Renner nods respectfully. “Touché, but my point still stands.”
“We won’t leave anyone out,” I assure. “We’ll poll everyone on their backgrounds and—”
Ollie raises his hand. “J. T. makes a good point, Char. It’s kinda . . . invasive to go around asking people their ethnicities.”
“True,” Kassie reluctantly agrees. “I love the idea, but I think it’s too broad of a theme. Let’s think of something a little more laid-back and fun.”
Renner raises his brow in a silent I told you so, pleased that he’s stolen my thunder. It’s one of his favorite pastimes, after worshipping his own reflection and leaving people high and dry on special occasions.
I fold my arms, miffed. They do have a point. I overlooked the glaring privacy bit. But I can’t help but feel they’ve tossed my proposal prematurely without considering ways around it. Traitors. “Then what does Mr. President propose?”
He shrugs. “What about . . .” He looks to the ceiling, as if the answer is up there. “Under the Sea?”
I want to keel over at the thought. Under the Sea means tacky seaweed, bubble machines, anchors, and . . . fish decor. For the most magical night of teenage-hood? Someone hold me. “No. Absolutely not. Over my dead body.”
He meets my stare in a challenge. “Let’s vote on it.”
THREE
Two weeks until prom
You are cordially invited to . . .
Under the Sea
Proudly presented by Maplewood High School’s Senior Class
On Saturday, June 15
From 7:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m.
Maplewood High School Gymnasium A
Tickets:
$40 per person
$75 per couple
$50 at the door
*See Senior social calendar below:
June 3–7—Exams
June 10–12—Prank Days, Senior Symposium, Brick Painting
June 13—Senior Sleepover
June 14—Beach Day
June 15—Prom Night
June 22—Graduation
“Prom is doomed,” I grumble at the demented cartoon whale smiling on our freshly laminated prom tickets. Had anyone else proposed Around the World, Renner would have been all for it. But because it was me, he had to derail the idea.
I pretend to sob into a particularly hideous taffeta gown. The saleslady with the tattooed brows frowns at me from across the boutique. She’s cranky that Nori, Kassie, and I are disrupting her lunch-break reality television episode. I plop next to Nori on the tufted bench outside the changing rooms.
“This is my best work. It’s a certified masterpiece. You’re really killing my vibe here.” Nori’s gold bangles jingle as she holds the prom ticket to the light, admiring her creation from all angles. Her iPad is always at the ready so she can sketch whenever inspiration strikes. She’s wicked talented and could probably make a rock from my driveway look visually interesting.
“Prom will be amazing regardless of the theme,” Kassie says sternly, voice muffled from behind the dressing room curtain.
“Not with gigantic jellyfish tentacles dangling from the gym ceiling.” I shudder at the thought. “Did you know jellyfish don’t even have brains?”
“Okay, but they can clone themselves. Us humans—with our big, useless brains—can’t do that,” Nori points out. The things we learn in biology.
Random jellyfish factoids aside, everyone but me is thrilled about Under the Sea. Even perpetually crusty Principal Proulx.
The past two weeks have been nothing but cramming for exams and elaborate promposals. Most notable was Ollie’s. After a choreographed flash mob at the Friday game, the football team stripped their jerseys, one by one, revealing blue painted letters on their chests, collectively spelling PROM, KASSIE? It was inevitable Kassie and Ollie would go together, just like it’s inevitable they’ll win prom king and queen, get married (with me as maid of honor), and have perfectly symmetrical-faced babies who will go on to procreate with my own children (if my twenty-year plan of marrying a kind-eyed, dependable man who bears a striking resemblance to Charles Melton goes smoothly).
“Char, I say this with love, but maybe you need to sit this one out and let us handle it,” Kassie suggests. “I know you’re super stressed about exams and—”
“Sit this one out? Prom?” I impulsively scratch my neck. The thought of not being in control is hive inducing. “And I’m stressed for exams a very regular amount, thank you.”
Nori gives me a knowing look. “She has a point. You’ve taken the lead on every event this year. Like, you spent the entire Valentine’s Day carnival running around, stressed out over the broken cotton candy machine. You didn’t even get to ride the Ferris wheel.”
Before I can point out that prom is THE MOST IMPORTANT event of all, Kassie parades out of the stall in a floor-length red sequin number that looks like second skin. The dramatic slits up each side flirt dangerously close to her pubic bone. She steps onto the pedestal and sways side to side, channeling the raw star power of J.Lo.
“Steal-your-man red,” Kassie says in a faux British accent. “As my mom calls it. Does it make my boobs look big or no?”
Nori pretends to shield her eyes. “I dunno about your boobs, but that color is offensive. My eyes are watering just looking at it.” Her tone is a little clipped. She and Kassie are frenemies at best. I’m the glue that somehow makes our unlikely threesome work. To Nori’s credit, Kassie is like a boomerang, always bringing the conversation back to her. Like when Nori broke up with her first girlfriend two years ago, Kassie decided it was an appropriate time to complain about how Ollie didn’t invite her on his family’s vacation to Disney World.
Despite Kassie’s vapid tendencies, I also know a totally different side of her. The Kassie I met at camp when we were nine who took me under her wing when home was the last place I wanted to be. She gave me her polka-dot scrunchie, claiming it was the perfect accessory for my “retro Britney Spears” outfit. The Kassie who picks me up after my hellishly long summer shifts at Two Cows ’N’ a Cone to drive around aimlessly while scream-singing love ballads. The Kassie who gives me clothes on the regular, claiming they don’t fit her anymore even though I know that’s not true.
Kassie knows my mom juggles two jobs—her begrudged day job as a pharmacy assistant and twilight shifts as an aspiring novelist. I’m not poor by any means, but unlike most of my peers at MHS, I can’t afford the newest clothes and electronic devices. Kassie knows all this and has never said a word about it to anyone. Sometimes I feel like I owe her for that.
“The color is nice,” I say defensively, turning back to Kassie. “You could go in a burlap sack and shoes made of Kleenex boxes and still win prom queen.”
“I don’t think I’m feeling it. Doesn’t go with the theme,” Kassie decides, running a hand over the tight bodice.
“The theme,” I mumble bitterly, following Nori into the dressing room. “Renner ruins everything. He’s like that marinara sauce stain on my white Keds that won’t go away no matter how many times my mom bleaches them.”
“I know you guys hate each other. But for your own sanity, you’ve gotta stop letting him under your skin. It only encourages him,” Kassie warns, like it’s all my fault he’s the bane of my existence.
“Lest we forget what he did,” I shout from behind the curtain.
“We were fourteen. And still obsessed with Shawn Mendes. You really need to forgive and forget,” she says as I step into a satin, purple dress.
For the record, I’m still obsessed with Shawn Mendes. I also have the memory of a dolphin.
And it extends far beyond homecoming.
J. T. Renner’s transgressions against me: a complete history
-9th grade—ditched me at homecoming
-9th grade—called me a “kiss ass” and “teacher’s pet”
-9th grade—made a penis joke during my biology presentation
-10th grade—invited entire sophomore class to his garage party except me
-10th grade—loudly pointed out a spelling error in my Civil War history PowerPoint presentation