The Gay Girl's Guide to Ruining Prom

by Siera Maley

  He left me alone and I immediately took out my cell phone to let Skylar know that I was here. Once Devon had disappeared inside, I slipped out of the car myself and wandered up the driveway, past where the group from earlier was playing keep-away with the clothing they’d somehow stolen from their victim. I sped up a little to move past them, dodged a couple making out on the front porch, and then ducked in through the front door, wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into.

  Inside, masses of people were wandering around with drinks in their hands. I spotted Devon mixing a drink for himself in the kitchen and hung back in a corner nearby while I waited for him to leave.

  I didn’t recognize anyone, which wasn’t unexpected. Devon had started frequenting parties with his old friends during our senior year, and Skylar only tagged along twice: once with me, and once without, which made this only the second time I’d been to one. And by the looks of things, it was going to be hard to find Chelsea at all, let alone to harness the confidence I’d need to get her to like me in a setting where I couldn’t help but be uncomfortable. I met girls in classes at school or because we were in the same afterschool clubs. This was a little above my paygrade, so to speak.

  My phone buzzed and I knew it was Skylar. “Seen Chelsea yet?” she asked me. She’d shown me a picture earlier in the week, and as it turned out, I’d needed it. It’d genuinely felt like I was seeing Chelsea for the first time. She looked much different now than when I’d known her as the awkward coin-collecting weird-music-listening girl, and even back then, she’d still been cute. Now she no longer had braces and she’d grown her dark hair out past her shoulders. Her eyes were striking and she had sharp, angular features that’d make her look perfectly at home in the kind of teen magazines my mom used to try to get me to read back in middle school. Skylar had been right about her being hot.

  “No, and this sucks. I’m recalling that I also hate parties.”

  “That’s because you hate fun. Just relax.”

  I sighed at her response, mumbled, “I don’t hate fun,” and put my phone away. Devon had abandoned the kitchen, so it was safe to go make myself something to drink.

  I elbowed my way past several bodies, glared at a guy who tried to grab my hips and dance with me, and then squeezed out of the crowd and into the kitchen, where a line had formed by the sodas and alcohol. It took a few minutes, but eventually I got a drink and managed to find a spot on a couch in one of the emptier rooms, where I could move from point A to point B without constantly being chest-to-back with two different people.

  There was a positive to all of this, at least, I realized as I sat alone, sipping a drink that tasted horrible in the middle of a bunch of strangers I’d hopefully never see again, and that was that Skylar’s massively immoral plan was going to fail before it ever took off in the first place. If I couldn’t find Chelsea, I couldn’t talk to her, and short of trying to talk me into running into her in some other fashion, there was nothing Skylar could do about it. I’d promised her one attempt, and this was it. I didn’t owe her anything else, and even if I had to give up my last chance at repairing my friendship with Alex and Wes, maybe it was for the best. Maybe all of us were better off just moving on, even if it meant the only person left who loved me was Skylar.

  Two boys abandoned their spots on the couch beside me, and seconds later two girls collapsed onto it in their places, midway through a make-out session. I rolled my eyes and scooted away from them as several boys ogled them, then stood abruptly when a larger crowd began to gather and I realized this was unintentionally turning into some sort of show.

  I’d just gotten off of the couch when the first person I recognized came charging through the crowd, elbowing about a dozen boys out of the way in the process. “Fuck off!” she shouted to them, and then she reached the girls on the couch and forcefully pulled them apart. “You guys are embarrassing,” I heard her tell her giggling friends, and then she yanked them both to their feet and added, “and you’re both gonna thank me for this tomorrow.” As she tugged them both back through the crowd by their hands, she announced, “Show’s over, assholes!” Her friends laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard, clearly so drunk they could hardly walk straight, and then they all disappeared into the crowd and out of sight. I stared at the spot where they’d vanished for a few seconds, then retrieved my phone.

