Liars and Losers Like Us

by Ami Allen-Vath

  “Justin, everybody seems to know everything about everybody these days, so it’s not a secret.” I shake my head. “I’m not mad at Molly. I’ve been busy. I don’t feel like talking to anyone about this stuff. I’m over it.”

  “Got it. See you in class.” Justin salutes us and takes off.

  Kendall watches him walk away and slides her hand down her hair. “I never noticed this before, but there’s actually something hot about him. I mean, I’ve always had a thing for funny guys.”

  “Yeah, like there’s something sexy about him.” Sam nods. “I think it’s his cologne. It’s really feminine.”

  “Definitely his cologne.” I say. Eau de Molly Chapman.

  ****

  In Language Arts, I have to keep reminding myself to stop staring at the back of Sean’s head from behind Justin. It’s too depressing. I know he watched me make my way into class. Instead of feeling good about it, I feel sad. The girls at lunch were right, so was Kallie. I totally let him get away.

  Mr. N. gives us busy work and I write absentminded words and doodles in my notebook. My full name, a horrible sketch of my Prom dress, pictures of eyes and flowers, question marks that look like penises. I stare at my paper and feel alone as hell. I feel even lonelier than I did before Sean and I started hanging out.

  ****

  Over a plate of scrambled eggs and salsa, I tell Mom I’m going to Prom alone. I don’t tell her the salsa tastes more like ketchup and onions than Dad’s recipe.

  “Oh, honey. By yourself? Really?” My mom leaves her mouth hanging open. Literally. I reach across the kitchen table and gently push her chin up to close her mouth.

  “Mom, don’t be so dramatic. It’s Senior Prom, not my wedding day.”

  “Well, I don’t know, babe. Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to suffer more than a day with you looking at me like I’m a dying puppy.”

  “Oh no, I don’t feel sorry for you, I feel—oh Bree Ella, I just wanted this to be perfect for you.”

  “Yeah well, it’s perfectly fitting. That’s for sure.”

  “What about the pep rally today? Do you have to sit up there by yourself? I wish you could’ve patched things up with Sean. I really thought he was a sweet guy.”

  “Mom. It’s fine. All the girls are on one side and the guys sit on the other. It’s not that serious.” Mom’s face falls farther. “It’s just a pep rally. As for the dance, I have a ton of friends to hang out with there. It’s probably better this way. Now you don’t have to worry about me not being home by curfew or coming home pregnant.” I smile to reassure her.

  “Oh please, I was your age once, I know there’s no curfew on Prom night.”

  “Well now ya tell me. Maybe I can find a date online.”

  “I did take the day off, so I have a few hours before the pep rally. Don’t tempt me. Maybe I’ll Google you a nice young man.”

  We finish breakfast, and then Mom helps me hang my dress and accessory bag in my car. She sends me off with a hug and a wave. I spend the whole drive trying to shake the dying puppy vibe.

  I make my way into the girl’s locker room, the roar of the gymnasium at my back. Molly gleams from a row of mirrors in a white and gold beaded gown.

  “Hey girl, you better hustle. Everyone is already in their dresses.”

  Laura walks in, glistening in a turquoise mini dress. Kallie’s right behind in a fire engine fire-starting red dress. It’s tight, strapless, and flares out from a mid-thigh slit, sending her legs into infinity.

  I whistle. “Looking good ladies, looking good.”

  “Hurry up, your hotness,” says Kallie giving me a high five. “Dance team is out there. As soon as they’re done, there’s a speech and then we’re on.”

  Butterflies clink in my stomach like a pocketful of pennies. I run into the locker area to change.

  Jane peeks her head from behind a row of lockers sliding her legs into a tight red lacey thing, “Can you be a darling and hook me up?”

  Like I hooked you up with my boyfriend? “Sure,” I say as she adjusts the straps. “So, how are things lately? Are you okay?”

  She looks over her shoulder with a slight frown. “I’m fine as long as I won’t have my underwear line or any seams showing.”

  I take the hint. “Um, okay. Is this your dress? It’s pretty revealing.” I hook a short row of clasps.

  “Thanks. Actually this is a slip.”

  “Yeah I knew that. I was joking.”

  “Oh.” She ducks behind the other lockers.

  Tough crowd.

  “C’mon Bree, we need to get some makeup on you!” Kallie yells. I rush to the mirrors along with the other girls for a quick douse of makeup.

