Tessa Masterson Will Go to Prom (19 page)

And she has. But not the thing I wanted.

So I try again. “And this event—is it open to the public?”

Strike. Jenny looks annoyed. “Well, the yacht club is an exclusive venue—”

With all my might I try not to react. I try to do what I do when I’m running and just forget my environment and focus on some invisible dot in the distance.

But Jenny clicks into what’s happening and looks genuinely horrified. “Oh, gosh. You didn’t think …” She puts her hand to her mouth. “I’m just here for the platters, okay?”

I take a gasping breath and don’t make a bigger fool of myself by asking directly if I can go to the dance. If maybe Lucas and I could go as a couple there. Not a couple couple but as … us. Jenny doesn’t magically hand me an engraved invite.

She just looks awkward and says, “I renege on the filming stuff.”

Louise tries to talk her out of it but Jenny fires up with how she’s still a minor for another three weeks and then, once I have the platters all set, Jenny comes up to me.

“They look really nice.”

I nod.

She wants to add something but doesn’t seem to know what. So she asks, “What’s the most expensive item here? Like in the whole store.”

I shrug. “I … don’t know. I guess I never thought about it.”

“Well, whatever it is, we’ll take two—no, five—of them!” She claps her hands conspiratorially.

I’m out back sharing chips and a giant bottle of grape soda with Danny when the television cameras find us and start filming.

“So, Tessa, let’s try the shot again,” the perfectly coiffed reporter says. “Think about what you’d like the television audience to know.” And to the camera guys she adds, “We’ll splice it in. And try to get a shot of the back here. It’s so small-town.”

I look to where she’s pointing. The delivery docks. The old asphalt where Josie and I played four square last fall, when I knew I had a crush on her. The spot where my mother fell and broke her tailbone on the ice. The steps where Lucas and I sat hugging when we both got into college. Where he cried about his dad. The sign on which he made his grand gesture.

“So, Tessa …” Louise waits.

Danny looks at me.

Each stalk of corn in the distance seems like it’s waiting for me to deliver the ultimate sentence.

“I …”

I look at Danny but he can’t do this for me.

I think about how I still wanted to go to that stupid yacht club dance even though it’s organized against me. Even though I’m exactly who they don’t want there.

And I feel so dumb for wanting to dance in a tux. With a girl.

And then I feel even worse because I still want to do both of those things.

And I don’t have Lucas next to me to hold my hand until I get the courage to do it.

“She’s not up to this,” Louise says.

And Louise is right.

I watch them pack up their equipment. Watch the cameras being loaded into the van, Louise talking on her multiple phones and texting on her Blackberry at the same time, watch my parents try not to look sad for me.

Danny punches my shoulder like the good sport he is. “Next time,” he says.

I nod. Louise shakes my parents’ hands and climbs into the van which revs up and pulls out right under the sign that reads SAVE GIANT BROOKS.

And I think immediately about the last song on Josie’s mix, the one that goes “You gotta change yourself before you go trying to change the world.”

I stand up, springing into action before the van signals left to turn onto the highway. And I run. I run fast because I can, because I need to. Sprinting to the van, I pound on the side. “Wait.”

Louise has the window down before the van’s halted.

“I do. I do have something.”

And right there, without proper lighting or fake setup, one of the camera guys films me. And I say how everyone thinks it’s about the dance. I clear my thoat, still a little out of breath. “Or about being, you know, gay. Or, um, a lesbian.”

It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud and it doesn’t feel
as weird as I thought it would. “But the thing is … it’s more than that.” I pause and the reporter gets nudgy, tapping her fingers on the windowsill, and the camera guy’s doing that thing with his finger meaning “We’re rolling here, she better say something interesting.” So I say this: “My parents have a store they love and people who support them and that’s been an amazing thing to see.”

“We can cut to a good shot of that—the rallying. And stock footage of the packed aisles,” the camera guy says.

“And the people who are against all this … I get it. I do. And they can have their fancy dance at the yacht club—” I try not to, but I start to tear up. “I have a friend—”

“Girlfriend?”

I shoot Louise a look. “A friend. A best friend.” I start to grin through the tears. “He’s the kind of guy who gives you the last bite of his ice cream cone because it’s so clearly the best part. And he comes to every track meet even though—I admit it—being a runner is fun but watching runners can be tedious.” I look at the camera now. “This is a friend—a boy—who knows that a grand gesture, like publicly asking a girl to Prom is a risk and might not turn out how you think. But this guy, Lucas, is the best friend I could ever have. And he thinks I’m too private for a grand gesture myself, but I’m not.” I take a deep breath and chew my top lip and stare right at the camera. “Lucas Fogelman, I love you.” I pause. “And just so you know, I would’ve looked pretty good standing next to you in a tux.”

