by Amy Spalding
“It’s good that you like Diane and that she seems great,” James says.
“Duh, I know. I can like Diane and still be allowed to have complicated feelings and wish my mom could see me in my dress and all of that. My dad probably won’t even know to take pictures of us, or if he does, they’ll turn out all blurry like the ones he took of me and Luke at Christmas.”
“My mom is like that, too, still,” she says. “How hard is it to take a picture on an iPhone? Not very hard.”
I laugh and get my dress safely back into my closet before flopping down on the bed. “Oh, so do you want to share a limo again, like last year?”
She gives me a look. “I think three in a limo is a pretty awkward number, don’t you?”
“Everything is awkward in a limo! It’s so long!”
James laughs again. It’s nice it’s like this and not like everything about me is annoying. “I’ll pass. But thank you.”
“Now I’m not even sure I’ll get to be in a limo. Quinn thinks it would be more romantic to rent a cool car and drive me.”
“You’re the one who thinks limos are awkward,” she says. Everything is so easy for James, just a decision and then moving on. Her brain is a machine. “You should let her.”
“I guess I have to let her. It’s, like, the only thing she asked for!”
“Well, you’re making a really big deal out of prom,” James says.
I just let it go because of course I’m making a really big deal about it. We’re in the paper and changing history and also even if we weren’t, I’m going to prom with the super dreamy girl I’m in love with.
“How was T&F?” I ask instead. “Did you run faster than everyone?”
She smiles a little. “It really isn’t only about running fastest. I’m not sure how many times I can explain that to you.”
I hear the front door, and I give James a look. “See how on-time he is now? Like he’s not trying to live at his office anymore?”
“That’s good,” she says.
“Duh, I know.” I regret my duh, but you can’t put words back into your mouth. “I can still wish it was also, like, about me, and not just Diane. Can’t I?”
Dad knocks on the door, and I call out that it’s OK to open it.
“Hey, James, good to see you,” Dad greets her. “You staying for dinner? We can order from the weird Asian place you guys like.”
“Dad, it’s not weird, they just have Thai and sushi,” I say.
“I should actually get home,” James says, of course, because of course this was too good to last very long. Like, longer than half an hour, apparently.
I wave good-bye to her and turn back to Dad. “Can we still get sushi and Thai?”
“Yeah, you wanna invite Quinn?”
“Dad, I can hang out with just you,” I say, and he grins. It’s funny how dads can be cute sometimes, like I can look at Dad and see what he was like when he was my age. I think about the guys I go to school with and wonder if someday they’ll be having dorky conversations with their teen daughters.
We get our order placed and sit down in the living room to watch TV. Well, Dad turns on the news, but it feels like neither one of us is really paying attention.
“It’s OK if I stay out all night for prom, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, kid, that’s fine. Just be careful. Don’t drink and drive. No drugs.” He shrugs. “So, uhhhh. Diane asked me to check with you if she could come over, take pictures, all that stuff. She thinks maybe I won’t be the best at it.”
“Oh, wow, it’s almost like she knows you,” I say, and he chuckles. “Of course she can come over. Diane’s sort of the best.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Glad you’re OK with her.”
“Dad, I’m, like, way more than OK with her. I guess I didn’t think you’d date someone so cool.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” he says, which makes me crack up. “I know it wasn’t all easy on you—”
“It’s totally fine,” I say. “I just said it! Diane’s the best.”
I do wonder, watching him smile in his dorky awkward dad way, how much worse it would be if I said the other half, too. Does he also wonder if Mom would like Diane or if she occasionally has an eye on us and if she approves of how things are going? I still remember that Mom saw me wearing a choker made out of a ribbon only a couple weeks before she died and said, Kat, leave the bad parts of the nineties back there.
I wore it again the next day just to annoy her. I’ve never worn it since though.
