Prom Queen of Disaster (5 page)

Dylan jogged over to kiss my cheek. “Wish me luck,” he said.

In the third quarter, the Lakeside Lions were up by four points. It wasn’t until the final quarter when we pulled it back, Benny scored a three-point shot. The red aggression heated on Dylan’s face pushed through to make the final shot, putting us one point ahead at 39 – 38.

The buzzer rang. A sigh of defeat and deflation rumbled from the other side while the roaring excitement and celebration came from ours. The subs and the starting squad grabbed Dylan by the legs and hauled him up on their shoulders.

We ran over with our pom-poms high. Our hearts pounded and our skin sweat with the electricity of winning.

“So what do you have planned?” Ava asked Kaleb as he pulled the head off the mascot. I tried to pull her.

“It’s homecoming. Right?” he said.

“Well?”

“I might see you there,” he said to her. “Ava, right?” he winked.

Dylan drew me from them, pulling me into his chest. “Can’t wait for tonight,” he said. “I have a surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“The one we’re waiting for.” He kissed my cheek. “Love you, Zo.”

“Love you.”

I looked myself in the mirror. I’d squeezed into a black and red dress. It reached my knees, a requirement my parents enforced. I’d combed my blonde hair to one side and pinned it in place, bumped at the top. I had a flat stomach, one of the perks of cheerleading every day. Turning to my side, I placed my hands on my hips.

“Thought you could wear this,” my mom said, walking in my bedroom with a small jewelry box. She opened it to reveal a thin gold necklace and a small deep red birthstone. “Got this when you were born, it’s a bloodstone.” She lowered it in my hand. Cold to the touch. “Apparently your birthstone is aquamarine now, a darn sight nicer to look at.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Can I?” Turning slightly, I pulled my hair over a shoulder.

“Beautiful, sweetie,” she said.

The dress was above the
safety line
as my mother called it, but the line was anything proving I was female; cleavage, knees, the inner thigh, skirts were incredibly difficult to talk my parents around.

My dad called me down to meet Dylan. Mom helped with make-up, more on telling me to
tone it down
, when all I wanted to do was reach into my bag and grab the hot pink lip stick Char had given me.

Watching from between his fingers, my dad stood beside Dylan. I’d seen Dylan in a suit before, but never one so fitting. It was off-black, somewhat gray with red touches. We matched completely.

“You’ll make sure she’s home by 10,” Dad said.

“Mike.” Mom patted his arm. “Make sure you have fun. No later than half-past 10.”

“I’ll have her home on the dot,” Dylan finally spoke. His eyes locked with mine. I wanted to run away with him, to lose myself with him.

Dad held his arms open. The hope for the little girl inside me to hug him twinkled in his eye. “You look beautiful,” he said. He pulled me in and kissed my forehead. “Have fun.”

He let go as Mom pulled me into a hug. She kissed my cheek and rubbed it with a thumb. “We need to get used to you looking
so
adult now.”

“I’m almost an adult,” I said.

Dylan stood awkwardly. I had the overly concerned conservative family, and he had parents who lived on opposite coasts.

“Wonder how you’ll be when she’s ready for prom,” Dylan chuckled.

“Still need to come to terms with me being a senior,” I said, leaving their sides. “Where’s Maddie?”

“Out at a friend’s,” Mom said, nudging at my dad. “Someone needs to pick her up.”

Dylan moved a hand to reveal a plastic box. There was a red rose corsage inside.

“Thank you.” I kissed him as he placed the corsage on my wrist.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, I think we need to head off,” he said.

“Take care of her,” they both said.

Dylan kissed me again as soon as we were outside. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said.

“You won,” I said. The phone in my black clutch buzzed.

“I won more than the game.”

I grabbed my phone as we stepped around the car.

“Are we picking Char up?” Dylan asked pre-emptively.

I looked at the stream of messages on my phone. “Looks like she’s going with Benny,” I said, piecing together her texts.

Dylan had his dad’s white convertible BMW, with the top was down. He took the driver’s seat and flashed a huge grin at me. “Never thought he’d say yes,” he grinned. “But I won the game.”

