The Anti-Prom

I should have guessed it from the ice cream. Hot fudge sauce would have shown some promise, candy topping hints at a little spark, and even plain flavor would have been simple and determined. But rainbow sprinkles? Child’s play. By the time we pull up a safe half block away from Kaitlin’s house, Meg is already set to wimp out on us.

“Are you sure you have to do this?” she asks, turning the engine off. She blinks fearfully at the mini-mansions and manicured lawns rolling out around us, a quiet enclave of wealth and obedient household staff. “Just think what will happen if you get caught, all the trouble —”

“We won’t get caught.” I ignore her, turning to Bliss. “You ready?”

She nods, bouncing out of her seat with enthusiasm.

“Then let’s go.” I grab my bag and reach for the car door, but something in Meg’s expression makes me think twice. I remember how I felt at the start, those early days hanging out with boys whose fingertips were always stained with spray paint, boys who could start a car just by reaching under the dashboard, boys who didn’t leave the house without wire cutters and a flask. It was thrilling, sure, but I was terrified, too — that lurch of panic kicking low in my gut. I barely feel a flicker now, but back then, I would wait for sirens, always ready to bolt.

I pluck her purse from between the seats and rifle through for her slim wallet.

“Wait, what are you —”

“Security,” I tell her, holding up her driver’s license with a grin. “You wouldn’t think of driving off and leaving us here, right? Especially not without your license. That would be very bad.”

“Illegal,” Bliss agrees from the backseat. Meg’s face falls.

“I said I’d wait.”

“And now I know for sure that you will,” I tell her, slipping her license in my bag. “Now, keep watch on the driveway, and call me if you see any cars pull up, OK? I’ve programmed our numbers into your cell.”

Meg nods. She’s still resentful, but the protest is gone from her expression. Good girl.

“And keep the engine running,” I add. “We might need to make a quick getaway.”

Bliss is already bounding ahead of me up the sidewalk, like we’re heading to a pep rally, not a break-in. “Chill, Bambi.”

“Sorry.” She drops back, still glowing with excitement. “Kaitlin’s house is just up . . . here.” She falls silent as we reach a huge red-brick house at the end of the cul-de-sac. All the houses in this part of town are look-at-me large, but this one is even bigger than the rest. And occupied. Lights are on in every room, classic rock music drifts from an open window, and I can see a woman walking between rooms inside, chatting on the phone. Great.

“I thought you said they were out for the night.” I turn to glare at her. I may have learned certain . . . skills when it comes to getting into places I shouldn’t, but that’s only when there’s nobody around to dial 911 and wield their desk-drawer handgun.

Bliss bites her lip. “Sorry. Does that mean it’s off?”

“Nope.” I sigh. “But we’ll have to find a Plan B, unless you want to just walk right in . . . Wait, I wasn’t serious!” But Bliss is already sashaying toward the front door.

“Follow my lead and look normal,” she whispers at me, smoothing down her hair.

I attempt a perky grin.

“I said normal, not psychotic.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, but I adjust my expression just as Bliss hits the bell. A moment later, Kaitlin’s mom answers, holding the phone speaker-down against her shoulder.

“Bliss, honey, what are you doing here?” She’s bronzed and rake-thin, wearing a crisp white shirt and khakis. You know, typical relaxed Friday-night clothes. “I thought you kids would be out for hours.”

“Hi, Mrs. Carter!” Bliss choruses. “We will be; don’t worry. But we’re having a fashion emergency. Kaitlin’s bra snapped!”

“Oh no!” Mrs. Carter looks suitably horrified.

“I know!” Bliss agrees. “She can’t leave the bathroom, of course, so Jo . . . anna and me volunteered to come pick up a replacement.”

She caught herself just in time. Even the mention of my name is enough to strike fear into the heart of every parent in town.

“Of course.” Mrs. Carter waves us into the vast marble hallway, already putting the phone back to her ear. “You know where her room is.”

“Sure I do!” Bliss beams again, hurrying toward the stairs. “We won’t be a minute!”

I follow her up to the first floor, pausing to scope out the framed family portraits covering every wall, full of dead-eyed creepy smiles.

“How’s that for fast thinking?” Bliss crows.