So Tessa texts me: “Make sure you watch the
Morning Show
on ATN tomorrow.” I do, and there she is, telling me she loves me. And I actually cry. I think about texting Tessa, but I guess this is one of those moments when you have to man up. Well, that’s a dumb word for it, since it’s this girl who’s been more courageous than anybody else for weeks now. How about this: adult up.

So I adult up and call Tessa. “Hey,” she says brightly. “Didja see it?”

“Yeah, I did. I love you too, you know.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I do know. So how was that for a grand gesture?”

“Pretty grand,” I say. “Thank you. It means a lot to me to know that you forgive me.”

“Whoa there,” she says. “I said I loved you. I didn’t say
anything about forgiving you.” I don’t say anything for a second, and she comes back with, “I’m kidding. I think the one kind of implies the other.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“All right, I gotta go. I’ve got freaking three interviews this morning. If I didn’t think this would help the store, there’s no way I would do it. I hate this.”

“Tough to be a celebrity.”

“You’ll find out when you’re a star pitcher.” We say our good-byes and hang up. And it’s funny. I used to want that. Like everybody, I guess, I had a mental picture—I’m the feared and hated closer who comes on for the Reds in the top of the ninth at Great American Ball Park in game seven of the World Series. I send the third, fourth, and fifth batters down in a row on swinging strikeouts that make the big sluggers look stupid, and the catcher rushes the mound and grabs me. The team comes pouring out of the dugout and buries me in a big celebratory pig-pile, and I’m a famous hero.

But now, after my little taste of what it’s like to get all kinds of attention, to have every dumb thing you say played back to you to trip you up, I’m not so sure I really want that anymore. It kind of sucks. Maybe it won’t be so bad if baseball doesn’t work out for me. I’d still like to win a World Series game, but I’d also like to be able to say something stupid and have everybody forget about it.

Well, who the hell knows. I head out of the house to go to school and pause for a second on Main Street. Usually I don’t even see the empty storefronts anymore, but
after Kate said they were depressing (and then I kissed her! Did that really happen? And if so, what did it mean?), I’m taking a second look. Discount LiquorMart, Hailer’s Drugstore, which was killed by MegaMart. And the place where Woolworth’s was before it was a Foot Locker before it was nothing is the biggest, most depressing, emptiest space on the whole street.

As I walk to school, I’m still thinking about Kate’s lips and how I was stupid to kiss her quickly when I probably could have kissed her nice and slow. But I’m also thinking about the things I don’t like about Brookfield right now—the Go-Straight-to-Prom Prom and the empty Main Street. It is making me a lot more eager to get to Purdue in the fall. But I’m also having a brainstorm.

I can’t tell Tessa yet in case it doesn’t pan out.

I want to tell Kate, but I’m such an idiot that I don’t even have her number. So I head over to Giant Brooks after school even though I’m not supposed to be working, and I join Kate at the T-shirt table.

“So you never called me,” she says.

“So you never gave me your number,” I answer.

“So you never asked for it,” she counters. Well, she’s got me there.

“So, can I have your number?” I ask.

“Duh. Of course you can. You’re really making me work for this, you know that?”

I can feel myself blushing. “I’m just … I’m a little screwed up these days, and I guess … Can I be honest with you for a second?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to stop your incessant lies!” she says, and I can’t help smiling.

“It’s just that I kind of … I don’t really like myself very much right now, and I don’t really get why anyone else would either. Especially you.”

Kate turns, and her auburn hair kind of swings, and her eyes twinkle as she smiles. “You are so cute,” she says. “But really? I mean, do you really want to know?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Okay. One, there’s the big romantic gesture with the sign. Admittedly, you were barking up the wrong tree, but if you can do something like that once, it’s possible you might do something like that again. Girls like that. Or I do, anyway. And also? Really, more important? All guys are assholes. I mean, at one time or another. But you’re the first guy I ever met who knew he was an asshole and actually felt bad about it. It’s pretty charming.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll be an asshole again?”

“Oh, you will. You are a guy, after all. But then you’ll say you’re sorry and actually mean it, and then you almost certainly won’t be an asshole in exactly that way again. You probably don’t know how rare that is.”

“I … um. I don’t really know anything right now except that I really want to kiss you again.”

She smiles. “You will. And a real kiss this time. Not that timid peck like last time. But right now, we’ve got customers, and as much as the Mastersons are tolerant and wonderful people, they still probably don’t want their employees making out at work.”

I give her a smile. “I’m off the clock,” I say.

“That’s more like it!” she says. “But I get off work in two hours. You wanna keep me company for a while?”

