Prom Crashers

by Erin Downing

  When Max walked through the Bransons’ front door decked out in his tux a few minutes later, Emily’s mom couldn’t stop herself from tearing up. With the camera following his every move, Max happily wrapped his arm around Emily’s waist and together they posed for pictures with huge grins on their faces. Emily’s mom only let them go when she was certain she had at least one shot that would be good enough for the Bronson family Christmas newsletter.

  It was after ten o’ clock by the time they finally arrived at Humphrey’s prom. They had swung by Charlie’s and Sid’s houses to pick up their formal wear too, then all of them put last-minute touches on their hair and outfits in the car outside the convention center. Charlie was still trying to tie his bow tie as they rode the escalator up to the ballroom that had been the site of Max and Emily’s first prom together—Park High—just four weeks earlier. Emily couldn’t believe how much had happened since.

  “Hello, Emily.” Mrs. Fenton, Humphrey’s composition teacher, greeted her at the door of the ballroom. She was checking people in and collecting their tickets. “Max, how are you?” “Hi, Mrs. Fenton,” Emily responded politely.

  “How’s your mom?” Mrs. Fenton gave Emily a knowing smile. It was the same smile all the teachers gave her. The one that said, I know a lot more about you than you would ever guess, because your mom talks about your private life in the teachers’ lounge, but I’m going to pretend I don’t know that you still grind your teeth in the night, et cetera. Emily hated that smile. “She must be so excited about you going to prom.”

  What she didn’t say is, I know she was worried about how you were a huge loser who didn’t get a date for prom, so isn’t this exciting that things worked out for you? At least, that’s what Emily was imagining she was thinking in her head.

  “My mom is fine. She got lots of pictures.” Emily smiled back. “Have a good night, Mrs. Fenton. Enjoy prom!” She started to walk through the door, with Charlie, Max, and Sid trailing close on her heels.

  They were steps away from the door of the ballroom when Mrs. Fenton called out. “Oh, Emily!” Emily turned back, a nervous smile plastered on her mouth. “I need to take your tickets.”

  “Oh,” Emily said, thinking quickly. “We turned them in earlier tonight when we first got here. We just stepped outside for a quick breath of fresh air. But we’re back now!” She sounded way too chipper.

  “That’s impossible,” Mrs. Fenton said. “We have a lockdown policy, so if you leave, you leave for good. No readmittance. You understand, right, dear?” Mrs. Fenton suddenly looked like a mean old lady.

  “Of course.” Emily sugarcoated her response. She could tell Charlie and Max were both laughing silently behind her. “Well, good night then.”

  They turned and rode the escalator back down to the lower level of the convention center. Rejected.

  “Plan B?” Charlie jumped off the last step of the escalator.

  “Looks that way,” Max responded. “Very suave, Em. Nice attempt.”

  Emily shrugged. “It was worth a shot, right? Now I guess we have to get in the hard way.”

  “Breaking and entering?” Sid asked hopefully. “I noticed a side door that looked pretty unguarded up there.”

  They all agreed and moved to the east entrance of the convention center. They climbed a set of stairs to the ballroom level. There was a catering service door that led into the kitchen. Sid stood cover as the other three slid along a wall and ducked through the door, then she followed.

  The kitchen was steamy and loud, with waiters and busboys bustling through the crowded mazelike countertops. The four of them weaved through the kitchen, following a team of waiters carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres out into the ballroom. The door swung open to reveal Humphrey’s prom in full swing.

  “Easy peasy!” Charlie declared, moving into the ballroom while straightening his jacket. “Let’s get down!”

  Charlie and Max grabbed Sid—despite her protests—and pulled her onto the dance floor. Emily was dispatched to grab sodas.

  She noticed a few of her old swimming friends across the room and waved. They waved back, and Emily realized why her own prom meant more to her than the other proms they’d crashed. The whole room was full of friends. These were the people she had spent the past four years with—and some she’d known as long as thirteen years, if you counted those who’d gone to the same elementary school.

