The Anti-Prom (20 page)

“So. Arson for beginners.” Bliss spreads the blanket and sits herself down. “Should this be all ceremonial or something?”

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” Meg quips, and then looks embarrassed when Bliss laughs. “What?” she says. “
The Craft
is a classic.”

“Old school,” Bliss agrees.

Their buzz and energy dances around me, just out of range. I’m still wrapped in sadness, too tired to care. I lay the painting out on the ground and douse it with fluid, looking down at the bold brushstrokes that I went through so much drama to get. I thought it held some kind of meaning, but it’s just a sheet of canvas and paint.

I light the match, watching as the whole thing flares up and burns, brilliant in the night.

The other girls fall silent, staring at the flames.

This is it; I feel it. This is the end.

When the painting is nothing but embers and a scorch-mark on the ground, Bliss yawns. “Now that’s done, I think it’s Meg’s turn.”

“What do you mean, my turn?” I tilt my head to the side and find her watching me with an unnerving concentration.

“Relax.” She smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dark. “I just mean, we’ve spent the whole night running around for everyone else. It’s time we do something for you.”

“Like what?” My arms are still spread wide, the grass damp against my skin as I lie, just watching the stars. It’s so peaceful here, with the open sky above us and the distant hum of traffic kept at bay by the neat lawn and careful tree line. I take another deep breath, feeling a strange warmth roll through me; not sleepy, but content. Jolene is sprawled, silent, on my other side, but her withdrawal doesn’t matter; the wordless companionship is more comforting than they could ever know.

“Anything you want,” Bliss says. She flips back onto her stomach and begins to play with the fringe on the edge of the blanket. “I did the diary thing, and Jolene wanted that painting. So, what do you want?”

“Cheeseburgers,” I suggest, only half-joking. “I’m hungry.”

She throws a handful of grass at me. “I’m serious! What’s the one thing you want, more than anything in the world?”

I pause. The one lone wish I do have, these girls could never fulfill, but it touches me that she would even ask. “I don’t know . . .” I stare up at the blackness and those tiny pinpricks of light, so far away. “I wanted the perfect prom. Or, at least, the way it’s supposed to be. The dress, the guy, dancing . . .” I trail off, remembering that excited drive to the country club, and all my naive hope. It feels like a lifetime ago, so much has happened since. “It’s stupid, I know,” I add softly. “But I wanted to be . . . normal, just for one night.”

“It’s not stupid,” Bliss insists quickly. “I wanted the exact same thing. I mean, for it all to be perfect,” she adds, a teasing note in her voice. “Not normal. Why settle for
normal
?”

I laugh.

“But it’s too late now.” I prop my head up on one hand, twisting to look at her. In the distance, a car winds its way along the road on the edge of the golf course, its lights glaring through the dark until it turns back out onto the main street. “Prom’s finished. The party’s over.”

“Not all of them,” Bliss muses slowly. “Brianna’s after-party goes all night. Her parents went into the city for the weekend and left her older sister to chaperone,” she explains. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Right,” I say wryly. “And in what universe am I actually invited to that party?”

Bliss sighs. It’s too dark to see, but I’m pretty sure she rolls her eyes as well. “What was that just there?” she asks in response. “Do you want like, a gold-leaf card or something?”

I shake my head. “Come on, Bliss. It’s nice of you to ask, but can you imagine if I actually went? Nobody wants me there.” I try to picture the look on Brianna’s face if she saw me mingling with the high-school elite. Would she even deign to ask me to leave, or just sit, making bitchy comments with her friends and laughing at me until I slunk off myself?

“So? Make them want you.” Bliss bounces up, excited. “Ooh! We could do a makeover!”

There’s a snort of disdain from Jolene’s general direction, but Bliss ignores her. “I’m serious. If we get you in the right outfit, some makeup, a cute hairstyle . . . You’ll fit in, no problem.”

“Really?” I’m not convinced. Hollywood may like to think that all it takes is for the girl to put on some mascara and wear a new pair of jeans, and suddenly the world bends to her every whim, but real life doesn’t work that way. At least, mine doesn’t.

“Totally,” Bliss insists. “Nobody cares, as long as you look the part. And the guys are so shallow, they’ll lap it up.”