I put my phone away and turned to look him in the eye, inches from each other. “So you said you had a surprise for me,” I said. “Can you tell me now?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.” The engine roared as he turned the ignition. “But soon.”

Winning the game meant everyone had bought homecoming tickets, with or without dates. The parking lot at school was almost full, more than they were during the day. Music blasted through the doors leading to the entrance.

“When prom comes around.” Dylan smiled to himself. “We’ll be King and Queen.”

“You’ll be King, but I know Char is gunning for Queen.”

He bit his bottom lip. “You’ll always be my Queen.”

We parked the car. He reached around my shoulder and guided my head in for a kiss, driven by passion. We kissed for a lifetime, right before some asshat pounded on the hood of the car.

Dylan jumped to see a sophomore standing like a rabbit in headlights. He stuttered an apology, but there was no damage. He flipped him off and sat back down.

“We should go in,” I said, giving him a final kiss.

He looked at me, expecting something more, I could see the want to say something else in his open gaze. He climbed out of his side and rushed over to my door.

I grabbed his hand and collected the clutch bag under my arm. “A
real
man,” I said, my heart skipping a beat as Disney moments flashed before my eyes.

We walked through the dimly lit school halls, following the signs and the people as they walked to the gymnasium. The sound of music filtered through; it was pop music my mom had grown up with and would play whenever she was cleaning. Teachers and chaperones ushered us along, “no loitering in the halls,” they said as we walked, hand-in-hand to the gymnasium.

An arch of balloons welcomed us into the strobe-lit room. The gym was full, two tiers of chairs from the back had been taken out to make room, and a stage had been created for a band.

Char and Benny made a beeline for us as we walked in.

“Zo!” Char pulled me aside.

“That’s a thing?” I whispered in her ear.

“He asked me,” she said. I glanced back at Dylan beside Benny, smiling together. “Better than him going with some sophomore.”

Girl talk must’ve made them nervous, from the way they fidgeted with their hands like we were discussing them in detail.

Char cupped a hand to my ear. “I grabbed his crotch in the car,” she said. “I know it’s not prom, and I’m not a virgin, but Benny’s getting lucky.”

My throat now dry as I tried to swallow. “We’re waiting.”

I felt Dylan’s warm hand scoop around my side. “Yeah,” he said and kissed my cheek. “It’s nicer that way.”

“No distractions,” I said.

Char looked neither happy nor disgusted. Her eyebrows knitted together in two arches with concern. “I’m happy for you, but if it’s right, it’s right.” Benny approached Char’s side as she placed one of her manicured hands on his chest and clawed at him playfully.

It wasn’t right, not really. I’d always been told to wait for marriage, at least until the age of 13 when I stopped going to church to think for myself. Prom night was right for me. I’d thought about ignoring the magic of prom, I would even tingle sometimes when I saw him, it could make me forget everything I’d promised myself.

“Who said I want to now anyway,” Dylan said, squeezing at my side and pressing his lips to my cheek.

“You’re a boy,” Char said, “you think with your dick.”

Benny and Dylan laughed. I knew
that
was true; I heard it sometimes when Dylan spoke, and I’d change the topic to something cooling, cheer practice, his next basketball game, playoffs, anything but touching or kissing, physical contact at all whenever he was like that.

I smirked to myself. We’d had to get Oreo neutered so he couldn’t get any of the neighborhood cats pregnant. I pushed my hand into his as I moved my thoughts from the stupid cat to Dylan He nudged me over to the punch bowl.

The student body who’d organized the homecoming dance were standing watch over the punch bowl; making sure nobody took
too much
or added something a little extra to get the party going. Mila, Heather, and Kirsten, each in a different color of pink, their hair parted off center and pushed to the side like rejects from a girl group losing their place on AMERICAN IDOL.

“Take a drink and move along,” Mila said, unfolding her arms to gesture at the punch. “It is a cocktail of pineapple, orange, apple, lemon, lime, everything you
don’t
want in a drink.”

Dylan laughed. “Loosen up,” he said. “We won! Celebrate.”

“
Your
win isn’t
our
win,” Mila said.

Kirsten grabbed a red cup and poured from the ladle. “Our win is having a successful homecoming, without you starting a fight, getting drunk, or destroying the gym,” she said, pouring the second cup.