  She really was going to miss the comforts and familiarity of home next year. Suddenly nostalgic, she looked back at the dance floor to find Max, Charlie, and Sid. Charlie and Sid were rocking out in the middle of the dance floor, while Max chatted with Lauren Ellstrom nearby. He looked really happy—Emily was happy for him.

  Waiting for her sodas at the bar, Emily looked around the ballroom at all the couples and friends dancing and laughing in their dresses and tuxes. Even though her prom had a familiar, friendly feel, Emily still felt something was missing. She’d had a riot crashing proms with her friends—it had been the perfect ending to high school, and the perfect cure for senior slide. She knew she would have always regretted it if she’d gone to her prom with Ethan and jeopardized her and Max’s friendship … but she missed Ethan horribly. He’d been so perfect for her.

  She hustled over to the dance floor and joined her friends. The song that had been playing ended, and the DJ kicked off the next song—Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)”—with a dedication. “This next song goes out to Emily … who finally made it to the right prom.”

  Charlie gasped and both Max and Sid looked at Emily. “I didn’t dedicate this song to you!” Charlie declared.

  “Not me,” Max shrugged.

  Sid sighed. “Are you kidding?”

  Charlie lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “Who knows about us?”

  They all looked around, searching for the person who had uncovered their plot. Emily’s stomach fluttered nervously—she was totally busted. It was their last prom, and she’d been caught by someone.

  The lights on the dance floor dimmed, and a figure stepped out from behind the DJ booth and onto the dance floor. Emily turned just as Max, Charlie, and Sid all noticed that the person was winding through the crowded dance floor toward them.

  Emily’s breath caught in her throat—it was Ethan. “Good dedication?” he asked, trying to hide a smile. But his eyes gave him away—Emily could tell he was about to laugh. “You look nervous.”

  “Was that your dedication? How did you …? What are you …?” Emily stuttered. “Are you a DJ?”

  Ethan laughed. “No, I’m not a DJ. But my cousin is—with a little help from him, I was able to crash your prom. I owed you, right?” He looked unbelievably proud.

  Max nudged Sid and Charlie, suggesting that maybe they should take off and give Emily and Ethan some alone time. Both Sid and Charlie nudged him back and stayed put. They wanted to know where this was going.

  “Oh,” Emily said lamely.

  Ethan looked suddenly uncomfortable and glanced around, as if searching for someone. “You’re here with someone, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Emily asked. When she realized he was asking if she had a date, she laughed. “Oh! No.” Then she saw Charlie, Sid, and Max all grinning at her goofily from a polite distance away. “Well, actually, I’m with my friends. But they’re great dates, and they’re willing to share, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I wanted to see you, Emily.” Ethan suddenly turned serious. “When we had our conversation earlier this week, I didn’t know what to say. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how wrong you were. We’re good together. We need to give this thing a shot. I’m hoping you might be ready now.”

  Emily smiled and twirled her hair. “So you crashed my prom to find me?”

  “I figured it was the only way to show you I meant it. I was hoping you’d show up. I assumed you wouldn’t miss it.”

  “You were right,” she agreed. “And you’re right about us, too. Thank you for giving me time
to figure things out.”

  Ethan held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

  Charlie, Sid, and Max all whistled. They were totally unsubtle, but Emily would have expected no less. Ethan bowed in response, earning him an extra cheer from Charlie.

  She let him pull her close and rested her chin on Ethan’s shoulder. They had drifted to one side of the dance floor, away from the crowds of other dancers.

  As the song ended, Ethan pulled back slightly and turned Emily’s face toward his. She smiled at him, and he kissed her. Emily let the rest of the room blur out of focus—she could only see Ethan and a tray of tiny sandwiches over his left shoulder.

  Melting into his next kiss, Emily sighed happily. She was being kissed next to the buffet table at prom. Some dreams do come true.

