Stung, I step back. “An experiment? What else, Emma? Are you wondering if this is just a phase?”
Emma’s eyes flash. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“It’s what you said.” I let go of her.
The stones fall, and suddenly Emma’s expression collapses. She moves, in mourning, running her hands through the grief tangled in her hair. “Do you know what it was like standing there in that stupid dress alone in the gym? Knowing that people got together and planned the best way to hurt me? To humiliate me? I mean, the only thing you guys left out was a bucket of pig’s blood!”
“It had to be awful,” I sob, tears shaking through me.
“It was. But the worst part was that you didn’t come. Even though you knew what happened, you didn’t come. You didn’t hold my hand, or take me out of there, you just let it happen.”
It takes two tries to find my voice. “I couldn’t come.”
“You should have.”
“I should have, but I couldn’t. You know what my mother’s like,” I say, and I reach for her again.
This time, Emma flinches away from me. The wall comes back up, and she nods. “Yep. I do. I saw her on the news. She’s trying to make it sound like I’m the bad guy. Like I called 1-800-Broadway and asked Barry and Dee Dee to come out here to destroy prom for everybody.”
“I saw Mr. Glickman at Walmart,” I say stupidly. “He was trying to change people’s minds about you.”
Emma seems rattled by this. But then she shakes her head and shrugs. “Whatever. Good luck with that. Look, I’m going to make another video. I’m going to tell the whole story. Will you do it with me?”
The question catches me off guard. I have a feeling the whole story is going to paint a huge target on my mother’s back. And I know she’s been a monster.
But I also know I listened to her this morning, leaving a message for my father again. Telling him how much she misses him and how much I need him. Admitting that things here aren’t perfect and haven’t been perfect since he left.
I don’t know how to explain to Emma that I agree with her and I’m on her side, but I also still, despite everything, love my mother. So what I say, instead, is a weak and anemic “I want to, but . . .”
Emma smiles ruefully. “You know what, Alyssa? I believe you have feelings for me, but I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much.”
Even though it doesn’t come as a shock, it still hits like one. It feels like a sonic boom, shattering the sky. “Is this . . . Are you breaking up with me?”
Neither of us says anything. Emma looks into the wind, baring her face. I wrap my arms around myself tightly and wait. I will her to say no, I pray she says no.
“Yes,” Emma says, punctuating it with a nod. “We’re done. This is done.”
And even though I want to throw myself at her and step in front of her car and beg her to stay, instead, I watch her walk away. She backs out, and as her car moves farther and farther away from me, all I want to do is scream and scream, until my voice shears into ribbons and disappears completely.
I have done nothing but achieve, jump through hoops, and put on smiles. And it’s not enough. The blue ribbons and first-place trophies, my extracurriculars and my Sunday school class—I have done every single thing my mother wanted . . . for nothing. Because she’s never going to stop wanting me to be perfect Alyssa Greene, and I’m never going to actually be her. Never.
Slumping against the hood of my car, I cover my face with my hands and start to cry. The one thing that was mine, the one beautiful thing that I chose, that made me feel whole and human and alive, just drove away.
And I let her.
21. Look to the Western Sky
EMMA
By the time I get home, I have no more tears left to cry. And this time, I really mean it.
This past month has been the hardest of my life, and that includes being kicked out of the house by my parents when I was fourteen, and my really unfortunate mullet phase. I’m not happy and I’m not over it, but boy, have I learned a lot.
For one, I learned that it’s possible to sideline myself from my own life.
And I also learned that it’s possible to convince yourself you’re happy with a scrap when everybody else has the whole meal. I finally understand what they mean when people ask if the ends justify the means. Barry and Dee Dee were on my side for all the wrong reasons. Maybe Principal Hawkins was, too.
My heart is broken, but it’s still beating. My town turned on me, but I survived it. I’m done waiting for my life to start. I’m over being a pawn in other people’s games.
So when I pull in and see Barry and Dee Dee’s rental car in front of the house, I say bring it. If Alyssa’s to be believed, Barry thinks he’s still fighting the good fight on my behalf. And you know what? Maybe he is, but I’m going to fight my own battles from here on out.
Inside, Nan sits with Barry and Dee Dee—and she jumps right up when I come in. “Emma, they have something they’d like to talk to you about. But if you’re not interested in hearing it . . .”
I look from Nan to Barry, and his expression is so tentative. So hopeful. Now I remember why I trusted him so easily. I’ve seen that look on my own face in the mirror; I don’t think he was lying when he said he knew what it was like for me and Alyssa. He probably told me a lot of truths when he swept into my life. He just didn’t bother to mention that his motives weren’t pure.
But Barry doesn’t speak first. Dee Dee does. Of course she does. Sweeping out of the chair, she gathers the spotlight around her, even if it’s just in her own mind. Pressing a hand to her chest, she says, “If I may. We have to admit that we have made matters worse. And I think the best thing we can do for Emma is to go home and put it all behind us.”
Barry cuts a look in her direction. It’s pretty clear there’s been some discussion, and it’s also pretty clear that leaving right now is not what they discussed. Imperiously, Barry tells her, “We’re not leaving.”