  “Found Chelsea,” I sent to Skylar without thinking about it. It wasn’t until the message had already been delivered that I realized there was no going back now without incurring the wrath of my scorned best friend. I had to try for her.

  “Yes!!!” she replied. I pocketed my phone, sighed, and then moved to head back into the crowd, intent on figuring out where exactly Chelsea and her friends had disappeared to.

  3

  When I finally found Chelsea ten minutes later, she was out on the street in front of the house, midway through helping the second of her friends into the backseat of an Uber. I watched from the porch for a moment, grimacing when her friend banged her head on the car before half-falling into the seat, and silently hoped that Chelsea was going to climb in with them, leaving me in the clear. For a moment, I let myself fantasize about returning to my best friend, putting on my best disappointed face, and reluctantly explaining that Chelsea had left to take care of her drunk friends before I’d ever gotten the chance to flirt with her.

  But instead she closed the car door behind her friends, said something to the driver, and then took out her phone and pressed a few buttons before the car drove off. She watched it go until it was out of sight, then pocketed her phone and turned back toward the house. Instinctively, I looked away and hid behind my cup, downing the rest of my drink in one fell swoop without thinking about it.

  As I coughed away the burning in my throat, Chelsea came closer, clearly intending to head back inside. Panicking, I turned away so that she wouldn’t see my face and tried to figure out what my best move was. Bumping into her was so overdone, but calling out to her was out of the question, given how different she looked now. Waiting for her to notice me was risky. Or maybe it was best to just keep my face hidden, hope that she wouldn’t recognize me, and then try again when I was a little more composed.

  I sucked in a breath and squeezed my empty cup tighter, tense, and then turned and watched with horror as the condensation sent it slipping out of my fingers with a soft pop!

  It clattered to the floor and rolled right past the front door, where Chelsea side-stepped it and then paused, looking around for its owner. She spotted me and I moved quickly, on autopilot.

  “Sorry. Slipped.” I took the two steps to close the distance between us and then bent down to pick it up. When I’d straightened up again, she was still watching me, and I showed off the cup with a short nod. “Probably shouldn’t lose this.”

  She laughed. “Or maybe you should.”

  “I’m not drunk,” I declared defiantly. Words came easily now that I wasn’t busy freezing up in my own head. “Just clumsy.”

  She took on a more serious look and nodded with faux confidence. “Uh huh. Definitely.”

  Before I could reply, a large boy nudged Chelsea’s shoulder and interrupted, “Excuse me. Trying to get inside, here.”

  “Oh.” She moved toward me, and I took a step back to give her space as the boy lumbered past her and into the house. She glared at his back and rolled her eyes, then faced me again with a small smile. “Zoey Seever,” she said.

  I raised my eyebrows, genuinely surprised, and then remembered again that she looked too different for me to pretend to recognize her. Instead, I asked, “You know me?”

  She grinned. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” When I shook my head, she clarified, “Chelsea McDaniel. From Littlebrook.”

  I gaped at her, trying to channel my reaction to seeing the pictures Skylar had shown me. The drink I’d downed was starting to take effect and I could tell it was masking my bad acting. “Whoa! Hey! You look so different! In a good way, I mean
.” I shook my head and winced. “I mean, you were pretty in middle school, too.” I groaned inwardly and reminded myself to never drink around girls again, then looked anywhere but at Chelsea for fear of realizing just how much I was embarrassing myself. “And now. So.”

  “Thanks,” she laughed. “You’re pretty, too.” I forced myself to make eye contact again as she gestured toward my shirt. “I like your top, by the way.”

  I looked down at myself, caught an eyeful of way too much cleavage, spent a millisecond trying to decode if Chelsea was flirting with me or not, and then returned my gaze to hers and gave what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Thanks. A friend bought it for me.” I got an idea and glanced around with feigned concern, then asked her, “Did you come here with friends?”

  She scoffed and shot me an annoyed look. “Yeah. And just sent them both home in an Uber rather than babysitting their drunk asses. So now I’m alone. You?”