  About the Author

  Erin (Soderberg) Downing has been to six high school formals, two of them proms. She has worn green, white, sparkly, and black dresses … but never pink. Like Danny, she always sort of wanted to go in a silly costume, but never had the nerve. In the process of writing this book, she did not crash any proms—and in fact has never crashed anything in her life. A native of Duluth, Minnesota, Erin currently resides outside New York City with her husband and daughter. She is also the author of the Simon Pulse Romantic Comedy Dancing Queen. Visit her on the Web at www.erindowning.com

  Back01

  LOL at this sneak peek of

  Gettin’ Lucky

  By Micol Ostow

  A new Romantic Comedy from Simon Pulse

  ✭

  TOP FIVE EXOTIC, COOL LOCATIONS

  TO SPEND NEW YEAR’S EVE

  *(in no particular order)

  A private capsule on the London Eye.

  The top of the Eiffel Tower (clichéd, especially ever since a certain movie star went and ruined it for the rest of us, but still).

  Backstage at a Killers show with the cast of The O. C.

  A chalet tucked into the highest corners of the Swiss Alps.

  Zip-lining along the Costa Rican jungle canopy.

  (For all of the above scenarios, one should assume a romantic interest in tow.

  Note that nowhere on this list is Spring Brook, New Jersey. This is because Spring Brook, New Jersey, is not an especially cool place to spend New Year’s Eve. Particularly if it is the home of one’s grandparents, median age seventy-two. Double-particularly if one’s boyfriend is spending the holiday in Aspen, with his hotshot ski-patrolling friends.

  Not that I’m bitter or anything.

  Normally I wouldn’t mind. My grandparents are totally sweet, and I actually really like spending time with them. But it’s definitely an unwritten rule in the teenage handbook that not getting kissed at midnight on New Year’s Eve is like a karmic slap in the face. Or, if it’s not, it should be. It’s in my handbook, anyway. I mean, the midnight kiss is the launchpad of a happy and prosperous twelve months, and smooching my grandfather on the cheek rather than my superhot boyfriend on the smacker just seemed like I was asking for trouble, karmically speaking.

  But I digress. I made the best of it, laughing along gamely to Ryan Seacrest and sipping at sparkling apple cider. Jesse texted me at exactly midnight, which I thought was extremely romantic, even if it wasn’t quite the same thing as real-time kissage. We did the best we could.

  Now, though, I could hardly wait to see him. So much so that I’d traded in my direct flight from Newark International for a rockin’ three-hour layover in Houston, Texas, just so I could make it home a full twenty-four hours earlier than expected.

  It was all part of my grand plan.

  Jesse had been home, back in Vegas, for a full two days while I withered away in Central Jersey on a steady diet of PBS, classical music, and Kashi, the three absolutes of my grandparents’ household. Jesse expected me to get in tomorrow, the day before school started.

  But I was coming in today.

  I was coming in today, and I was going to see Jesse. Never mind that I’d spent a glassy-eyed three hours wandering the Houston duty-free and robotically stuffing my face with sour gummy bears. Never mind that my face had a fine sheen of airplane scum settling across its surface. Never mind that my hair—washed and styled so impeccably first thing this morning, back in Spring Brook—had wilted worse than the cheeseburgers that I found at the airport food court. In my mind’s eye, I somehow still managed to look like a supermodel. (My mind’s eye is really forgiving.) And I was totally going to surprise Jesse.

  Thankfully, all of my flights were on time and I made my connection and didn’t lose my luggage or any of those annoying things that can happen when you travel. The oily skin and weird, limp hair was sort of the worst of it. My father was waiting at the airport when I got off the plane—he’d made up a sign for me in bright green Sharpie that said CASSANDRA ELISE PARKER, playing at being a fancy driver or something—and was in on all of my machinations.

  He hugged me and grabbed my suitcase away from me, saying, “You look thin, Cass. Did you eat in New Jersey?”

  Do you see why I adore my father?

  I nodded. “I did, actually. A lot.” Kind of too much. Pigging out on Kashi is not recommended.

  He smiled. “Grandma and Grandpa are pretty serious about their three squares.”

  “Right?” I said, laughing.

  He led me out to the parking lot, where we spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out where he had parked. Then on the drive back home he wanted to know about my trip.

  “It was fun,” I said, mostly meaning it. You know, not “Aspen-with-your-boyfriend” fun, but fun.

  “But you can’t wait to see Jesse,” Dad said, filling in the blanks.

  I nodded. “That’s why I’m here,” I said, even though he already knew that.