  As Kallie swipes frosty blue onto my eyelids, Molly gives me a hundred and one reasons why three would be company at Prom.

  “It’s not like we’ve been together forever, ya know? We’re gonna be laid back and fun—not making out at dinner or anything.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know. If you guys are dying for a third wheel how about Brian?” I laugh.

  Kallie holds up her hand. “He’s going with Jane and Sean now. Word is that Jane gave him—” Kallie’s eyes pop and her mouth drops open. I follow her gaze expecting to see a cockroach or giant tarantula.

  “Oh. My. God.” Molly and Laura say in unison.

  Jane. Wearing the same dress as Kallie. Not one in a similar style or another red dress, but the same exact dress. Up until now, whenever the “same dress” scenario has come up in a conversation, movie, or something, I didn’t really get why it was such a big deal. Now I get it.

  Jane crosses her arms. Her eyes travel up and down Kallie’s entirety as her nostrils flare, “This is not going to happen.” Jane sneers. “You’re not wearing my dress.”

  Kallie steps forward, squaring off with Jane. “This is my dress. I ordered it months ago. I have no idea how this happened. If this is another way for you to steal something that’s mine, it’s not happening. Not today. And not for Prom tomorrow night. Feel free to wear it Sunday. You can wear it all summer long for all I care.” Kallie takes another step up, practically into Jane’s nose.

  Molly, Laura, and I stand there waiting. I’m not sure whether we’re hoping it does or doesn’t come to blows. It’s that close and that heated.

  “You don’t scare me Kallie.” Jane takes a step back. “I’m wearing the dress.”

  “Fine. I can’t rip it off you. But I promise you; I will not back down. Wear it. If you’re up for a game of ‘Who Wore It Best,’ I’m in. You look presentable, Jane,” Kallie narrows her eyes with a syrupy evil smile. “But next to me, in the same dress, you’re a joke. A plastic, trashy, lonely, and desperate knockoff.”

  A pit forms in my stomach. Maybe Jane did this on purpose but she doesn’t deserve this. “Hey,” I say. “Maybe if you guys sit on opposite ends of the stage it’ll be okay?”

  Jane does a quick spin out of Kallie’s glare, tears springing to her eyes.

  “Fuck you. All of you.” She grabs her bag and runs out of the locker room door.

  “Don’t let it hit ya,” laughs Molly.

  “That was so mean.” Laura shakes her head. “And so awesome.”

  “I’ve never seen her back down like that,” Molly says.

  “Do you think she’s coming back?” I ask.

  Kallie snorts, “I don’t give a shit.”

  Shandy peeks her head in the door waving a clipboard. “Prom Queens! Five minutes to showtime! I’ll be back to line you up, alphabetically escorted by the Kings.”

  “Damn,” I say. “That girl’s such a type A freak about everything. Kal, does my hair look okay?”

  “You’re fierce. Sean’s gonna faint. But what about your shoes? You can’t go barefoot.”

  “She’s right,” laughs Molly. “Hillbilly chic is so last year.”

  I run over to grab my heels but they’re not there. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I yell, ripping through my dres
s and accessory bags. “They’re not here. Has anyone seen my silver heels?”

  Everyone scours the room. The benches, the unlocked lockers, the stalls, everywhere. Jane rushes back in with an enormous garment bag, a hoop, and a tight smile. She disappears behind the lockers, then emerging, like superman, in a new candy pink dress. A loud, shiny strapless ball gown leading to layers upon layers of ruffles. Supported at the bottom with a hoop.

  Jane spins and rests her hand on her hip. “You guys have nothing on me. You were right, Kallie. That red dress was cheap. I’ve won two titles in this dress and I plan to win another. Thanks for setting me straight.”

  “Give it a rest, Jane. You look like a quinceañera cake topper. Where the hell are Bree’s shoes?” Kallie asks.

  I stride over and snatch Jane’s bags, swiping a pile of her clothes from the bench onto the floor.

  “I swear to god if you took my shoes …” Huffing through my nostrils, I rifle through her bags and piles of clothes scouring every crevice for my silver heels. “She took my shoes, she took my freaking shoes.”

  “Let’s go girls! Get out here! Time to line up!” Shandy’s voice echoes into the locker room.