“We’re not done yet,” I remind her as she heads for the room at the far end of the hallway. I follow her inside, quickly closing the door behind us, already in attack mode. I figure we have about five minutes before Mrs. Carter comes to check; more, if she’s gossiping with an old friend. That means we need to —

I stop. “Somebody lives here?”

“Yeah.” Bliss flops down on the king-size bed covered in crisp white linens. “Kaitlin’s kind of a neat freak.”

Something of an understatement. The pale carpet is spotless, every surface is clear, and there’s nothing but a mirror and a makeup box out on the dresser. I shiver at all the perfection. My room may fit in the en suite bathroom, but at least it doesn’t look like a catalog shoot. “Weird. Anyway, you want to get searching?”

“Oh! Right.” Bliss bounces up again and heads to the gleaming flat-screen computer in the corner. “If we’re lucky, she won’t . . . Oh, crap.” She stops.

I look over her shoulder at the screen. The background is set to a big photo of Kaitlin, Bliss, and the rest of their shiny clique, but hovering in front of it is a little box demanding our password.

“Seriously?” I ask. “The girl is happy wandering around the locker room completely naked, but now she has to worry about privacy?”

Bliss shrugs. “She’s always complaining about her little sister snooping around. I guess she’s paranoid.”

“And has something on there worth protecting,” I say decisively. “Keep trying. Most people use basic stuff for their passwords: birthdays, pet names. I’ll see if she’s got anything stashed around here.”

“OK.” Bliss settles into the desk chair while I go lift the bedspread and peer underneath. It’s where I keep my contraband, but apparently I have a different definition of banned substances. Instead of cigarettes, a vibrator, or even coffee (Mom swears it will stunt my growth), Kaitlin’s got what looks like the entire back-catalog of ChicK magazines under the bed, neatly stacked according to year. Like I said: weird.

“Any luck?” Bliss is still clicking away.

“Not yet.” I pull out every box to be sure, checking for anything remotely illicit. It’s like peeking into another universe: a world of designer purses, stacked heels, and discarded makeup sets barely out of the box. MAC, NARS, Lancôme . . . God, she’s got my entire yearly paycheck down here, gathering dust.

I move on. The bedside tables are decorated with a few photos in heavy silver frames. Kaitlin and crew at the lakeshore. Kaitlin and crew hanging out by the pool. Kaitlin and Bliss, grinning widely in matching red bikinis. They look happy, like best friends should. Suppose you never can tell.

I glance over at Bliss, wondering again why she’s going through with all this effort and strategy, when she could just knee that ex of hers in the groin and be finished with it. It’s what I would do. When I found out my last boyfriend had been hooking up with the door girl from Club Ninja behind my back, I made like Carrie Underwood and dug a vicious scratch into his precious car. But maybe Bliss has her reasons. Just like I have my reasons for humoring her until I can get on with my own agenda for the night.

Finished with the tables, I’m just heading to the dresser when I look up. “Holy sh — ugar!” I jump, clutching my chest. A small kid is standing in the doorway, watching us silently with big, dark eyes.

“Avery, hi!” Bliss looks panicked. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

The girl just stares. She’s sucking her thumb, dressed in a hideous lacy nightgown covered in ribbons and bows.

“What do we do? Just . . . ignore her?” I whisper. I’ve watched way too many demon spawn movies not to be freaked out by her pale skin and perfect little ringlets.

“I don’t know,” Bliss whispers back, so I tentatively take another few steps toward the dresser.

“What are you doing?” Avery finally takes her thumb out of her mouth.

“I’m your sister’s friend, remember?” Bliss pastes on an innocent smile, the same one that reduces adults to putty. Avery isn’t so easily convinced.

“Why are you looking through her stuff? She doesn’t like it when I look through her stuff. Mommy says it’s wrong.” The kid glares at me.

“I, umm . . .”

“We’re looking for something!” Bliss says quickly. “Kaitlin lost something very important. We’re helping her find it!”

“Mommy says I’m not allowed to look.” Avery takes a step back toward the hallway. She raises her voice into that high-pitched, bratty tone. “Momm —!”

