by Donna Cooner
The music slows down and Nikki comes back from dancing, face flushed and breathing hard. She taps me on the shoulder. “Let’s get some punch.”
Behind me, I hear two girls talking. I glance over my shoulder, but I don’t know them.
“You know who is totally worthy? Melinda Billingsly and Jeff Keenan.”
“They aren’t even a couple and besides, that’s not how it works.”
“Maybe Worthy can make them a couple. Take this thing to a new level. I think they’d be perfect together.”
“What are you talking about? They’re both like the biggest dorks on the planet. Her science project is about creating some cure for cancer and he’s totally into comic books. He dresses like a different superhero every day. Last week he was Aquaman.”
“That’s why it works. Don’t you see? Worthy means they deserve each other. It’s a class system. Geeks with geeks. The Lovelies with the Lovelies. Melinda Billingsly and Jeff Keenan are totally worthy of each other.”
“Two wrongs make a right?”
“Exactly.”
Nikki and I look at each other and exchange eye rolls. Nikki heads for the punch table and I turn to follow her.
“Would you like to dance?” Max Rossi is suddenly in front of me, blocking my view of the dance floor. “As long as you’re not expecting me to live up to that.” He nods toward Taylor and Wolfgang.
I laugh. “You obviously haven’t seen me dance.”
“Yes, I have. Remember when you took those tap-dancing lessons? I think you were about six.”
“I totally forgot about that. I quit after two months. My mom was furious at the tap shoe investment. I think they are still in my closet somewhere.”
“I remember.”
“You remember a lot more than I do,” I say.
Max smiles. He takes my hand and I let him lead me onto the dance floor.
Unfortunately, the music slows, so I have to move in closer. Max looks uncomfortable, but I don’t know why. Maybe his shirt is too tight around his neck.
“I’m really sorry about the Worthy thing,” he says.
I stiffen. I don’t want to talk about Worthy.
“It’s just … ” He stumbles over the words, avoiding my gaze. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” I say quietly. “Worthy did.”
Max looks down at the floor, not at me, but his feet keep moving slowly to the music. I know that look. It is the same look he had when we were nine and he wrecked my bike.
“Max, what did you do?” I ask slowly. The song keeps playing, but I stand stock still in the middle of the dance floor. He pulls me over to the wall, out of the way of the rest of the dancers.
He talks fast. “It was just a silly experiment at first. I wanted to learn how to develop an app to gather some simple feedback. Like, should we have more fruit in the cafeteria? Yes or no?”
“You created Worthy?” I can’t believe it. I clench my hands to keep them from trembling. “Why? Why would you put everyone up for inspection?”
“I didn’t know it would become such a big deal.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “You have to believe me.”
It still isn’t sinking in. But now I remember all those summer computer classes Max took when everyone else was on break.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, as it all starts to sink in.
“I have to tell someone.”
I close my eyes briefly. When I open them, all I can see is Max. His eyes are all soft and needy. I take a shaky breath. “How did you pick us? The couples, I mean.”
“Well, obviously I started with Liam and Taylor because they were so perfect.” He stops to look around, then continues, talking really fast. “Then I started trying other options. It was just random.”
My mouth falls open and I hold a hand up to stop him. “You ruined people’s lives … randomly?”
Max blinks. “When you say it like that, it sounds horrible. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
“But why me, Max?” I can barely choke out the words. “We’ve always been friends.”
Max makes a face. “Everyone thinks I’m a good friend. I hate that word. Friend. It’s the worst word ever, and girls say it with this little inflection in their voice like it’s the word sorry. They think I’m a buddy, a pal, Mister Nice Guy. I don’t want to be your friend, Linden.”
I don’t care that people are gathering out on the dance floor, chattering excitedly and waiting for Kristen Fulton, the current student council president, to step up to the microphone. I don’t care that the band is doing a drumroll to build suspense for the big announcements.