  Jane looks at me, “I didn’t touch your shoes. This isn’t a teen movie. Get over yourself.”

  Molly offers me Belmont’s tiniest pair of green flats. “This is the most dressy pair we have between us. C’mon, we gotta go.”

  I run over to my stuff one last time, fighting angry tears. I double-check my bags. Still no shoes. I look down at the shoes I’d purposely mismatched this morning. One yellow and one purple Converse is all I’ve got.

  We rush outside, following Shandy to the double doors of the gymnasium. The boys, like a raft of penguins, stare in awe.

  “Ohhhh pretty shiny things,” says Justin, wriggling his fingers.

  “Hi-yo.” Todd grabs toward Kallie’s waist.

  Kallie swerves from him. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Chris kisses Laura on the cheek and says she looks nice while Sean stands, shuffling his hands in and out of his pockets, looking down at his feet.

  Jane mumbles something to Sean about her dress.

  Shandy eyes her clipboard and says, “Okay, Molly. You’re with Justin …”

  I mentally alphabetize. Chapman, Conner all the way to H … I’ll come before Jane and then … Mills before Monroe. Mills. I’m with Sean. I take a deep breath.

  “Bree’s next to Sean, Jane with Chris, Laura and Brian, Kallie and Todd. C’mon, c’mon, let’s go.” Shandy herds us into a line, two by two.

  I put my hand over my heart, as if it will slow it down or make it beat softer. Sean grabs my hand and places it in the crook of his elbow.

  “Hi.” My fingers tremble on his arm.

  He smiles, slightly. “Hey,” he whispers, staring at my fingers. “Relax Breeze–Bree, it’s just a pep rally.”

  While we wait for Principal Finley’s cue, Molly tries to sweet talk Shandy into letting her help with the Prom decorations. “Well, I just thought maybe you’d need some help. I mean, with all the gloom and doom colors and the weird cutouts, maybe you just need another set of eyes? I’m going to college for interior design, you know.”

  Shandy smiles with a swift nod of her head. “No. Everything’s perfect; I’ve been planning this theme––I mean the whole committee has since last year. But thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

  Brian steps forward. “You’re aware that cardboard werewolves and vampires are more kid’s birthday party than Prom, right?”

  “Yeah,” says Molly. “It’s not a Bat Mitzvah.

  “They’re right,” says Jane. “It’s so two thousand and late, and it’s going to ruin a lot of photo ops having that shit in the background.”

  The rest of us give Shandy our two cents about Prom decor while she grips her clipboard as if it’s someone’s neck. “Seriously guys, this is my thing.”

  Just as Justin starts to make another joke, Finley announces the Court.

  As I sit onstage, applause slowly dying, Mom and Dad wave from the audience behind a small roped off area. They’re in the front row next to Kallie’s parents and Beth, Sean’s mom. Jane’s mom is there too, but without her dad. For Jane’s sake, I’m glad. I try to guess which parent goes to which kid but get interrupted by Shandy tapping and saying something about us stepping up to the microphone.

  “Each nominee will introduce themselves as a member of the senior class Prom Court. And tell us why they’d best represent Belmont High School as Prom Queen or King.”

  Wait. What? I didn’t sign up for this. There was nothing about public speaking on the Prom Guide. Kallie meets my eyes with a smile, then shrugs.

  Molly stands up and is flawless. She tells everyone how she’s truly been blessed by this experience, and would be honored to represent her class as Prom Queen. It all happens so fast that I don’t even have time to run though what to say before she passes me the mic.

  I rise, grateful that my dress is long enough to cover my violently shaking knees. I wait for the applause, two random boos, and “Go Molly’s” to subside.

  “Is this thing on? Um, just kidding. Okay … hi. Hi Mom, hi Dad.” I wave. “Um, I’m Bree Hughes and I’m … um, I’m really sorry that I don’t have anything really poised or cool to say right now. To be honest, I’m probably not the best candidate to represent BHS. I mean, um, not like in a way that, um …” Totally choking here. My voice is shaking, my armpits are sweating, and everyone’s staring at me. Breathe, just fucking breathe. I dip the microphone from my mouth to my hip, take a deep breath and bring it back to continue, “Okay what I’m trying to say is that I may not be the best choice. I couldn’t even find my shoes today.” I lift my dress and point my foot, turning the toe of my sneaker on the stage. “So, yeah, this is really cool to be here, but I’m definitely not a Prom Queen.”

