Questions I Want to Ask You

by Michelle Falkoff

I think about what Maddie said about Colin, how they talk about how nervous they are about college, how they’re trying to help each other out. Hearing Dad say basically the same thing makes me feel like a jerk. “You’re right,” I say. “I’ve been kind of selfish.”

  “Ah, I bet it’s not as bad as you think.” He pours himself a mug of coffee and waves the pot at me, but I shake my head. “Maddie knows you pretty well. Probably better than you think. Still, if you feel like you need to make it up to her, make sure you’ve got all your ducks in a row for tomorrow night.”

  Of course. It isn’t like I forgot, but I’d put it out of my mind. Tomorrow night is prom.

  I thank Dad for helping me clear my head, and then I go to my room to run through my list of things to do in the morning. I have to give the truck a bath, pick up my tux and Maddie’s corsage, and confirm the motel reservation—I don’t have enough money for both a limo and a motel, and I know which one is more important.

  Dad leaves for work, and I spend the rest of the night watching TV and checking my phone to see if Maddie’s texted me. Are we fighting for real? I type and delete what feels like a million messages, ranging from What’s going on? to You’re not breaking up with me, are you? to I’m going to miss you so much when you’re gone I don’t know what to do, finally landing on We still on for prom?

  I wait all night for a response but nothing comes in until the next morning.

  Of course we’re on. I’ll see you tonight.

  7

  I’m sure every guy thinks his girlfriend is the hottest girl in the world on prom night, but they’re all wrong, because none of them is going to the prom with Maddie. I’m waiting at the bottom of the stairs at her house with her parents, and after standing awkwardly with them for what felt like hours but was probably maybe ten minutes, max, Maddie has finally emerged from her room. I don’t even know how to describe her dress—it’s strapless and shimmery and fitted all down her body until it flares out in a little skirt right at her feet. The material is turquoise and green and iridescent and looks like scales, and she’s put matching streaks in her hair and made her makeup all turquoise and green too. Even her lips are blue, but in a way that’s more like the sea and less like drowning. The dress shows off her body in a way I can tell makes her feel good, nipping in her waist and making her look like a super-sexy mermaid.

  I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  Her dad looks pretty close to passing out, too, as she walks down the stairs and does a little twirl when she reaches the bottom. Her parents are extremely conservative, which is kind of ironic given what a hot mess her sister is. “You going to put on a sweater or something, sweetie?” he asks.

  Her mother purses her lips. “I thought we agreed on the black dress. The one with the high neck.”

  I almost start laughing, but I’m worried someone will punch me, and I don’t want it to be Maddie’s dad. Or her mom, for that matter. “Maddie, you look beyond amazing,” I say, hoping it will be enough to neutralize the damage I know her parents have already caused.

  Maddie flexes her biceps. “It seemed like a good time to show off all the hard work.”

  Her mother shakes her head. “I don’t know how you found a strapless bra with that figure of yours.” It’s clear she doesn’t mean it as a compliment.

  “Oh, it’s a very elaborate combo of electrical tape and Spanx,” Maddie says cheerfully. I recognize the tone; it’s the one she takes when she’s decided nothing her mother says is going to bother her. It’s like she puts up an invisible shield, and the subtle insults and digs just bounce right off. Kind of like Wonder Woman, who Maddie resembles right now.

  Maddie ignores her parents and comes right for me. “You ready to get out of here?”

  I hold up the corsage I picked out with a lot of help from the florist. It’s a bunch of white flowers on a stretchy band that she can wear as a bracelet. Like one of Wonder Woman’s golden cuffs. I don’t know what kind of flowers they are, but they smell good. I’m glad I didn’t get one I have to pin on her, because I wouldn’t want anything to hide any part of that dress.

  Maddie holds up the corsage and sniffs before putting it on. “Mmmm, freesia.”

  How do girls know this stuff? I hand her the matching boutonniere and ask her dad to take a picture of us with my phone while she pins it on me. I’d have thought her parents would be snapping pictures all over the place—Dad would have if he could have been here, and he made me promise to take a million and send them to him—but Maddie’s parents just stand there looking all cranky. Her dad agrees to take the photo, though, and he takes a couple of other pictures too.