In the twinkling lights, Max actually looks apologetic. “You have to believe me, Linden. I never meant to hurt you.”
I shake my head. He just doesn’t get it. “But hurting other people is okay? I can’t talk to you now, Max. I have to go.”
I stumble away from Max. I hear him calling my name but I ignore him. I head toward the bathroom, my head reeling from the conversation. There are two girls at the sink. They look up from their phones and stare like I am some kind of space alien, mouths open and slack. I glare back at them and they scatter for the door.
Outside, I can hear Kristen’s voice over the microphone. “Before we get to the queen and king announcements, I just want to thank all of you for dressing up in your finest and coming out to dance the night away on this magical, enchanted evening.”
There’s applause and some whoops from the crowd.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Everything feels heavy—the makeup, the dress, the hair. Layers upon layers. Like a princess turned into a beast by a magical spell, I can’t see past the ugly created by other people’s judgment. All of this heartache and self-doubt was because of Max Rossi’s stupid experiment. I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want to go out there and scream it into the microphone.
“Special thanks to the junior class organizing committee, led this year by Heather Middleton. Heather, come on up here … ”
More applause. I frown at myself. I don’t want to be afraid of taking risks anymore. I don’t want to watch from the sidelines—safe and alone. I am the only one who has the power to make myself feel unworthy, and I am the only one who can change it.
I dart outside and head to my locker, retrieving my gym bag. There are jeans and a white T-shirt inside. Back inside the bathroom, I kick off my silver sandals and pull the dress up over my head. It lies in a pile of shimmer on the white tile floor of the stall, and I stand there in my underwear looking at it for a moment. A small twinge of guilt at the thought of Nikki’s hard work makes me scoop it up off the floor and put it into the bag at my feet. I pull on the jeans. Then the T-shirt. I don’t have any other shoes, so I put the sandals back on even though they look strange with the jeans. I zip the bag up like a body bag being zipped up over a corpse.
My hair comes down much easier than it went up. I brush it back away from my face with spread fingers, searching for bobby pins and tangles. Digging around in my gym bag, I pull out a comb and work it through the hair-sprayed snarl of curls until it lies flat against my shoulders. I look in the mirror at my carefully made up face. My smoky Urban Decay eye shadow. The slight cat eyeliner that took me three tries to get right. The hint of blush. Winter’s Blush lip stain. I pull out a paper towel and wipe at the corner. My lips smudge. I wipe harder and the lip stain only smudges more, slashing the red across the side of my mouth. I am a very sad clown.
The bathroom door creaks open.
“Are you all right?” Nikki stands beside me. Her reflection in the mirror is worried. “They’re looking for you. It’s almost time for the awards ceremony.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m good.”
“Okay,” she says, but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe me.
I try to explain. “I’ve been good all along, I just didn’t know it.”
“I knew it.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “But you c
ouldn’t do it for me. I love you, Nikki, but I need to walk out there without you.”
She nods.
“I don’t want to hide behind things anymore. Not this dress. Not this makeup. Not you.”
Beside the sink, the liquid soap is pink and institutional. I stare at it a few minutes, then pump it into my hand. Again. Again. I turn on the faucet to full blast and put my hands under the water, rubbing them frantically until the soap starts to foam. Then I lower my head down to the sink, washing and washing. The water runs red over my hands, rinsing away the lipstick and blush. I look back up to the mirror, and now my eyes are smudged thick black shadows. I can’t tell if it is the water or the tears that make the long drips of black, and it doesn’t really matter. They are both necessary now.
Instead of answering, Nikki pulls a paper towel out of the wall dispenser and hands it to me. “You got a little smudge on your face,” she says.
I can’t help it. I laugh. She laughs. We both laugh.
I wash my face until the water runs clear as glass under my hands. There is one more thing I need to do. I pull my phone out of my purse and send a text to Kat.
ME: MAX ROSSI IS BEHIND WORTHY
KAT: GOT IT
Then I hear Heather Middleton calling my name from the stage.
