The Anti-Prom (7 page)

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.”

Helpless. She calls me helpless, and then I can’t even remember where we’re going. Way to go, Bliss — striking a blow for popular-girl stereotypes everywhere.

I follow the others across campus, trying to ignore my flush of embarrassment. It’s not that I’m so bad with directions — fine, maybe just a little — but the truth is, Jolene’s right. I never once stopped to notice where Jason’s dorm is, or how to get there. I was always with Kaitlin or one of the other girls, and they just called ahead and had one of the guys meet us by the main gates. I never saw the point in wandering aimlessly around when there were tons of cute boys willing to point the way. But what’s so wrong about that? Not everyone needs to possess every ounce of human knowledge to survive. I mean, that’s what Google is for.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask, walking faster to catch up. Meg is scurrying ahead of me, her head down and the fabric of her dress bunched up in her hands to keep it from sweeping the ground. I feel a pang for that outfit — bombshell black satin, and she’s skulking down the path as if she’s draped in a garbage bag. Some people don’t deserve high fashion.

“The library.” She nods to the concrete-and-glass building looming up ahead.

“Right.” I sigh. “Figures.” Girls like Meg are always programmed to detect the nearest gathering of nerds and bookworms.

I look around. It’s warm out, and the campus is busy with students already in the weekend spirit as they head out for the night, joking around on the lawns and yelling to each other about plans for a pajama party or karaoke session at the bar. Even though I shouldn’t be impressed by college kids anymore, I can’t help but soak it all in. I always love how these older girls look so at ease with themselves, as if they have everything figured out. Jolene’s that way as well — she’s got this mysterious air of self-possession, like she genuinely doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her. Maybe I’ll get that way, too: just wake up on my eighteenth birthday with all the answers, and not even blink if Courtney “helpfully” points out that my mascara’s smudged, or that she and Nikki have tickets to Jared Jameson’s next show and — pause — I can come along, if I want.

I can dream.

For a moment, I wish I could just take it all back and go get a glass of punch instead of looking for that useless lipstick. Maybe now I would be giggling happily with Kaitlin, or sneaking kisses with Cameron in the shadows of the paper streamers and balloons, oblivious. I’d be stupid and naive, sure, but at least I’d be happy. Ignorance is Bliss, right?

“We’ve got to do something about these dresses,” Jolene mutters, climbing the front steps. She’s been bitching about her ruffles all night so I barely register the comment, but then a group of gothy-looking girls gives us a long stare, and I realize that she might have a point. If someone in white face powder, a corset, and a floor-length Victoriana skirt can look at us like we’re the weird ones, clearly, a change in outfits is required.

“Later,” I agree reluctantly, “but stop tugging it. It makes you look even more awkward.” She glares at me, but stops twitching as we file into the atrium.

It’s a huge, modern building, with information desks and security barriers along the front, and then at least three vast floors of shelving, work tables, and computer stations. Even though it’s Friday night, the place is packed with students clutching note pads, their eyes full of a glazed panic that can mean only one thing: finals.

“I don’t know.” Meg hedges. “You need to register for a reader’s pass, and they’re pretty strict about —”

“Come on,” Jolene interrupts, tugging me quickly to the barrier farthest from the bored security guy. He’s staring off into space, and the librarians all seem busy with a long line of students, so she plucks Meg’s access card from her hand and swipes it through, squeezing us together past the entry in a single knot of bodies. “See? Simple.” She steers us to a safe row of shelving and then raises an eyebrow at me. “Well? You said you had this next part under control.”

I need to win back some credit, and fast, so I give them a superior grin. “Leave it to the expert. Just watch and learn. . . .”

Spinning on my heel, I sashay toward the stairs, quickly thinking up my plan. Up on the first floor, it’s quieter — home to only hard core study nerds, I can tell. The individual study booths are set back between the shelves, and everyone looks settled in for the night, giving off this air of total desperation.

The other girls trail behind me as I walk the length of the room, mentally crossing off the prospects as I go.

“Are we just taking a stroll for the hell of it?” Jolene mutters, dragging her shoes on the dull gray carpeting. “Or are you lost — again?”

“Shh!” I glare.