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Brower,” I say. “I’ll bring Maddie home after the senior brunch.”

  He frowns, and for a second I worry Maddie didn’t actually get permission for all the prom stuff: the after-party, the motel, the brunch tomorrow morning. But he’s just frowning because that’s what he does, and he halfheartedly waves good-bye as I walk Maddie out to my truck.

  “Have a good time,” her mother says. “Make sure to pull up the dress if the bustline starts to droop.”

  Maddie rolls her eyes. “Such a Mom thing to say,” she mutters as I open the passenger door.

  “I hope her being an asshole isn’t getting to you. You really do look incredible, you know.” I’m already in my seat and buckled in before Maddie gets the rest of her dress stuffed into the front seat. Way to be a gentleman, Pack—it only occurs to me after the fact that she could have used some help. Especially since I’m not even sure whether she’s still mad at me. I did take her backpack and put it in the backseat with mine. That’s something, right?

  We’re quiet on our way over to the prom, though it’s not necessarily a bad silence—I can’t really tell. Sometimes being quiet with her feels more like real closeness than having an actual conversation with someone else.

  Prom is at a hotel two towns over from ours. It used to be at a country club the next town over, but a couple of years ago some junior got wasted and puked everywhere, and the school was invited to never come back. It’s a bummer, too—the country club is really pretty, with a wide-open main room and dance floor surrounded by a moat and flowers, with golf greens beyond that. (It’s where Mike Goldschmidt had his bar mitzvah party, so I still remember it well.) Now we’re stuck at a Hilton. At least it has a parking lot.

  I take Maddie’s arm as we walk toward the entrance. “I might need you to prop me up tonight,” she says. “These shoes are a bitch to walk in.” I look down but can’t really see what she’s talking about, since her dress goes all the way to the floor. She sticks out one dyed-teal strappy sandal with scarily tall sharp heels.

  True to her word, Maddie stays on my arm as we enter the reception hall. The hotel isn’t exactly new, so the hall is all frosted green glass and chrome and angles. Not super festive, even with the decorations the prom committee brought. We don’t have themes like other schools, so there are some disco balls in random places and glitter everywhere, but that’s about it.

  I can’t understand how the whole party doesn’t stop to take a deep breath when Maddie walks in. She looks so gorgeous, and so unusual compared to the other girls, who mostly wear long, slim dresses in black and blue. They look grown-up and sophisticated, sure, but they all look the same.

  Prom itself is kind of lame. The music is too loud to hear anyone talk, and it feels like we’re all just killing time until the after-party, when everyone can let loose. Maddie and I slow-dance a couple of times, but mostly I sit by myself at a table, avoiding the sugary punch, while Maddie and Kelsey and everyone run around talking about how great everyone looks and wondering about who’s going to be on the prom court. We stay until the announcement, mostly just to see if anyone we know will make it on there. Brooke ends up getting named to the court, and some jocks end up being king and queen, no shock there. We clap for Brooke, and then it’s time to move on.

  The after-party is at the Clam Shack, a restaurant owned by one o
f the senior kids’ parents, which means not only can we get it for free after-hours, but no one’s checking to see what’s inside. Some of the cooler parents collect keys at the door, figuring everyone knows drinking is going to happen somewhere, and this way they can keep an eye on us. The cops stay away too, opting instead for five times the number of speed traps in case anyone manages to drive drunk anyway. Thankfully I’m not in charge of booze tonight, though someone clearly is—there are coolers full of beer and hard lemonade all over the place, in between all the game tables: pool, foosball, air hockey.

  I’m driving, so even if I wanted a drink there’s no chance I’d have one, but I wasn’t expecting Maddie to drink either. She grabs a hard lemonade as soon as we walk in, though, and glares at me when I glance over at her. “It’s prom night,” she says. “Lighten up.”