“Linden Wilson? Linden? Come on up here … ”
When I walk out of the bathroom, heads turn and people talk. I keep going toward the stage and the microphone. I’ve found my voice and I’m going to use it.
Heather takes a step back, looking at me like I’ve grown two heads. I reach for the microphone. There is complete silence on the dance floor, everyone frozen in place with eyes locked on me.
“Hi. I’m glad everyone’s having such a great time,” I say, scanning the room. “And I also want to say … ” I stop and take a deep breath. Nobody moves. “You can be anything you want tonight. Pretty. Brave. Popular. Smart. Funny. Talented.”
I clear my throat. “Or none of those things. You are the one who decides. Not some app. Not a vote. No one else,” I say. I see Max standing back by the refreshments table, staring at me. He rubs the back of his neck and his shoulders slump. I add one last thing. “Tonight I’m just going to be me. And that is enough.”
I see Nikki standing in the back of the room by herself. She grins and gives me two thumbs up. The crowd parts as I step off the stage and make my way back to her. The music starts up again, louder than before, and everyone goes back to dancing.
“I’m leaving now,” I tell Nikki. “I need to borrow your car. Can you get a ride home?”
She nods. I hold my palm out toward her in our super-secret best friend salute, and she holds out hers to touch fingers.
I turn to go and head outside. Then I look back through the windows. I see Nikki going straight up to a gorgeous senior standing on the side of the dance floor. I watch his face—surprised at first, then smiling. She leads him out on the dance floor.
I smile, too, and then I turn and head for the car.
The room is packed with round tables full of people—young and old. I slip in the back door and lean against the wall, blending into the crowd. The band is playing an old favorite, “Celebration,” as kids in fancy dresses and black dress pants run around the tables, playing tag in the crowd. Older guests mingle, greeting and hugging each other enthusiastically.
“Buenas noches,” a white-haired gentleman exclaims as a willowy, red-haired woman approaches. “When did you get in?”
The woman squeezes his arm and leans in to kiss his cheek. “We just drove up from Brownsville this morning. Su sobrina luce preciosa.”
I know sobrina means niece, so I think this must be Isabella and Alex’s uncle. He beams with pride at the compliment. “She does look beautiful, doesn’t she?”
A younger man joins the group carrying a toddler in a pink tutu. “You haven’t met my husband,” the red-haired woman says. “This is Jack and our daughter, Emma.”
The men shake hands and then the older man holds his arms out to the little girl. “Ay, que linda.”
The little girl shakes a head full of red curls and buries her face in her dad’s shoulder. “She’s shy,” says the mother.
I know how she feels, but unfortunately there’s no familiar shoulder for me to hide my face in. Shouts of recognition and bursts of laughter overwhelm the music as groups of people settle in at the elaborately decorated tables. I scoot back a little further against the wall. The red-haired woman glances over and smiles at me. She’s probably trying to figure out if she knows me because everyone in this crowded ballroom seems to know everyone else.
The song ends, and a heavily made up woman steps into a spotlight at the side of the stage. She taps the mike to get everyone’s attention, but it takes several tries before the crowd quiets enough for her to say it again.
“If I can have your attention … ” she says. “We’re about to begin our presentation.”
Gradually, the noise subsides and the lights dim. I look around and see Alex across the room, talking to the other attendants. Standing beside the line of young couples waiting to go onstage, he looks very handsome in his tuxedo. I go completely still, my heart thudding in my chest.
The emcee continues at the microphone. “It’s time now to present our court.”
Everyone applauds. The woman at the mike gestures to the waiting pairs to begin parading around the dance floor.
“Mr. John Garcia is escorting Miss Cristina Salinas!”
Each couple strolls together, arms linked, until they reach the edge of the dance floor. The boys wear tuxes and yellow satin ties and the girls are in blue cocktail dresses with matching yellow sashes.