“We are always not leaving!” Dee Dee moans.
“We are staying until we fix this,” Barry says with authority. “We’re going to turn this around, Emma.”
I wonder what they think there is left to turn around at this point. The prom is over. My senior year is almost done. Most frustratingly, they’ve shown up and written yet another script without sharing it with me. This isn’t going to happen again—I don’t care about their plans. I think I know what I’m going to do next, and if they’re going to be a part of it, they’re going to follow. Not lead. And they’re not going to follow until they cough up some remorse. “Okay, first of all. You two? You owe me an apology.”
Dee Dee looks like I just started speaking Martian. “I did apologize.”
“No,” Nan says, faintly amused. “You said you made things worse.”
“Which is an acknowledgment of wrongdoing,” Dee Dee insists. She looks to me. “We failed to get you to prom.”
“Still not an apology,” Nan singsongs.
I step in, because Nan’s enjoying this way too much. “And it’s not what you should be sorry for anyway. You didn’t come to help me. You came to help yourselves.”
“Help me, help you,” Dee Dee says airily. “What’s wrong with that? People who need people are the luckiest people in the world, don’t you know?”
Barry raises his voice, swiping his hands through the air. “Emma, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that we took your story and wrapped ourselves in it like a pashmina on an autumn day. It was wrong, we know that, and now . . . we’d like to help you. Just for you. I want to invite you and your nan to come back to New York with me. Now, or when you graduate. I have a darling little walk-up, Manhattan-adjacent—”
Dee Dee snorts. “Oh please, you live in Queens!”
Barry sends a poisonous glare at Dee Dee, then rolls his head to look back at me, pi
cking up where he left off. “With plenty of room. Come to stay. Come to NYU. Emma, you’ll love the city. And New York City will love you back.”
There are so many times I would have jumped at that offer in the past—some of them not even that long ago. It’s tempting—more than tempting. It sounds like a miracle, a transformation better than a Gregg Barnes color-changing dress. It would be a whole new world, and a whole new me, and a whole new life.
But I want mine.
“That’s . . . I mean, that’s huge, Barry, but you know what? If every gay kid in Indiana leaves, then that means every gay kid in Indiana has to do this alone.”
Nan murmurs something, I don’t catch what. But her face is bright and warm, full of pride. She winks at me and gives me a little approving nod. All along, I’ve had her. I’ve never been entirely alone. And as far as I’m concerned, the next kid gets me on their side—if they want it.
“Then a press offensive,” Barry says. “We’ll get you on Fallon.”
“How the hell are you going to get her on Fallon?” Dee Dee asks.
“I’ll figure it out,” Barry says through gritted teeth. He turns back to me. “You’ll be the face of this story, not that PTA witch sucking up all the airtime right now. We’ll get you on TV so you can show the world who this story is really about.”
They’re doing it again. It’s almost funny; like, they can’t stop taking up all the air in the room. They’re literally trying right now, and failing so hard. And you know what? It makes me smile. These absolute teaspoons have been floating around being famous for so long, they don’t know how to adult like normal people anymore.
“Okay, guys,” I say, trying to back them down like two oversized Siberian tigers in a Las Vegas show ring. “I wouldn’t do Fallon if my life depended on it. I’m still mad that he played pet the Nazi. I’d consider Kimmel—”
“My ex-husband knows Kimmel,” Dee Dee says quietly, like she just volunteered for dental surgery. “He’s been dying to get the house in the Hamptons from me for years.”
“Mmm, he has,” Barry says agreeably.
Dee Dee’s jaw is so tight, a muscle in her neck pops out when she says, “Do you know how many Broadway cruises I had to book to pay for that house? I’d rather suck my own eyes out with a vacuum cleaner than call that leech . . .”
We all watch her; this seems like a monologue, but who knows if it’s the end? I think there must be something that comes next, and I’m right.
“But I will. If I have to.” Dee Dee swallows the knot in her throat and reaches for my hand. “If you want me to.”
Shaking my head, I squeeze her hand. “I don’t want you to give up your house, Dee Dee.”
She collapses with a faint Thank god and peeks at me through the dramatic hand across her brow. “Go on, then.”
“I’m going to take a stand. And you know what? I owe you guys a thank-you for coming out here. My life was blowing up with or without you, and at least you gave it some zazz.”
“That’s not what that means,” Dee Dee whispers, then puts on an attentive face. “I’m listening!”
My hands start to shake, and my heart feels like a Jell-O mold in the trunk of a car. It wiggles like crazy; it might even come apart. But even though it’s hard to get a whole breath, I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t back down.
I look at my nan, who has always had my back, and Barry, who really does know what all of this is like, and even Dee Dee, who can be forcibly nudged in the right direction. I really look at them, and everything instantly clears.
“I’m doing this my way. I’m going to record a video, and I’m putting it on my channel. I have a lot more subscribers now. And thanks to Mrs. Greene, people keep hitting it, looking for more of the story.”
“That’s true,” Dee Dee says.
“And considering how much we screwed this up, you probably know better than we do,” Barry agrees.