  There’s nothing that makes me want to lighten up less than someone telling me to lighten up. Maybe she’s still mad at me. I decide to give her a little space, just in case, and wander off to play Ping-Pong with Mike. I haven’t magically developed hand-eye coordination, but Mike hasn’t magically gotten less wasted—he was pounding a flask in the bathroom at prom—so we’re pretty evenly matched. The game keeps me from checking on Maddie, though after missing the ball a bunch of times because I’m craning my neck to find her, Mike’s had enough. “Get out of here, Pack,” he says. “You’re not even trying.”

  “You’re right.” I hand off the paddle and head over to where Maddie teeters in her high heels, talking to Colin. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken off her shoes already, but apparently she isn’t feeling much pain. Maybe she’s had more to drink than I realize. I get to her just as she’s about to tip over; she falls into my arms like we’re in some sort of romantic comedy. Except it doesn’t feel all that romantic to me.

  “Oh, Pack,” she says. “Always there to rescue me. As if I need rescuing.”

  “You’re the strongest girl I know,” I say. “Of course you don’t need rescuing.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. I might need to be saved from these shoes.” She smiles, and I know we’re okay.

  “You can go barefoot,” I say. “I won’t judge.”

  “Me neither,” says Colin.

  Ugh, I forgot he was even here. I have to remind myself that I resolved not to be such a dick about the two of them.

  Maddie wrinkles her nose. “Have you seen the floor here? Besides . . .” She leans over and whispers in my ear. “Didn’t you get us a room? I need to get out of this dress, not just the shoes.”

  My face turns bright red even as I realize she might just be saying the dress is uncomfortable, not that she’s desperate to get naked with me. “Message received.” I pick Maddie up and sling her over my shoulder, caveman-style. “Sorry, bro,” I tell Colin. “Got to go ravish my girl.” It’s not nice, but I can’t help myself.

  Maddie laughs as I move through the room as fast as I can. “I could have managed,” she says as I deposit her next to the car.

  “It would have taken way longer. Besides, you can’t just say stuff about taking off your dress and not expect things to move fast.”

  “Very funny,” she calls out as I walk over to the middle of the parking lot, where someone’s mom is sitting in a lawn chair reading a backlit e-book. She doesn’t look up until I’m right in front of her.

  “How much did you have to drink?” she asks.

  “Nothing. What do you need me to do?”

  She peers at me closely. “You’re Joe Walsh’s kid?”

  I nod.

  “Your dad would kill you if he caught you driving drunk,” she says. “That ought to do it. Which keys are yours?”

  “Killer CrossFit tag,” I say, and she hands them over.

  I come back to the car and open Maddie’s door. She doesn’t stuff the dress in right away this time; instead, she sticks her legs out the door where I’m standing. “Help. Please. I can’t bend in this thing.”

  I laugh until I actually get the little clasps unhooked on the teeny fasteners of her sandals, at which point I see the deep grooves in her skin from where the ribbony straps cut into her. “No wonder you were done walking. That looks painful.”

  “I’m good as long as nothing’s bleeding,” she says. “But remind me never to wear high heels again, ever.”

  I won’t forget the look of her feet anytime soon. Being a girl seems really hard. “On it,” I say.

  The motel isn’t far from the after-party, and it’s known for being lax about renting to teenagers on prom night, so we won’t be the only high school couple there. I’m all excited about what’s going to happen when we get in there until it hits me that I don’t know how much Maddie’s had to drink. Dad never stopped the consent education, well past the point he knew I understood. He’d text me links to random articles and leave pamphlets around the house. I’d been so nervous the first time with Maddie that I’d asked permission for every single thing we did, until it became part of what made it all exciting. “Can I kiss you here?” Yes. “Can I touch you here?” Yes. “Do you want me to—?” Yes, yes, yes. It’s part of our secret language now.

  But there’s nothing less appealing than the idea of being with Maddie if she’s not all the way into it, so I have to make sure she’s sober first. She doesn’t seem all that drunk on the drive; she chatters away about how cute all the other girls looked, how she’s always thought prom was overrated but how she’d had more fun than she thought. Did we even go to the same prom? Maybe I just don’t know how to tell if she’s wasted; maybe she sounds fine and just says weird shit.