And then I spot him: the blond boy in the corner, with square black glasses and a robot printed on his gray shirt. He’s squinting at his laptop, surrounded by loose-leaf papers, and has a smudge of highlighter on his chin. Perfect.

“Hi.” I make my approach with a big smile, not waiting for the others to follow.

The boy looks up. Up close, I can see that he’s actually kind of cute, not gawky like I first thought. His hair is cut messy and short, and he’s got some of those sideburns, like he should be playing in an indie rock band. Automatically, I flip my hair and jut out one hip. “Can I ask a teeny, tiny favor?”

He gives me a vague smile. “Sorry, but I’m kind of busy. . . .” Instead of offering to help, the boy just looks back at his laptop like I’m already dismissed.

“Oh.” I hide a frown and widen my smile instead. “It won’t even take a minute!” I chirp. “Well,
we
won’t.” I gesture at Meg and Jolene so he doesn’t think I’m trying to stalk him or anything.

The boy glances past me.

“See, we’re trying to track down a friend of ours, but I’ve completely forgotten what dorm he’s in. Could you maybe look him up for us? Jason Gilbert. He’s a sophomore,” I add, but the boy isn’t listening. “Umm, hello?”

He looks back quickly, recovering. “Uh . . . sure.” A pause. “What do you need again?”

“His dorm address,” I explain slowly, trying not to sigh. He must be really zoned out from studying. “I think you can look it up online. . . .”

Meg is gazing idly at a shelf of books behind me, so I beckon her over. “Meg, come here and tell . . . ?” I wait for him to introduce himself.

He seems to snap back to life. “Scott. I’m Scott.” He smiles at us. Finally.

“Tell Scott what we need,” I finish, giving him another big smile. I push Meg into the chair next to him. “I’m just going to go make some copies, OK? Do you know where the nearest machine is?”

“Uh, just around the corner.” He’s back to looking blank and dopey, but at least I get an answer this time.

“Thanks!” I leave them to it, hoping Meg can manage to get something useful out of him. When in doubt, delegate.

Sure enough, there’s a Xerox machine waiting in the empty hallway beneath a notice board crammed with neon flyers and ads for the Students Against Unethical Vending Machines group. College kids. I fumble in my purse for quarters, but aside from gum, lip gloss, and mascara, I come up empty-handed.

“Here, I’ve got some.” Jolene appears beside me and fetches a handful of change from her ugly backpack.

“Thanks.” I flip through the diary, trying to find the pages with the most dirt to copy. “I figured it would be good to have a backup. Insurance, you know?”

She nods. “Good thinking.”

“What was that?” I joke, setting it to copy. “A compliment?”

She snorts. “Yeah, well, you’ve lowered the bar so far, I have to applaud any rational thought at all.”

I decide to rise above her digs and focus on the task at hand. The machine spits out the first few pages, so I turn to another section and set it to copy again.

“Anything good?” Jolene hops up on the table next to me, kicking her feet back and forth. I shrug.

“I didn’t have time to read it all. Most of it’s just petty bitching, anyway, but she talks about hooking up with Cameron, and this other guy too.”

“So tonight wasn’t the first time? Classy.” Jolene snorts.

I give her a grim smile. Luckily, I’m still too numb from that limo lap dance to get worked up over this new revelation. So much for a single stupid mistake: Kaitlin’s been planning it forever, and as for Cameron . . . It doesn’t read like he’s put up much of a fight.

I turn back to the diary and copy a new page. The more dirt, the better. Then my gaze drifts farther down the hall and my heart stops.

“Hide me,” I whisper, but there’s nowhere to escape, so I dive beneath the table. Jolene doesn’t move. “Hide me!” I yelp, louder this time, and reach out to yank her legs, pulling her in front of me.

“What are you doing?” She sighs, but I just scoot farther back against the copier, deeper into the dust and grime and God knows what else. I shudder as my hands hit something sticky, but there’s no time to complain.

“Be quiet — act like I’m not here,” I whisper, watching them come closer. Five pairs of legs are approaching from the other end of the hallway: an assortment of skin-tight jeans and miniskirts stretching down to sky-high heels and ultra-fashionable boots. From under the table, I can only see the lower half of their bodies, but that’s enough to know what they are.