Oh my god, I am thinking about a stupid ribbon choker instead of the millions of real ways I miss Mom. And then I wonder what the dumbest way Dad misses her is, like maybe how she always teased him that he legit thought that Target was pronounced Tar-zhay or that I’d hear him yelling about her hair clogging up the shower drain. But maybe Dad’s lucky and he’s not fighting all of it all the time, and the last thing I want is for him to start.
So I don’t say anything at all, not then, and definitely not on prom night when I hear Diane arrive. You’d think I’d be too busy anyway, making sure my stylist-made-perfect hair doesn’t fall apart and that my makeup is flawless and that my gel manicure hasn’t chipped despite its strong promises. Somehow though I’m never too busy to miss Mom, worry about Dad, and consider how awesome I think Diane is and what that means for my family.
“Hey, kid.” Dad knocks on my door. “Quinn’s here.”
I open my door, and he stares at me.
“Oh, no. Bad? What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “You look really grown-up, Kat.”
“Like, bad grown-up? Like when they say ‘mature’ but they mean old?”
“No, no.” Dad shakes his head. “You look . . . beautiful. Go in there so Diane can take pictures.”
I mean to walk in calmly like I’m sophisticated and as apparently grown-up as Dad thinks, but I’m pretty sure that I race. Quinn’s standing talking with Diane, and I had no idea you could literally swoon, but I think I’m literally swooning because Quinn’s in a tux and she’s never looked so gorgeous to me. She’s never looked so gorgeous, period.
Holy shit, she mouths at me, which makes me giggle so hard I snort. It’s super weird we’re staring at each other in front of my dad and his girlfriend. Like, I want to kiss her so hard, but this definitely does not feel like the moment.
“You look amazing,” I say.
“So do you,” she says. “More than amazing. I need a better vocabulary.”
“Your vocabulary is great,” I say, and then, “Crap! Hang on. I was trying to be more prepared than this.”
Diane super coolly hands me the box holding the boutonniere I picked out, which is the exact same shade as my dress. Matty thought it was environmentally irresponsible to buy flowers, so I didn’t do this last year for him. And I’m glad, because sometimes something small like pinning a pink rose to someone’s lapel can feel big.
“You’re really good at that,” Quinn says with a grin.
“I watched, like, six videos on YouTube. I was so afraid I’d stab your boob.”
“I appreciate your diligence.” She has a corsage of white roses for my wrist, and then Diane takes approximately a thousand photos of us. I catch a glimpse of Dad’s face, and it sort of doesn’t make sense how proud he seems. I mean, it can’t all be because he hated Matty and because of Quinn’s lasagna.
“Be careful,” Dad says as we’re finally leaving. “Quinn, don’t drink and drive.”
“I would never, sir,” she says, and the sir makes me giggle, and then we’re out the door and finally alone.
“Quinn, you look so freaking hot I can hardly take it.”
She kisses me in a sudden heated flash like lightning. Since I’m in heels we’re the same height, and I curve into her as we keep kissing, kissing, kissing. I don’t really care what happens tonight; prom isn’t about winning. We’ve already won.
“You look incredible,” she tells me, with her arms still aroun
d me. “And now I have bad news.”
“Noooo!” I say.
“You don’t even know what the news is. It’s actually two pieces of bad news. My mom wants to take photos, too—”
“That’s fine,” I say, even though I know it isn’t the same. I’ve seriously barely spent any time with Quinn’s family, because unlike Dad, her parents took it as a pretty big deal that she isn’t straight. It’s weird to me that it could be a big deal to anyone, but especially if Quinn was your daughter, because she’s so smart and thoughtful and kind. Like she must be a one-thousand-percent-better daughter than I am, if things like that were measured. Not that I wish they were. I’m lucky they’re not.
“Also, you have to be twenty-five to rent a car,” she says. “So instead of renting a classic convertible or having time to get a limo . . . I have my dad’s car.”
I can’t help it. As I search the block for the bright yellow sports car that Mr. Morgan drives, a giggle bursts out of me.