  “I hitched a ride with a friend of a friend and he ditched me right away to go hit on girls,” I said. “So my plan was to drink alone until he gets bored and lets me leave.” I shook my empty cup for emphasis.

  “You should throw that away; it’s been on the ground,” she said with a chuckle and gently took it from me. “I’ll go get new drinks for us. If you want to hang out…?” She raised an eyebrow at me, uncertain. “Since we’re both stuck here alone anyway. Parties suck when there’s no one to enjoy them with.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or the exact opposite at everything going so smoothly so far, but I nodded anyway and told her, “Sure. I’ll wait here.”

  “Awesome.” A couple nearby ditched the porch swing a dozen feet away and Chelsea and I exchanged a quick look.

  “Actually, I’ll wait there,” I decided, and hastily moved to claim the swing.

  “Be right back!” she called out.

  As soon as she was gone, I pulled out my phone and started to type out a text to Skylar. “Met Chelsea. We’re hanging out.”

  I stared at the text for a long moment, torn, and then hastily deleted it and put my phone away. Texting Skylar was only locking myself into doing things I wasn’t sure I wanted to do. It seemed like a better idea to set my own boundaries tonight and then update her later.

  I closed my eyes and sat back in the swing, taking a few deep breaths. Chelsea was just a girl, same as anyone else. An attractive girl whose reputation and history put me a little on edge, sure, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle given my own recent string of flings. I just had to have a nice night with her and make her want to see me again, then go from there. If I didn’t want to follow through, Skylar couldn’t force me. I just had to get through tonight.

  “Be normal,” I mumbled to myself. “You’ve flirted with girls dozens of times. Just because you’re lying to this one doesn’t mean anything has to change.”

  I opened my eyes and watched people enter and exit the house for the next few minutes, trying not to think too hard about what to say to Chelsea. Over-planning was Skylar’s thing. Being myself had always worked for me, and the only way to do that was to let everything play out naturally.

  Eventually, Chelsea came back with two cups and a sour look on her face. “Ugh,” she groaned as she collapsed next to me and handed me one of the cups.

  “It’s packed in there,” I agreed, assuming she was referring to how long she’d been gone. “It took me forever to get a drink last time.”

  “I saw this guy I know,” she explained instead. “Well, I don’t really know him, but he knows someone I dated and I’m hoping she isn’t here. I knew there’d be people from your high school here, but I didn’t think she’d want to come.” She waved a hand with sudden clarity and looked apologetic. “Sorry. You don’t wanna hear about my ex drama.”

  I felt a surge of anger at the flippant way she talked about Skylar, but I forced it down and shrugged my shoulders. “It’s cool. I’m in the same boat with an ex.”

  She grinned. “What’s your guy’s deal?”

  “Girl,” I corrected, and she started coughing on a sip of her drink and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. I raised my eyebrows at her while I waited for her to stop, genuinely amused.

  “Sorry,” she managed to get out.

  “Is it that shocking?” I wondered. “I mean, you were kind of the first one to get a hint.”

  “We were forced into that,” she reminded me, finally regaining control of herself. “And no, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  I laughed at her with disbelief. “I let you kiss me!”

  “I thought you felt sorry for me,” she insisted. “And you literally never mentioned it again.”

  “Because I was a closet case and in denial,” I explained. “And because we promised we’d say we didn’t do anything so people would leave us alone. I wasn’t exactly about to go around talking to everyone about it.”

  “Yeah, but you never talked to me about it.” She sounded a little disappointed as she lifted her legs onto the swing and tucked her knees against her chest. I busied myself with my drink for a moment. “I guess it’s a surprise, yeah,” she eventually added. “Has it been a while?”

  I shook my head. “Only came out last fall.”

  She smiled. “Oh, so you’re new to this.”

  I scoffed. “Says who? For the record, I have it on good authority that I’m a massive slut.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, pressing a palm to her stomach as though to try to contain it, and then offered me the cup in her other hand with an enthusiastic, “Cheers to that!”