I pause. It’s impossible, of course. Even the new, vaguely badass Meg Rose Zuckerman has no place at Brianna’s exclusive after-party. Facing down the security guard at the office pales in comparison to the challenge of the East Midlands social scene.

Still, I can’t help but casually ask, “Which boys are there, do you know?”

“The usual crowd, I guess.” Bliss shrugs. “Kellan, Nico, Tristan . . .” I must have brightened without realizing, because she stops. “Tristan Carmichael? You have a crush on him?”

“No!” I protest, my cheeks hot. “And I was serious about the cheeseburgers. Let’s go find something to eat.”

I scramble to my feet, glad it’s dark enough to conceal my embarrassment. Jolene lifts her head slowly and speaks for the first time. “The diner on Fifth Street is open twenty-four hours. They do great chili fries.”

“There,” I say brightly. “We have a plan.”

The other girls haul themselves to their feet, pulling on shoes and yanking up the blanket. I walk ahead, barefoot, toward the car, but Bliss catches up with me.

“He is single. . . .” she says, her voice thoughtful.

“Who is?” I pretend I don’t know exactly who she’s talking about, down to his class schedule and locker location.

Bliss ignores me. “I don’t think he’s dated anyone since his breakup with Lily over Christmas,” she continues, “and he’s smart, too. You know, you guys might work.”

Just the idea is enough to make me laugh, self-conscious. “You don’t have to humor me, Bliss.” We reach the car, pulled off the side of the gravel road at the top of the ridge. “I know he’s way out of my league.”

“Whatever.” Bliss is clearly unimpressed by the idea of leagues and hierarchy, but then, she would be. Those at the top don’t understand just how rigid the rules really are for those of us not blessed with the sparkling glitter of access or privilege. “If he’s what you want, we’ll make it happen. Won’t we, Jolene?”

She whirls on Jolene, who’s slouching along behind us. Jolene makes a noncommittal noise.

“See?” Bliss beams at me. “What do you say?”

I don’t believe her. I open the car door instead, flooding us with light. It can’t be so easy, to just say she’ll deliver the boy of my dreams with a bow on top, as if she’s a fairy godmother in designer clothing.

My doubts must show, because Bliss flips her hair impatiently. “Trust me,” she insists, and despite everything, I can’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope at the confidence in her tone. She wouldn’t be doing this to make a fool of me, not after everything.

“OK.” My voice comes out hesitant, but I clear my throat and say it louder. Like I know what I’m doing. Perhaps she’s crazy, but if there’s even the smallest chance Bliss could come through with this . . . “Tristan. That’s what I want. Who, I mean.”

“Awesome!” Bliss beams. “Let’s do this.”

And then she takes off her dress.

“It still doesn’t fit,” I say, twisting uncomfortably. We’re parked by the knot of SUVs and gleaming cars outside Brianna’s, making last-minute adjustments to my new look. The sound of the party is still filtering down the long driveway, every light in the house ablaze.

“That’s because you’re slouching. You’ve got to stick your shoulders back.” Bliss reaches over and reties the halter neck. I switched into her dress back at the golf course, under the instruction that mine was way too classy — given that it covered most of my available limbs. Now I’m swathed in her white silk designer outfit, while she’s happily selected the best of our assorted pajama party heist: striped knee socks to cover her bandage, the giraffe shorts, and, yes, that
snuggly
top.

But Bliss’s questionable fashion choices are the last thing on my mind right now. “You can practically see my nipples!” I object, looking down at the folds of white silk draped precariously over my braless chest.

“Not unless it’s cold out,” Bliss replies, unconcerned. She pulls several thin strips of what looks like tape from her purse and proceeds to stick the dress to my skin, tugging and folding at the fabric until it looks as if it were made to fit me — a miraculous feat, given the fact that I’m three inches shorter than her and at least fifteen pounds heavier, in all the wrong places.

“Voilà!” she declares. “Hot. Very hot. And don’t forget the purse to match.”

“Very illegal, you mean.” I take the beaded clutch she thrusts at me and check myself in the tiny strip of mirror again, my contacts already itching from the amount of mascara and eyeliner Bliss has slicked on my eyelids. I look about two years older and ten times as glamorous as I have in my entire life.