“Mr. Steven Lopez is escorting Miss Alexis Arroyo! Mr. Arturo Valdez is escorting Miss Shelly Lee Martinez!”
A photographer steps in front of them and snaps pictures of the couples as they parade around the stage.
“Aplausos, por favor! Don’t they look lovely?”
The crowd claps again as the couples eventually take their seats in the chairs lining the back of the stage. One yellow taffeta-draped chair sits empty stage center, directly under the spotlight, waiting for the guest of honor. The lights in the ballroom dim. Drumroll. Then the band begins to play soft music in the background.
The emcee’s voice lowers. “At this time, we will watch our quinceañera grow into the beautiful young woman she is becoming.”
A PowerPoint presentation begins on the big screens on either side of the stage. The first photo to pop up shows Isabella as a baby building a sand castle at the beach. Others follow. A field trip to the zoo with her kindergarten class. Shooting a winning goal at a soccer match. Blowing out ten candles on her birthday cake. And more. Each photo shows her older and more confident. The last one lingers on the screen—a picture of Alex and Izzy facing the camera, his arm thrown around her shoulders. The proud grin on his face brings an instant lump to my throat. I’ve missed that look.
Finally, the announcer clears her throat one final time and leans in to put her scarlet lips close to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we have all been waiting for. Will everyone please rise and join me in a big round of applause for our beautiful and lovely quinceañera—Isabella Maria Rivera, who is making her debut into society!”
Isabella and her mother stand together in the spotlight. Izzy’s hair is elaborately curled and she is wearing a sparkling tiara. Her dress is bright yellow with gathered ruffles on the huge, full skirt. A perfect replica of Belle. The crowd cheers as her mother leads Isabella out on the dance floor toward the waiting chair. Her skirt, which is lifted by multiple petticoats, is so massive that her mother has to help her balance and ease her into the seat. Her mom’s eyes fill up with tears and she wipes them away; then she backs away to leave Isabella sitting alone in the spotlight to the roar of applause.
Now it is Alex’s stepfather, Sam’s, turn. He walks slowly into the spotlight, obviously nervous, his head lowered. Isabella hands him a por
celain doll she had clutched to her side, and he gives her a bouquet of red roses in exchange. Then he kneels in front of her to swap out her flats for a pair of beautiful rhinestone-encrusted heels. The symbolism is clear and the significance brings a lump of emotions to my throat. Her childish toys and shoes are gone. The little girl has completed her transformation into a woman, with all the complexities and nuances this new, overwhelming status will bring.
The emcee steps back to the mike. “We wish you the best of luck, and may God bless you.” The crowd stands and roars their approval, calling out, “We love you, Izzy!” as glasses are lifted in toasts all around the room. A glass is pushed into my hand, and suddenly everyone is clinking my glass to theirs as though I belong here.
After the toast, I stand in the crowd around the dance floor and watch Alex dance with his sister in the spotlight, circling the dance floor in a graceful waltz. He smiles down at her with such pride it makes my eyes brim with tears. If this were indeed a fairy tale and I were some kind of fairy godmother, I would grant her the wish of understanding her worth. But I know she’s going to have to figure that out on her own.
Abuela Maria and Mrs. Annie Florence are the first to see me. I hold out my hand, but Alex’s grandmother ignores it and pulls me in for a hug. I’m startled, but am able to choke out, “Good to see you” before being smushed against her chest.
When she finally releases me, she says, “I know Alex will be so happy you came.”
I hope you’re right.
Mrs. Annie Florence just nods and grins at me, her gray curls bobbing wildly on top of her round body. Neither of them says anything about the way I’m dressed.
“Linden?” Alex looks at me, his gaze steady. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might jump right out of my chest. I want to tell him I’m sorry for caring what other people think, and that he looks incredible, and to explain why I’m really underdressed. But I can’t say any of that with his grandmother and her friend hovering, so I just say, “It was a beautiful ceremony.”