  “Well”—he checked his watch—“we should be home in fifteen minutes. If you can get to Jesse by four, do you think you can be done surprising him and back home by six? I know it doesn’t give you a lot of time, but I have to be at the restaurant for the dinner rush.”

  How could I say no? Dad wasn’t even implying anything gross by his use of the phrase “surprising him.” At least, I hope he wasn’t. And, anyway, we could always use Jesse’s car if we wanted to go out later on.

  “Of course,” I said, sighing with satisfaction. I leaned back in my seat and went into a slow, trancelike state of Zen. I watched the scenery change through the blur of my window, from airport-related industrial waste to rocky, red-tinged mountains. Soon the glitter of the Strip would be upon us, and I would be home. My dog, a mangy and borderline insane Boston terrier named Maxine, would be waiting for me.

  And so would Jesse.

  ✭

  Jesse only lives about five minutes from me, mainly because all of us who don’t live in the city proper (which is most of us) live in the same three-mile radius of surrounding suburbs. And, while living just outside of Vegas, a.k.a. Sin City, might seem really edgy and exotic, it sort of only affects us in really peripheral ways. Sure, there are the occasional out-there dates where we go off to pose with Indiana Jones and Britney Spears at the wax museum, or gondola rides at the Venetian. And yes, if we go out to celebrate at a fancy dinner, there is an 80 percent chance that we’ll catch a glimpse of a certain blond celebutante with a reputation for dancing on tables. Kids here learn to play online poker long before they’ve even been given their first PlayStation (you don’t even have to bet money, thank goodness). But really, it’s not so scandalous. Mostly we all live very regular lives.

  Jesse’s house, for instance, is a completely normal, completely modest split-level, trimmed in aluminum siding and boasting a totally misleading BEWARE OF DOG sign on the front square of lawn. Jesse’s mother has a froufy little white dog that would inspire terror in no one. But I supposethe sign is just for effect. Not that Maxine is all that hardcore, but I really can’t get down with dogs small enough to fit in a pocketbook. Don’t tell Jesse’s mom, though. For now, at least, she likes me.

  I pulled up smoothl
y, humming to the radio, parked, and killed the ignition. Jesse’s car, a Civic adorned with stickers from all of his various athletic affiliations, sat in the driveway, so at least I knew he was home. This was good. My surprise really would have had much less of an impact if he’d been out, obviously.

  I tapped my lucky rabbit foot that Dad had kindly allowed me to hang from the rearview mirror and briefly crossed my fingers. Even though Jesse and I had been together for about a year now, I still got a little bit fluttery when I hadn’t seen him in a while. And I think the element of surprise was upping my nerves, too. I jumped out of the car and made my way up the front walk, taking a moment to smooth my hair down. It was looking slightly perkier now that I was back in the desert climes of Vegas. New Jersey humidity and I do not get along.

  I rang the doorbell and tried to look nonchalant as I waited for someone to answer the door. In my mind, Jesse pulled the door open, erupted into a thousand-watt grin at the sight of me, and swooped me up in his arms, finally dipping me gracefully into a flawless Hollywood kiss.

  In point of fact, what actually happened was that Jesse’s younger brother, Paul, opened the door and scowled at me. Paul was twelve, which put him at prime sulking age.

  “Hi!” I said brightly, trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t seem to care one way or another about my arrival. “I came home early!”

  He managed an all-but-imperceptible nod. “Okay. Jesse’s upstairs. Our mom’s not home,” he added as an afterthought, smirking. He really was rushing into the adolescence thing full-force.

  Despite the fact that I wanted to go charging up the stairs at top speed, I forced myself to walk like a normal, non-crazy, nonboyfriend-starved person. When I got to Jesse’s bedroom door, I paused and took a deep breath. My heart was going crazy. Which later on I would look back on as some sort of omen or whatever, but really was probably much more straightforward and meaningless. I mean, how could I have known?

  Music was blaring out of Jesse’s room—Kelly Clarkson, which would ensure no small amount of teasing once our reunion kissing was out of the way. I giggled, rapped hard on the door, and called out.