“Do you want Tristan to fall at your feet or not?” she challenges, brandishing a lip-gloss wand at me.

“There.” Admiring her handiwork, Bliss secures another strand of hair in the messy ponytail, pulling a few more to frame my face with tiny ringlets. “I am officially a genius. What do you think, Jolene?”

Jolene rises from where she’s been laying comatose on the backseat. “You look like a stray Pussycat Doll.”

“See?” Bliss grins. “Perfect.”

The moment we step past the front door, I’m hit by a wave of music thundering with a bass I can feel vibrate clear through my chest. It’s loud and hot, packed with bodies and a whirl of laughter and hollering from every cream-papered room. I pause in the marble-trimmed hallway, hesitant, but Bliss plunges ahead into the crowd. I don’t see Jolene, but since Bliss is gripping my wrist in a vicelike hold, I have no choice but to follow.

“None of that sneaking around,” Bliss yells in my ear, yanking me through a knot of girls dancing in the living room. Some of them are balanced up on the couch, yelling along to the music as they bounce, barefoot on the brocade cushions. “Remember what I said; you have to look confident, like you belong!”

I nod, wordless. After the college party, I thought I’d be a little more immune to scenes of teen debauchery, but now that I’m here, I realize how different this is: I know these kids. That’s gangly Jenny Phillips raising her eyebrows at me as we pass, and Mike Tucker from my Chem lab dropping his mouth open as he does a quick double take. Despite all my grand plans, I begin to retreat into myself, wilting under their gaze.

“I mean it,” Bliss scolds me, coming to a stop in the back hallway. Outside, the sound of splashes and squealing filters through the French doors, and I see a tangle of boys hurl themselves into the pool, still in dress shirts and tuxedo pants. “I can only change all this.” She gestures from head to toe. “It’s up to you to do the rest.”

“But —”

“Enough with the freaking
but
s! You’re doing this.” Bliss gives me a sharp push, and I find myself propelled out onto the back patio, struggling not to fall flat on my newly made-up face.

“Hiya!” I hear Bliss’s synthetic squeal ring out even through the noise. I watch as she sashays ahead, greeting kids with bright air-kisses and yells. “No way, I’ve been here for ages!” she insists, flipping her hair and reaching to take a swig of another girl’s drink.

I follow, awkwardly hovering on the edge of the crowd. It’s quieter out here, at least; less soul-shaking music, and more laughter and gossiping. The paved patio area is full of tables bearing crisp cloths and platters of elaborate hors d’oeuvres, with a stone staircase curving down to the pool area and the lawn stretching beyond.

“And then she caught AJ in the foyer with his belt still undone. I mean, can you say cheater?” Nikki is telling her, face flushed. Bliss laughs.

“Like anyone’s surprised about that.”

“I know!” Courtney interrupts, eager. Like Nikki, she’s traded her formal dress for jeans and a tight, belly-skimming shirt. “So what about you, have you been hiding off with Cameron?”

Bliss giggles. “Maaaybe.” She winks as if she hasn’t spent the last five hours cursing his name. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

I shift, uncomfortable. Bliss has yet to even look in my direction. It’s as if I’m suddenly invisible to her again.

“See?” Nikki nudges Courtney, too hard. “Told you. Kaitlin said you must have gone home, but I knew there’s no way you’d bail on us.”

“Where is Kaitlin, anyway?” Bliss sounds casual, but I see a slight flicker in her smile.

Nikki shrugs, gesturing drunkenly. “Around. Anyway, come say hi to Brianna; she was looking for you and —”

The girls head down the stone staircase to the pool area, out of earshot. Soon Bliss is swallowed into the crowd, and I’m left, stranded on the balcony, alone.

I watch her go, confused.

That’s it? She dolls me up in this outfit, smears on some lip gloss, and then disappears, back to her real friends and their exclusive fun? The confusion shifts to betrayal as I watch her limp over to the crowd and laugh, carefree. The promise to give me Tristan really was nothing more than a shallow, fleeting whim, I realize; some way to make her feel generous and all-powerful. Too quickly, she’s back exactly where she started the night, and so am I.