In an instant, I lunge forward and grab her, clamping my hand over her mouth. She squeals, biting down on my fingers. Hard. “Owww!” I groan, struggling to stay quiet. Bliss stares at me in shock. “You want to shut the door?” I tell her, fighting to keep the kid in my arms. She quickly does it.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your ass,” I tell her, wrestling Avery into an armlock. I’m careful not to hurt her, however much she kicks and flails against me. Then she throws herself to the side, and I lose my balance. “Mneugh!” I fall hard, twisting my body at the last minute so that I hit the ground beneath her, instead of the other way around.

This is why I’m never going to breed.

“You want to maybe keep trying?” I order. Bliss looks at me as if I’m crazy, but she starts hitting keys again. Which leaves the demon spawn to me.

Gritting my teeth, I try my best to sound friendly. “Hey, kid! Kid, I’m not letting go until you keep quiet.” I hold tight and eventually she stills. “Good.” I exhale. “Now, we’re going to make a deal here. You know what a deal is?”

She shakes her head against me.

“A deal is where you stay quiet, and I give you something. Anything you want. Do you like the sound of that?”

A pause, and then she nods. Ah, capitalism.

“OK. But if you call for your mommy, the deal’s off.” I slowly release her. Avery folds her little arms and glares at me, but she doesn’t scream.

“I want my present.”

“I’m sure you do.” I pick up my bag from where I left it on the bed, nursing my poor hand. Damn, that kid’s got teeth on her. “Bliss, status?”

“Nothing yet.” She’s rifling through desk drawers now. “I’ll check if she wrote it down.”

Great.

“Your present, OK. I have, umm . . .” I dig through my bag, flipping past the items that won’t — or, rather, shouldn’t — interest a preteen. But there’s nothing that might win her over. No sparkly gadgets or cool little toys or anything colored pink.

“How about a Twinkie?” I hold up the package with defeat. But she snatches it from my hand and happily tears off the wrapper. Soon, she’s sitting cross-legged in the corner, devouring the snack with rapturous abandon.

I raise my eyebrows at Bliss.

“Kaitlin’s mom is really into health food.” She shrugs. “The house is like, a sugar-free zone.”

“Lucky us.”

Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. “Quick!” I hiss, scooping Avery into my arms again. I pull her behind the door and crouch there. “Keep quiet, and I’ll give you another Twinkie,” I whisper, listening as the steps come closer. Avery’s eyes widen, and she nods, mouth smeared with crumbs.

“Bliss, how are you doing?”

“Great, Mrs. C.!” From my huddled corner, I can see Bliss give another innocent smile. “I’m just trying to find the right one. See, it can’t be dark, because then it would show through the dress, and it can’t have straps, or lace, because that would totally screw up the line of the bust, and —”

“That’s fine, hon.” Mrs. Carter cuts off her inane chatter. She pauses. “Where’s your friend?”

“Oh, she’s just in the bathroom!”

“OK. You girls make sure to keep it down. Little Avery is fast asleep.”

“Of course.”

The door closes, and I sigh with relief, handing Avery the other snack cake. God bless refined sugar products.

“I can’t stall her forever.” Bliss closes the door again and helps me up.

“I know.” I nod grimly. Who knew Kaitlin would be so smart? “So what do you want to do?”

Bliss shrugs helplessly.

“Great.” I sigh. “You know, this was easier for Harriet the Spy. They all just kept journals with their darkest secrets. Nice, solid things with padlocks and keep out scrawled across the front.”

“Like Kaitlin’s special secret book?”

We look around. Avery has finished the Twinkie in record speed and is licking off her fingers.

Bliss brightens. “Kaitlin has a secret book?”

Avery nods.

“Well?” I prompt. “Where is it?”

“I want another present.”

I give Bliss a look. “That was my last one,” I whisper.

“So what do we do?”

What I always do. When in doubt, bribe.

“Avery, hon. I don’t have another Twinkie”— she opens her mouth to complain, but I quickly cut her off — “but I do have money. Well, Bliss does. Which means you can buy your own Twinkies. As many as you want!”

She pauses, furrowing her evil, demonic brow. “How much?”

“Five dollars!” I announce. Avery shakes her head. “Ten?” She shakes it again. Man, kids these days. I had to save for weeks for the latest Harry Potter when I was her age. “Twenty dollars?” I try, impatient. At least it’s not my money. “That would buy you . . . twenty whole Twinkies.”

Avery’s eyes widen at the thought of all that pure, unadulterated sugar. “Yes.” She nods. “Twenty.”