I sit on the coffee table in front of them, an offense that would normally get me told off, but good, by my nan. But this time, I get a raised eyebrow and curiosity about what comes next. Clasping my hands together, I nod as the plan forms in my mind.
“I’m going to do my thing. And some people in town are going to listen, and they may even cry because they’ll realize what they did was wrong. And there will be shouting and meetings, and there will be a reckoning.
“It’ll spread to other towns and other cities and other states. Shouting and meetings and reckonings, and maybe next year, there will be a kickass prom in Edgewater, Indiana, for everybody, no matter who they are, no matter who they love.”
So far, the making-people-cry part of this plan is working. Nan is dewy, and Barry is outright sobbing. Even Dee Dee does one razor-sharp swipe beneath one eye before her mascara streaks her cheek. Normally, I’d feel bad about leaving people in tears, but I’m proud of these. I earned them. I worked for them.
Barry reaches for my hands, and I let him take them. “Emma, that would be wonderful.”
“And you know what? When that happens, Barry? I want you to be my date.”
“What about—”
“We broke up,” I say, and a sudden well of hurt rises up through the optimism.
“Oh, honey,” he says.
I nod. This time next year, we’ll both be at college and I’ll be a memory. Maybe one she’ll keep in a shoebox and pull out from time to time—or maybe one that she’ll bury deep and pretend she never had.
I don’t know. And I hate that. But I can’t make her do something she doesn’t want to do. I can’t make her be who I want her to be. Alyssa is Alyssa, and she has to find her own way.
So I shrug that aside and tell Barry, “Anyway, this will be a prom for every kid who never got theirs, and that includes you.”
“Can I wear the silver tux I never wore? I still have it.” Barry looks into the distance. “It needs renovations, but I happen to know—”
Nan, Dee Dee, and I all say, “Tony Award–winning costume designer Gregg Barnes!” at the same time.
“You all think you’re sooo funny,” Barry says, but he laughs softly. Squeezing my hands, he asks, “So when are we—when are you making this video? You’re going to do all the work, but the least we can do is make sure you get all the attention you deserve.”
Standing up, I say, “I’m going to go do it now. I’ve been working on a lot of music lately, and I know what I’m going to lead with.”
“Godspeed,” Dee Dee cries.
Barry salutes me. “And good luck.”
22. For Good
ALYSSA
It’s a little terrifying when I get to school and everyone is on their phone.
Technically, there are rules against having our phones out in the hallways, even though we all sneak from time to time. But this is a full-out insurrection.
As I move through the hall, people are clumped in groups, watching something together. I hear tinny sounds that might be music, but it’s hard to tell with so many of them playing at once.
Turning slowly, I spin the combination to get into my locker when Shelby appears out of nowhere to glom onto me. Her face is pink and shiny with tears, but her makeup is perfect. When she throws her arms around me, she does it precisely, part drama and part genuine emotion. I think. It’s hard to tell with Shelby sometimes.
“Oh. My. God,” Shelby says, sniffling on my shoulder. “Did you see Emma’s video?”
I feel every pore in my body close up. It would be so nice to sink into my sweater and turn into a small gray stone, but unfortunately, I’m the student council president, not the student council magician. Emma’s prom video is burned into my mind. Over and over, it plays in my head, stuck there like a song. “I watched it on prom night, Shelby. Why?”
“Nooooo,” she keens into my ear, squeezing me tighter. “The new one. Oh my god, I can’t believe you haven�
��t seen it. Here. Watch it. Watch!”
Shelby shoves her phone in front of me. I have to lean my head back so I can focus on the screen as she keeps pushing it closer. Finally, I take the thing from her. If I’m going to be forced to watch my ex-girlfriend’s latest vlog on heartbreak, I’d prefer to do it from a reasonable distance.
Like an octopus, Shelby snakes an arm around me and pushes play. “Watch!”
“I am,” I tell her, annoyed. I mean, I’d rather not, but apparently, I have no choice. And what the heck, I probably deserve it. I mentioned a while back that I am the worst person in the world, and the last two days have done nothing to change my opinion on that.
After a little ad plays, Emma’s face fills the screen. The ache in my chest grows, because she looks better than the last time I saw her. Under the water tower, her skin was gray and her lips slate and her eyes bloodshot from crying. She wore every inch of her agony on her face, but she looks fine in this video. She looks good. And all I can think is Oh god, she’s already over me.
The screen blurs, but I stand there anyway. Shelby breathes hotly on my neck as she re-watches, too. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and her weight threatens to pull me off balance. Or maybe I’m just off balance, because Emma sits there in her lavender bed, beneath her green walls, and explains everything from the beginning.
As she speaks, her fingers touch the guitar strings without playing. They move by some memory, as she explains how the PTA threatened to cancel prom if she brought her girlfriend. How Mr. Glickman and Ms. Allen showed up to protest. How the PTA decided to hold a fake prom just for her. Her fingers strum silent chords; her shoulders move with music that’s just in her head. And I realize for the first time:
She never once outed me. She never told anyone that her girlfriend went to the other prom. That her girlfriend’s mother is the reason this all got started and ended up so out of hand. She never blamed me; she never named me. She never even mentioned that we agreed to go together and I backed out on her.
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