It must’ve been hard to enjoy yourself when you had a stick shoved so far up your ass. Dylan pulled me on the dance floor as the music cut to a slow song, couples invaded floor, synchronizing in movements, spinning and twirling.

I rest my head on his shoulder. His fingers ran through my hair,
shit
my entire body could’ve collapse in his hands. He smelled good.

Questioning whether or not we were the only ones in the hall dancing to the music, I opened my eyes and looked at him. More people found courage to ask their dates to dance. Beyond their faces, I found Kaleb with Ava. He kissed her before moving toward the girls at the punch bowl.

“How well do you know him?” Dylan asked.

I stood straight and creased my face. “Who?”

He nodded to Kaleb. “New guy,” he said.

“Oh.” I forced my body back into the swing of the dance. “You know how my mom likes to do her bit for the community.”

“He was looking at you,” he said with a huge grin. “Thought he was gonna ask you to the dance.”

I tightened my grasp playfully on Dylan’s hand. “Kidding, right? He’s with Ava; they’re so cute.”

Another turn of my head and I caught a glance of Kaleb again. He stood over the punch bowl, his shifty eyes watching everyone move around and shuffle on their feet. A split second washed over as he poured liquid from a chemistry beaker into the bowl.

“I need the bathroom,” I said, pulling my face. I tried to pull away, but he kept my hand.

“I’ll dance on my own then,” he said, pulling me close for a kiss before letting me go.

I cleared a path as I walked through the hall to find Kaleb. He stood beside the double doors of the hallway. We had made eye contact before he stormed off through the doors.

“What are you doing?” I clenched my teeth.

He paused halfway down the hall and turned to see me. I raised both my arms and in the dim light he shooed me. Two older guys stood at the end of the hall, their faces were familiar, matching the grunge lighting of the hallway, definitely his brothers. He handed them the beaker.

“What’s she doing?” One of them shouted, pointing at me.

“Oi!” They both bolted forward.

I ran back to the dance. People spooned ladles of the punch into cups. Before I could tell anyone anything, my face became numb. I tried to call out to Dylan, but my speech slurred. I licked my lips as saliva collected on my tongue.

“Someone spiked the punch,” I heard Dylan say. He cupped my elbow as I fell into his arms.

Nothing was worse than being out of control; unable to control my feet. I’d barely touched any food all day; I wanted to fit in my dress, and God knows it was worth it, but in that moment, my life moving too quick; I wish I’d stuffed my face.

“Are you okay?” he asked me, taking my arm and guiding me to the tiered seating.

I took a seat and a sharp breath. “I’m fine,” I said. “I haven’t really eaten.”

“Babe, want me to get you some food?”

My body wanted to say
no
, but I nodded. An earthquake erupted behind my eyes. “What was in the punch?”

He shrugged. “Whatever it was, I don’t like what it’s done to you.”

“I should feel better with food,” I said.

I sat, slouched slightly in my seat. Dylan pulled up beside me again moments later, handing me a tuna fish sandwich. “They’ve got different sandwiches,” he said. But it was amazing; I scoffed it down in one bite.

“Bet it was Char,” he said.

I glanced up to Char rushing over, almost like she’d heard her name. “Those bitches!” She shouted, pointing over to the punch table where Mila, Heather, and Kirsten stood. A chaperone edged closer to us.

“Zoey?” Mr. Brooks, my art teacher said. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is
not
okay,” Char said, again, pointing at the punch bowl. “They’ve spiked the punch. Look at her; she’s not well.”

I pulled my gaze up to Mr. Brooks. I could see his face crease as if overly concerned about how well I was doing. In short:
I wasn’t
. The strobe lights above ran across my face and body, inside I was spinning. I looked down to my feet and the gorgeous white shoes.

The tuna came back up; it went everywhere.

I wasn’t the only one. Others around were slowly slipping. It was a mess. Dylan combed his fingers through my hair, soothing the burning sickness in my throat.

Dylan handed me a bottle of water. “Drink this,” Dylan said. “They’ve switched the punch bowl now; someone stole some
pure
ethanol from the science labs.”