  I park the car right in front of our room—I picked up the key this morning—and ask Maddie whether she wants me to grab her sneakers or carry her into the room.

  “I’ll make a run for it,” she says. “The concrete doesn’t look nearly as gross as the Clam Shack floor.”

  She’s not kidding about the run—she picks up the skirt of her dress and darts over to the room as fast as I’ve seen her run in any of our workouts. I get our backpacks out of the backseat and meet her at the door. I’ve barely got it closed behind me when Maddie pulls me to her by my cummerbund (turquoise, to go with the dress). “Can I kiss you?” she asks.

  “Isn’t that usually my line?” I say. “But as long as you’re asking . . .” I lean in, and she kisses me in a way that makes me think getting this motel room is the most genius idea I’ve ever had.

  “Can I—?”

  “Hold on a sec. Let’s see where we actually are.” I turn on the light and then think maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. The room is kind of sad, really. Peeling gold wallpaper, matted and stained greenish carpet, matching greenish comforter that was once embroidered with flowers but now just has threads popping out all over the place. But the bed is queen-size and it’s ours for the night.

  “It’s better than the backseat of your car,” Maddie says. “Now come on, help me out here.” She turns around so I can unzip her dress.

  I stand behind her and kiss the smooth white skin of her neck before tugging the zipper down. If this were a movie she’d be naked underneath, and I could just keep kissing all the way down. But she wasn’t kidding about the Spanx and the electrical tape—she’s all bound up under the dress, and I have no idea how to set her free.

  “Don’t look,” she says. “It’s scary under there. You have my bag?”

  I hand her the backpack and she takes it into the bathroom. I hear the scratchy sound of her ripping the electrical tape, followed by a squeal. After a minute she comes out in a long T-shirt. I’m still in my whole tuxedo. “Guess it’s time to ditch this,” I say, and take off the jacket.

  Maddie undoes my tie and throws it across the room. Then she reaches down and unhooks the cummerbund. “This is kind of like taking off a girl’s bra.”

  “Not as much to look forward to, though.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She throws the cummerbund near where the tie landed, then starts unbuttoning my shirt. This is new. I know Maddie lik
es the things we do together, especially since I convinced her to teach me what worked with her, but she’s not usually the aggressor. I’m into it, but I’m not sure where it’s coming from.

  I help her take off my shirt. Then she reaches for the button on my pants and says, “Can I take these off?”

  This seems like a good time to hit the pause button. “Everything’s okay, right?”

  Maddie frowns. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  I’m not sure how to say what I’m feeling, and I don’t want to say something that will offend her. “I want this to be a perfect night for us, so I just want to make sure you’re happy, that this is what you want. You’re not, like, drunk or anything, right?”

  “I’m not drunk,” she says. “I didn’t even finish that first hard lemonade. It was worse than the beer.”

  Then she does something totally unexpected. She pulls off her T-shirt and stands in front of me completely naked, something she almost never does. She, like me, has some silvery stretch marks from where her body’s changed over the years. The Spanx left stripy marks on her torso and legs, just like the sandals had on her feet. Her skin is creamy and her ass is dimpled and she’s real, she’s beautiful, right in front of me, and all I want to do is grab her. But I’m not sure what the rules are tonight. Usually I’d ask first, but it seems like she wants to be in charge, so I wait.

  “Is this enough?” she asks. “To show you everything’s okay?”

  “You have to say it,” I tell her. “You have to say everything.”

  “I want this,” she says, and goes back to taking off my pants. “I want you, I want this night together, I want it all. And I want to be in charge. Can I be in charge?”

  I laugh as she navigates the difficult project of removing my pants now that there’s an impediment. Not to mention that I’m sitting down and she’s still standing up. I reach out my hands to help, but she pushes me back on the bed and finishes pulling off my pant legs. Then she sits on my thighs, takes my hands, and holds them over my head. “Well?”