I turn to Bliss. “You heard the kid.”

“You’re bribing a ten-year-old?” She looks shocked.

I roll my eyes. “Do you want the book or not?”

Reluctantly, she pulls a twenty from her bodice. And there I was thinking there was nothing but double-sided tape behind that dress.

Avery reaches for the money, but I dangle it just out of reach. “Not until you show us where it’s hidden.”

She heads straight for the closet.

“I thought you checked there.” Bliss gives me a scathing look.

“I did,” I snap back as Avery expertly clambers up the shelves and reaches into a pile of jeans. She pulls out a blue journal: leather-bound and surprisingly tasteful for the girl who dressed as a burlesque dancer for our last school fund-raiser. Our daytime school fund-raiser.

“My present!” Avery demands. I hand her the twenty; Bliss snatches the diary.

“You can’t tell anyone you saw us,” I say. “You’ll get in trouble for not being in bed.”

She nods and then scampers away — no doubt back to her lair of doom.

“We did it!” Bliss bounces up and down with joy, but I know better than to celebrate too soon. I quickly pluck a beige strapless bra from the pile and shut the wardrobe.

“Come on. We should bail, before Meg has a breakdown and walks home.”

We hurry downstairs. Mrs. Carter is in the living room, watching some Real Housewives episode on the big-screen TV, so Bliss calls through. “Thanks, Mrs. C., we’re just leaving now!”

“Hang on, girls, I just want to —”

We don’t wait. Bursting out the front door, we race across the lawn. The sprinklers switch on, and Bliss cries out as the cold water hits her skin. I ignore her shrieks, dragging her through the jets and down the street. I’m full of familiar adrenaline, that breathless excitement of making it out, free. From the gleeful expression on Bliss’s face, she’s buzzing too.

Meg’s car is still loitering on the corner, thank God. I throw open the front door and pile in. “Go, go!”

“What?” Meg stares at me, panicked. “Did you get caught?”

Bliss tumbles into the backseat. “No!” She laughs. “We got it!”

I glance back at the street, just to be sure, but we’re all clear. I give Meg a nod.

“Stage One is complete. Now go!”





“Didn’t you hear me?” Jolene drums an impatient rhythm on the seat beside her. “I said get the hell out of here!”

I’m wound so tight with tension, I slam my foot hard on the gas, speeding away with a painful screech. Damn. I hit the brake, overcompensating with another amateur lurch. We shudder to a halt.

“The point of a getaway car is to, you know, get away!” Jolene gives me a look of utter exasperation.

I blush. I scored perfectly on my driver’s test; my dad made me practice drills until I could parallel park in my sleep. Eighteen months without so much as a single ticket, but, of course, I have to fall apart now, when it actually matters, when they’re depending on me.

Focus, Meg!

I force myself to take a deep breath and then finally drive away like a normal human being — even remembering the obligatory pause at the stop sign at the end of the block.

“Did they suspect anything?” I ask, glancing in the rearview mirror.

“Not at all,” Jolene declares proudly. She lets out a whoop as we turn out of the quiet subdivision and head toward town, the windows down and a warm breeze whipping through the car.

“Thanks to who?” Bliss leans forward between us, her hair falling in the kind of effortless, glossy cascade it took me two hours of trying — and failing — to achieve. “Uh, my cover story was brilliant, thanks very much.”

Jolene makes a noise of protest. “And who silenced the demon child with nothing but her powers of persuasion and some sugary treats?”

“And half my emergency money!” Bliss cries, indignant.

“Whatever, like you’ll miss it.”

I exhale a slow sigh of relief as they bicker beside me. Finally, after that agonizing wait, my nerves are beginning to ease, blossoming into a kind of fluttering excitement as I absorb their rush of laughter.

We did it!

Well, they did, I correct myself. You just waited down the block, flinching every time a car passed by and wondering whether the Stanford admissions people would ever overlook a misdemeanor charge.

“So where now?” I ask, excited. “Back to prom?”

“Nope.” Bliss speaks up from the backseat. She’s got some kind of journal, and she’s flipping through the pages with a wicked smile on her face. “We’re going to Brooks. The campus is down I-32. Just make the exit out of town.”

The college? “I know where it is, but why —?”