Dumb question. I sit there and work for free, selling Giant Brooks T-shirts, and when there’s a lull, I tell her my plan.

“I’m thinking of having a Prom. On Main Street. In the old Foot Locker.”

“Well,” she says, “you have to get the okay from the property owners. Otherwise the cops will show up and break up the party, and that, trust me, is one hell of a buzz kill.”

“So you don’t think sneaking in and doing it would work? I mean, I happen to know that the owners will be otherwise occupied on that day.”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Do you think there is anyone in this town who might object to Tessa Masterson’s Big Gay Prom?”

“Oh my God. That is the best name. You think I can use that?”

“You’re missing the point, Luke. Even if the property owners aren’t around, you can’t trespass with something like this. There’s too many people who want you to fail. But I tell you what—you take care of securing the space and I’ll get a DJ I know from school and do the Evites and everything.”

“Cool.”

I know she’s right about the whole trespassing thing, but I was hoping she was going to tell me something else.
Of course I know who owns the space that’s not Woolworth’s or Foot Locker, and the entire block I live on: Mom writes a rent check to the Himmelraths every month.

I’m not going to have any luck going to the parents, but Jenny and I do have some kind of weird love-hate attraction thing going on, so I guess she’s my best hope. It’s not a big hope, but still. I call up Tessa and ask, “You got plans for next Saturday?”

“I was thinking of picketing Go Straight to Prom,” she says.

“Uh.”

“Joke, Lucas. Why, you want to watch movies or something? I just got
Bringing Up Baby
! Katharine Hepburn!”

“Black-and-white and you going goo-goo about your crush all night? Can I ask you something? I mean, if you’re attracted to girls and stuff, why can’t we watch one of those videos where drunk girls lift their shirts up or something?”

“Lucas. I’m a lesbian. That doesn’t mean I’m a man.”

“Okay. But listen. I … I wanna take you out. I mean, not in a going-out kind of way. But just, like, let’s-put-tuxedos-on-and-go-to-the-casino-and-make-fun-of-the-Elvis-impersonator kind of thing. I mean, you’ve already paid for the tux, right?”

“Yeah. You know what? That sounds awesome.”

“Cool.”

Okay. So I’ve got Tessa on board. That was the easy part. The hard part is going to be Jenny Himmelrath.

I find her at her locker the next morning. She’s
surrounded by her normal posse. I am not wearing my T-shirt. “Hey, Jenny, can I talk to you?” I say. “Alone?”

“Okay,” she says, dismissing her court with a little head gesture. It’s kind of amazing.

“Luke,” she says. “You know you can’t come, right? I mean, maybe before the T-shirts, but my folks won’t—”

“I’m actually not here to beg to go to your party.” She’s startled. No other possibility had occurred to her. “I’m here to beg for something else.”

“Luke. Listen, I do like you, and honestly, if it was going to be anybody, it would be you, but I did stand up in church and make a promise that—”

“Gah, that’s not it either! Listen. I want to rent the Foot Locker space.”

She cocks her head at me. “Well, I mean, just talk to my mom. She—”

“Just for a night. For a party. Next Saturday.” I watch as she puts it all together. I figure I need to keep talking before she can voice any objections. “I mean, look, it’s not like we want to crash your party, and it’s not a protest or any kind of, like, commentary on what you’re doing. It’s just that we’d like to be able to dance too, you know? That’s all. And, I mean, I know that you and Tessa don’t—”

“Okay,” she says. I was expecting at least fifteen minutes of back and forth before we got to this point, so I’m a little confused.

“Um.”

“It’ll be easy for me to do it. I know where Mom keeps
the rental agreements, and she’s been signing stuff with bands and whatever. It’ll be really easy to get her to sign it.”

“Wow! Okay, I mean, great! I mean, thanks! I didn’t think, I mean, I hoped, obviously, but—”

“I don’t want to have to see it, but everybody should have a place to dance. I know you’re not evil and I know Tessa’s not evil, so you want to have a little party in Foot Locker, go for it. But when people ask you how you got the space, you do not mention my name. Okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“I’ll have the rental agreement for you day after tomorrow.”

“Hey, Jenny, thanks. Really. I mean. Well. Have fun at your party.”

“You have fun at yours,” she says, and then she’s gone.

Two days later Jenny slips a piece of paper into my hand. It says we’ve rented the space for one night for the sum of five hundred dollars. Which is a lot of money. But we’ll figure that out later, I guess.

“We got it!” I send to Kate.

“Great,” she sends back. “Evites are going out now.”

So it’s really happening. Tessa Masterson’s Big Gay Prom. How’s that for a grand gesture?