  Dropping back into my seat with a thud, I smile. My heavy exhale is drowned out by the roar of applause. There are more kids yelling my name than I’ve ever even spoken to in the past four years here.

  I pass the mic to Jane and maybe it’s the sweat of my palms or just the nerves, but I let go before she grips it. It hits the stage with an amplified thud. The woo-hoos ring out as half the class cheers as Jane bends down, trying to reach over all her ruffles in order to pick up the mic. Her Barbie pink ruffles are so big and awkward with that stiff, giant hoop in it, that she’s swinging her hips to the side to move the dress out of her way. Instead of making space to pick up the mic, Jane falls. Right on her ass. For the briefest moment, Jane’s perfectly coifed updo and wide-eyed horror is obstructed by the flipped-up hoop. I catch a glimpse of an equally ruffly pair of pink underwear.

  As best as I can in my dress, I leap over, grab the mic and her shoulder, yanking her up. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

  Half the class jumps out of their seats, laughing. My mom’s hands shade her eyes, and it looks like Dad’s laughing into his hand.

  Jane snatches the mic as I mouth the words “I’m so sorry.” Still, she brands me with the evilest stink eye ever. My smile widens and all I’m thinking as I slide back into my seat is fake it.

  I’ve gotta give Jane credit. If she wasn’t breathing venom right now, her speech is an A plus for effort in her attempt at damage control. This is not her first rodeo. Her lips purse, her shoulders come back, and her chin tips up. “Things happen that change you. Life happens. Other people happen. But we have choices. You can become someone bigger and better than the evil you’ve been running from. In the face of adversity, we can become giants. We cannot only survive, but overcome. I’ve worked my ass off to be me. To exceed when jealousy and monsters with claws are within seconds of bringing me down. But I’m always quick on my feet and ahead of the game. We are fighters, Belmont. I am always fighting.” Her voice is a knife dipped in honey butter. Sharp and sweet. “A vote for me is a vote for strength and poise.”

  The only problem is that someone keeps bellowing “Booooo�
� every few seconds. Jane dips into a curtsy and passes the mic to Laura. Shandy runs over asking that everyone please refrain from any lewd or negative comments while the court candidates are speaking, thank you so much.

  Someone yells, “Shandy, you suck.”

  Laura frowns. “No she doesn’t. Shandy is a really good person.” For some reason that gets another big laugh from the audience.

  Everyone else’s intros drone on, the class becoming more restless with each candidate. I run through things to say to Sean when we walk out. I don’t get much more detailed than “hello” and a daydream that he’ll be the one with all the things to say. Things like “I never stopped loving you” and “I can’t go another minute without you.” Before I know it, we’re herded back into couples by Shandy.

  As we file off stage, Principal Finley thanks everyone for their school spirit and gives a few rules about Prom tomorrow night. Basically: don’t come drunk or high and don’t punch anyone in the face.

  Sean says, “Nice shoes.”

  I glance down as if I haven’t seen them yet. “Thanks.”

  The guys and girls part in a red sea fashion as the double doors of the gym close behind us. I turn to say something to Sean. Something, anything.

  Instead Jane steps in front of me, pinning me up against the girl’s locker room door with her ruffles. “You have some nerve, really. Un-be-fuckin-lievable. First I’m bullied into wearing a different dress, accused of stealing your shoes, and then you humiliate me onstage. Who the hell do you think you are? You’re nobody. You think your reverse psychology speech up there is going to get votes? You’re wrong. Nobody cares about you Brittney. You don’t even have a date. You’re all alone. You are right about one thing though. You’re not a Prom Queen. You are a Prom loser.”

  The principal walks out of the doors and Jane spins around.

  “Oh hey, Mr. Finley. Great pep rally, right?” Jane smiles, not a drop of venom in sight.

  THIRTY-ONE

  As soon as I sit up to stretch on Saturday morning, my heart is ticking in my chest like an amped up version of my cat clock. TickTickTickTick. Tiny heartbeats, super close together. If I wasn’t starting to get used to these faster and harder hitting palpitations, I’d think I was having a heart attack. Lying in the fetal position, I repeat over and over for it to go away go away go away. Finally after about five minutes of me talking myself out of dying of nothing, my breathing becomes less shallow and I can move again.