“We’re going to deliver this little gem to Kaitlin’s boyfriend.” Bliss doesn’t even wait for me to ask the question; she’s already crowing over her grand plan. “Jason will freak when he finds out she’s been cheating. And his roommate hooks up with Brianna sometimes, so she’ll be, like, the first to find out. If we plant it so he doesn’t know it came from me, I’ll be completely clear.”

“Right,” I say quietly. I knew the high-school hierarchies were complicated, but this level of strategy and planning is almost Machiavellian. I glance in the rearview mirror again and wonder if I’m getting in over my head.

Jolene must be thinking the same thing, because she nudges me. “I’m kind of surprised you’re still with us.” She gives me a long look. “Figured maybe you’d get out and walk.”

“I said I was in,” I repeat firmly.

“Come on, you were tempted though, right?”

I shake my head. Even if the thought did cross my mind, oh, a few dozen times, I don’t want either of them to know. “We made a deal; I’m not backing out.”

I feel Jolene study me for a moment as I try not to wilt under her steady gaze, then to my relief she turns to Bliss. “Let me see it,” she orders, reaching back. Bliss hesitates, clutching the diary to her chest, but then Jolene snaps her fingers and Bliss relents.

“OK, but read it aloud. I want to hear everything!”

“‘March twenty-sixth.’” Jolene kicks her bare feet up on the dashboard and begins to read, mimicking Kaitlin’s nasal voice. “‘Brianna was bugging me all through lunch today. She wants me to fix her up with Duncan —’”

“Jason’s roommate,” Bliss adds.

“‘— but she doesn’t know he already told Jase he thinks she’s only, like, a seven. He’ll hook up with her, but he said she acts like such a slut.’ Ugh.” Jolene slams the book shut and tosses it back. “You keep delightful company, you really do.”

I have to agree, but in the mirror, I see Bliss shrug. “Uh, who are you to judge? JD McGraw? That Eric guy?” Her voice is dubious. “Those guys are, like, walking felonies.”

Jolene stiffens. “At least when they fight, they do it to your face.”

“They would hit a girl?” Bliss’s voice rises.

“No.” I don’t look over, but I can practically hear the eye roll in Jolene’s reply. “It was a metaphor. Instead of stabbing you in the back, like your crowd does.”

Immediately, I can feel the mood shift. “So I need to take the next exit ahead?” I pipe up, before they can launch into a vicious showdown.

Bliss stops, turning to me as if she’d forgotten I was even here. “Yeah, and then it’s straight through for like, twenty miles.”

“OK.”

They fall silent as I merge onto the highway. Jolene settles back, scratching at the pink polish on her nails as she gazes out the window, while Bliss curls up in the backseat with the journal. Slowly, the stretch of used-car lots and industrial warehouses on the outskirts of town makes way for open countryside and the occasional shadow of half-built suburban developments, houses standing empty in unfinished rows. I keep a careful eye on the road and wonder yet again what strange forces brought the two of them together. Because despite Jolene’s whole explanation about revenge on Kaitlin and Cameron, something just doesn’t add up.

That’s the thing about being invisible, I suppose: they might not know who on earth I am, but I know plenty about them. Bliss and her clique don’t pause for breath during their girls’ bathroom bitch-sessions when I slip in, but the moment someone else — someone real — walks through that door, there’s nothing but “Shh!” and giggles and whispers until they leave. Jolene’s just the same. I work a few shifts in the front office for extra credit, so I see her all the time, dragged in after they catch her smoking, or fighting, or answering back. She waits, slouching in the chairs right opposite me, but has never even looked my way.

But here they are. In my car. Together.

Jolene begins searching in the glove compartment, flipping through CDs with a noisy rattle. She looks up suddenly and catches my eye, holding it as if she’s challenging me. I look away, embarrassed, but she really doesn’t care; she never has.

“You know, this stuff isn’t bad.” She’s looking at my music selection with a frown, as if she can’t believe I could possibly have any taste at all.

“Oh. Thanks.” I murmur a response, and then look up to find that she’s holding one of my dad’s classic country mixes, not any of the vaguely-cool indie music I threw in there. With a swift movement, she slams in the CD, and suddenly, the loud guitar chords make way for a gentle bluegrass twang.

“What?” Bliss protests immediately. “Come on!”

Jolene ignores her, humming happily along to the old song.

