”

  “Erm, right.” The phone hasn’t rung once since I’ve been home. “Do you know Stan’s Super Sedan?” I ask.

  “That bozo?” Owen tilts back farther in his chair. “Yeah, why?”

  I wonder if I should tell him. Owen’s counting on prom for his big seasonal boost.

  “Bozo is advertising free limo service for the prom.”

  Owen blinks at me, sort of unseeing, or seeing red.

  “I was thinking we could include champagne and roses.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

  “Or maybe you could lower your price a little.”

  Owen’s chair slips out from under him and he goes flying. His head hits the fridge. I smother as much laughter as I can. He picks up the chair and slams it down.

  “I moved A-1 to the top of the list,” I tell him.

  He growls, “I said don’t worry about it. I know how to handle my own business, Luke.” He grabs a Coke and bangs out the door.

  I’m worried. What if tomorrow’s headline reads BOZO FOUND IN BLOODBATH?

  Even though the costumes for the Mothballs are only half done, Britny assures me her mom will have them all sewn by the time we get back from spring break. I’m not worried—much. I ask Ryan, “How are the sets coming?”

  “They’re finished,” he says. “Do you want to put them up and take a look?”

  “Hella yeah.”

  The stage crew pulls the painted panels from behind a curtain. They slide Act One onstage. Ryan even numbered the panels with the act and scene numbers, so they’d go up in order. Smart.

  I stand back on the stage to get a look. I can’t take them in all at once, since they wrap around, so I go into the auditorium to check it out.

  OMG. They’re awesome. The art is abstract, black-and-white, almost impressionistic. If you squint or use your imagination, you can see a cityscape with crowds of people.

  A body comes up next to me, then another. Then everyone is milling around, gazing at the set. They’re oohing and aahing.

  “Ryan,” I call.

  He peeks around the edge of a panel.

  “Come out onstage.”

  He takes his sweet time, shuffling his feet and stopping in the wings. “Do you hate them?” he asks. “Because I can do them over.”

  “Yeah, they suck,” I say. “I can’t bear to look.” I cover my eyes with my arm. “Take them away.”

  “Luke!” Britny shoves me so hard I trip over the person next to me.

  Ryan slinks off. “Ryan, I’m kidding.”

  He slinks back.

  “They’re seriously cool. You’re seriously talented. Did I say ‘seriously’? Can we see Act Two?”

  I can almost feel him glowing from where I am. As he scrambles to take down the set, my eyes stray to the back of the auditorium, where Radhika is sitting. For the first time, Gabe’s not with her. It strikes me suddenly—what if he’s the one who asked her to prom?

  That’s not possible. He’s practical
ly engaged to Haley. If they’ve broken up, it hasn’t trickled down the rumor mill. I vow to ask Britny before we leave today.

  “Everyone get ready for a full run-through,” I tell the cast.

  I go back and sit next to Radhika. “ ’Sup?” I say.

  “Nothing.” A book is open in her lap, the numbers and graphs completely incomprehensible to me. “How’s it going with prom com?” she asks.

  “Rosen resigned and Flacco’s the advisor. You can take it from there.”

  Her nose wrinkles.

  “Oh, and Azure’s pissed. She thinks we abandoned her,” I say. The sadness in Radhika’s eyes penetrates me. “It’s not your fault,” I tell her. “We got carried away on the winds to Oz. We’ll still have a prom, and all will be right with the world.”

  Mario warms up with the opening number for the Mothballs. “Well, I better get my act together.”

  A small smile creases her lips.

  It’s enough to warm the cockles of my heart. Wherever those are.

  AZURE

  The silent auction bombs big-time. I don’t know if it’s because people have already left on spring break or because of the crappy weather, but I can almost count on my fingers and toes how many people show up. Mrs. Flacco blows in around 7:30, takes one look at the poor attendance, and seeks me out. I slump down in my chair at the cashier box and hide my face under my hand. She removes her leather gloves and sticks them in her pocket, then heads for the jewelry section.

  “Hi,” Radhika says. “How’s it going?”

  I can’t help myself. I’m so glad she’s here that I jump up and give her a hug.

  “Terrible.” I feel like bawling.

  “Hello, Azure,” Mrs. Dal says. “It looks like you have quite a selection.”

  “Yeah. If only we had people to bid.”

  Luke gets on the mike and announces that the bidding is fast and furious, telling people to get their bids in early or lose out on all the Antiques Roadshow unknown treasures. I roll my eyes at Radhika.

  “I think I’ll go look around,” Mrs. Dal says as she leaves us.

  “Don’t say it, and don’t think it,” I tell Radhika. “We’re not going to ask your dad for money. If we have to hold bake sales and silent auctions until the night of prom, we’ll raise the money.”