“It’s embarrassing,” Quinn says. “You know this isn’t me. Only assholes and my dad drive cars like that.”
“Just assholes, your dad, and now you,” I say.
“Whoa.” Quinn opens the door for me. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”
“It doesn’t count when I’m quoting someone else,” I say.
She pauses and just watches me.
“What?”
Quinn blushes and shakes her head.
“Hey.” I take her face in my hands and make her look right at me. “I don’t care about your douchebag car. I just want to be with you.”
She kisses me again. “I just want to be with you, too. But I really wanted to drive up in a Mustang.”
We stop by Quinn’s house, and her mom raves over my dress, and I guess her parents are dealing OK with their daughter being in a tux and taking a girl to prom instead of the other way around because Ainsley is going with a junior and wearing a super cute green gown so it’s out of their system or something. If I ever have a daughter I really won’t care what she wears to prom as long as it’s fancy enough, and I definitely won’t care who she takes as long as they’re nice.
It feels like a movie when we walk into the Beverly Hilton—and not just because we’re at the Beverly Hilton, which feels like a super ridiculously nice place to be and probably has been in a bunch of actual movies. Our classmates turn to look at us, and I feel so proud to be standing here with Quinn. And it’s not even the article or that we’ve been nominated for prom couple. I guess it is all of that, but it’s more, too.
It feels like everyone wants to talk to us, even people we barely know, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the spirit. But since I feel like I have to be super polite and well-behaved tonight—aren’t Quinn and I kind of setting an example for the school?—I wish James would be less civilized and shove her way through to find me.
“You guys look amazing,” Mariana tells us, and gestures over to her date, Bryan Owens. “His tux looks like garbage compared to yours, Quinn.”
She grins. “I sprang for a good one.”
“Clearly. Have you guys seen James yet?”
“I was going to ask you that,” I say, as Sofia joins us. The three of us and James spent the morning together, getting our nails done and then waiting forever in line so we could get green tea pancakes at Bea Bea’s. It felt just like last year but somehow more exciting, because last year we weren’t seniors and last year I therefore had no chance at being prom queen. “Have you seen James?”
“I haven’t. But I was going to tell you guys that the line for the photo booth is already really long and we should get in it now. James can butt in to join us by the time we get there.”
But when we get to the front of the epically slow-moving line, James isn’t there, so Quinn and I take photos first—and when we’re done, James still doesn’t show up to re-create last year’s photo. Mariana tells Quinn to join us instead, and I feel my heart swell that she’s so included by everyone. Still, no matter how much space Quinn takes up in my figuratively huge heart, there’s a big James gap right now.
I take a second while Quinn’s talking to Raina and Gretchen to text James. I see dots right away, which is a relief. If she was lying near dead in a ditch she probably wouldn’t text right back.
“Are you OK?” Raina asks me, and I nod quickly.
“Totally,” I say in my breeziest voice ever, even though my heart pounds louder in my ears than practically anything else. If I keep talking, nothing bad can happen. “It’s prom! What’s not to be OK about?”
Raina grins and nods in Quinn’s direction. “I know she seems calm, but she was a wreck about everything.”
I feel my heart settle. “Especially the car?”
“Oh my god, the car, your corsage, making her bow tie look perfect—she practiced a ton—on and on. Pretty adorable.”
“Super adorable,” I say. “You guys look great, too.”
“Oh, no, we’re—Gretchen’s my best friend.”
“Uh huh,” I say, though I laugh. “Not that people can’t be friends, just that you guys don’t really seem like friends. Like, James is my best friend and you guys don’t seem like me and James at all.”
Raina cocks her head. “James is your best friend?”
“. . . yeah?”
“I just didn’t realize. You guys don’t seem that . . .” She shrugs. “Tight. But I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about Gretchen and me.”
I shriek without meaning to. “‘Pretty sure’?”