“You like that stuff?” I venture.

“It’s in my blood. Can’t you tell?” She gives a wry laugh. “Born and raised with nothing else on the radio.”

Her name, of course.

“I was lucky,” Jolene continues, adjusting the seat so she’s lounging way back — forcing Bliss to shift over to the other side. “She nearly named me Dolly. If there’s one thing I can thank my dad for, it’s convincing her otherwise. Can you imagine?”

I give a nervous laugh of agreement.

“Dolly?” Bliss lets out a sharp squeal, kicking the back of my seat in the process. “Who would even call their kid that?”

“Says the girl named after a freaking state of mind,” Jolene snaps back.

There’s silence again — the dulcet tones of Dusty or Roseanne or whoever sighing away, the momentary sharing clearly done.

I don’t mind. It’s enough for me just to focus on the road ahead, taking us farther away from town and that gleaming country club full of my own foolish dreams. I always love driving, getting out, away. If I’ve had an even worse day than usual, or I feel that loss begin to ache again, I’ll take the keys and just go. Dad’s surprisingly understanding, given his oft-quoted statistics about road safety, but perhaps it’s Stella, murmuring in his ear about giving me space; either way, at least they let me. An hour here, a two-hour trip there — it doesn’t seem like a lot, but I sometimes think it’s the only thing that keeps me together anymore.

It’s funny, to think I could crave more space. After all, I have nothing but distance around me all day long — a silent kind of force field hovering as I wander the faded linoleum hallways. But that’s different. That kind of distance diminishes me, slowly sapping my strength away. Out here, with the radio playing loud enough to drown everything but a beat or a soaring melody, I feel most like myself. There’s this one song that gets it just right, a guy singing about a dark windless night, and how a song can just surround you, punching right through your mind, pumping in your blood. Moments like that, I feel as though everything gets stripped away — school, Mom, all that endless work for grades and application essays — and there’s nothing left but the core of who I am, so I can finally know myself. Like myself, even.

Eventually, as always, the road runs out, and I take the familiar exit and turn toward the college campus. I’ve been out to Brooks a few times before to use the library for research projects, so I save myself the embarrassment of getting lost in the crisscrossing sprawl of buildings that radiates from the old main core. Slowing to avoid the students who see jaywalking as their God-given right, I make my way to the front quad, a neat patch of grass framed by three small red-brick buildings — long since dwarfed by the new concrete sports complex and gleaming academic hubs.

“So,” I say, turning off the engine while they collect purses and pull their shoes back on. “I guess I’ll just wait here for you?”

Jolene nods, already reaching for the door handle. “We shouldn’t be long. Which dorm is this guy in, anyway?”

“Ummm . . .” Bliss sounds less than certain. “I can’t really remember.”

“You’re kidding.”

But she’s not. Bliss shrugs. “I’ve never really paid attention to the directions, I just followed Kaitlin. . . .” She screws up her face, deep in thought. “His dorm is big, I guess, with a whole load of vending machines in the lobby. I’ll know it when I see it.”

“You’d better get out,” Jolene says to me. “This one’s completely helpless.”

I look down at my floor-length black satin gown. “It’s OK. I’m not really dressed for —”

“You look fine,” Jolene interrupts. “Better than I do, anyway.” She plucks at a ruffle with disdain. I decide not to argue, and soon we’re all standing in front of the quad, surveying the campus. It’s getting dark out, but there are floodlights fixed on the side of every building, and every pathway is bathed in a bright glow. “So how many dorms are in this place?” Jolene asks, a note of resignation in her voice.

“Fifteen, maybe?” I carefully hold my skirt off the dusty asphalt.

“And you really can’t remember a thing?”

“Sorry!” Bliss beams at us, obviously forgetting for a moment who she’s pulling her sweet and innocent act with. The smile slips. “We’ll find him eventually. We’ll just have to ask around.”

“Or we could look him up in the student directory?” I suggest.

They both turn to me.

“You know, the online catalog of every student and their room number?” It seems obvious to me, but Bliss’s face lights up as if I’ve just suggested a miracle.

“Genius! See, I knew you’d be great at this.”

“Not so fast,” I say quickly, before she gets too carried away with false praise. “It’s for students only. We need somebody else to log us in.”

“No problem.” She grins. “Just point me in the right direction.”