  I grinned and tapped her cup with mine, already plotting revenge in my head. I hated her. Well, I didn’t hate her. I actually kind of liked her, and in some universe where she’d never dated my best friend, I’d probably get along great with her. But I hated her for what she’d done to Skylar, and how little it’d seemed to affect her. She’d moved on to flirting with me so easily.

  Newly determined, I turned in my seat to face her and raised a suggestive eyebrow. “So you have a lot of experience?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on what you think is a lot. More than I had when I was thirteen and had no idea what I was doing, that’s for sure.”

  I forced a laugh. “Yeah.”

  She slapped at my arm with mock offense. “Hey! You’re supposed to say, ‘I don’t know what you mean, Chelsea; you totally didn’t screw up both of our first kisses.’”

  “You missed my lips,” I reminded her, and couldn’t help but laugh for real as she dissolved into giggles herself.

  “It was dark! And I got them eventually,” she protested.

  “Clear evidence that you’re an excellent kisser.” I nodded sagely and she wrinkled her nose and hit my arm again, holding back another grin.

  “Whatever. You like girls now. It couldn’t have been terrible.”

  “Are you implying that if you’d been a bad kisser at thirteen I’d be straight?” I asked her.

  “No, I’m implying that you liked it and you’re just teasing me.” She winked at me and added, “And I’m also better now. Much better. For the record.”

  “In case I was curious,” I finished for her.

  She nodded with playful conviction. “Exactly.”

  I smiled and we just looked at each other for a moment. Her eyes dropped to my lips and I quickly lifted my cup to take a drink. The alcohol-fueled, fuzzy-brained part of me wanted to just kiss her. To move quickly, like I usually did. She was pretty and charming and so clearly interested, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d rejected someone I wanted who wanted me back. Not since Alex, anyway.

  But that wasn’t part of Skylar’s plan. And I’d already hurt her once with Violet. I wasn’t about to do it again. Especially not when she was the only friend I had left.

  Eager to break the tension, I lowered my drink and asked her, “So. Still listen to Owl City?”

  She pressed a palm to her forehead, immediately embarrassed, and thankfully allowed the change in subject
. “Oh my god. How do you remember that?”

  “I still have the CD you burned for me,” I said matter-of-factly. “Well, buried somewhere.”

  “Please stop,” she said, but she was smiling through her pained expression. “I don’t want to think about anything else I did in middle school.”

  “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. “That’s not bad. I mean, it’s not my style, but I made CDs for my friends all the time.”

  “C’mon, Zoey,” she said, shooting me a disbelieving look. “We were never friends.”

  “Ouch,” I replied instinctively, a little caught off-guard. “You invited me to your birthday party, didn’t you?”

  She stared at me for a long moment, open-mouthed, then let out a short laugh of realization and shook her head, lowering her gaze to her lap. “Oh, wow. I thought you were just not saying anything to be nice.”

  Now I was even more confused. “What do you mean?”

  Again, she seemed surprised by my response. “I can’t believe you seriously don’t know. The CD? The birthday invitation? The fact that I kissed you in a closet?” I stared at her blankly and she sighed, frustrated. “Zoey. I had a massive crush on you in seventh grade.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said, half-joking. My brain worked overtime to try to think back to middle school as Chelsea laughed and shook her head at me.

  “I totally did! You’re actually the first crush I remember knowing was a crush.” She sucked in a breath with sudden clarity and lifted her drink. “Okay, I so should not be telling you this. It’s embarrassing.”

  “You’re serious?” I pressed, watching her take a sip from her cup. She nodded when she was done.

  “Really. I swear.”

  “You’re making that up,” I insisted, still in disbelief. It made sense, now that I was really thinking about it, but it was just too convenient. Maybe she was only saying it because she thought it’d make me like her more.

  “I’m not! Seriously. Here, I’ll tell you the most humiliating part, but you have to promise not to get upset,” she said.