“Oh, stop it,” she says, but now she’s laughing, too. The four of us end up on the dance floor together and it’s easy to feel that everything’s going perfectly until I remember that James isn’t here, and Raina’s words echo in my brain. You guys don’t seem that tight.
I hope so, so hard that it’s not because we aren’t tight anymore. But do words echo when they don’t mean something at least partially true?
I hit send before I realize that ALL CAPS probably aren’t very chill.
I stare at my phone and then I stare at Raina because now she seems like some kind of freaking fortune-teller. Quinn catches my eyes, and I feel like the hugest jerk because my sweet, hot, thoughtful girlfriend is the best prom date I could ever hope for but instead I’m frowning at my phone and wondering whether if I’d picked better emoji and used fewer caps, I would have been more persuasive.
“Everything OK?” Quinn asks me.
“Of course. Sorry. Everything’s perfect.”
I hate that I’m lying to her, but it’s not her fault. And so I try with as much effort as I have to put James and her perfect dress and her apparent good mood earlier out of my head. I think about how we all laughed over giant plates of pancakes, and James never even hinted she wasn’t coming tonight. Should I have insisted we pick her up even though it would be supposedly awkward with three people on the way to prom?
“K?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I carefully secure my phone back in my clutch and turn my full attention toward Quinn. “I’m a bad date.”
“Oh, yeah, the worst,” she says with a smile. “Everything OK? Really?”
“Really, everything is fine.” I wind my arms around her, even though the DJ isn’t playing a slow song. “I’m so glad it’s you I’m here with.”
She pulls me closer, and I accidentally whack my head against hers because we’re not at all used to being the same height. We laugh and figure out, again, for the millionth time tonight, how we fit together.
“I really don’t care how this goes,” she whispers in my ear when Principal Ochoa takes the stage to announce prom couple. “I’m here with my dream date.”
“I don’t care how it goes, either,” I say, but then I hear the principal call out KAT RYDELL AND QUINN MORGAN and I know I’ve been lying because I’m flooded with so much relief, triumph, gratefulness.
Principal Ochoa grins at us as he places crowns on our heads, and the whole room seems to be cheering. I know that,
on the one hand, it’s silly; we’re just kids at a prom in Beverly Hills like we’re pretending to be rich and sophisticated grown-ups. But it’s Quinn and me, and we have crowns, and just last year this wouldn’t have even been possible. And thanks to us, now it is.
The DJ kicks off a slow song, and suddenly Quinn is all moves. She takes my hand and leads me to the center of the dance floor, as if every single night we dance for a ballroom full of people.
“This is nuts,” Quinn says, while I’m wrapped in her arms and we’re swaying to the music. “It’s nuts.”
“I mean, I totally wouldn’t say this out loud, but . . . everyone was making a pretty big deal out of it. We were in the paper.”
“The Burbank Leader,” Quinn says, which makes me giggle.
“Still! I kind of thought this might happen.” I lean my head on her shoulder. We’ve totally figured out our height nondifference. Everyone might be watching us, but the moment feels like it was made only for the two of us.
“You get that . . .” Quinn laughs softly. “You’re, like, super popular. Everyone loves you. No one besides my friends really knew who I was until we started going out.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“It is true. And it’s fine. This is just . . . it’s a lot. I am not someone who thought this was how her prom night would end.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “If it wasn’t me, it would be another girl. You’re amazing.”
“I seriously can’t even imagine there being another girl,” she says.
“Well, duh, me neither! If there was another girl, I’d fight her for you.”
“Really.” Quinn grins. “I’ll just say that sounds unlikely.”
“I can be tough if I need to be,” I say. “I’m the one who taught my brother to punch.”
“That also sounds unlikely.”
I kiss her and hear a collective awwww around us. Quinn isn’t wrong that people see us, especially right now in this moment. It hits me that it could have been me and Matty, slow dancing and kissing while wearing glittering plastic crowns, and, oh my god, I’m so glad that it’s not.