How Not to Spend Your Senior Year (18 page)

“It's okay,” I answered. “The other kids are pretty nice.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Jo-Jo.”

“Any word yet on the trial?” I asked.

My father's face reassumed the serious expression I'd seen on it all too often in the last couple of weeks.

“Stan—Detective Mortensen—says he thinks next week. I won't be called right away, of course.”

“Bet you'll be glad when it's all over.”

“I will be,” my father said softly. He gazed at nothing for a moment, a frown furrowing down between his eyebrows. “Jo.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” my father said. “Have a good time. Don't stay out too late.”

“I will,” I said. “And I won't.”

I was rewarded when my father smiled. “How's midnight sound?” he asked.

“Peachy,” I answered.

I longed for a pair of glass slippers all the way across town.

I wished for them even more when I stepped into the Beacon gym on prom night. It was like stepping into a fairy tale, of the somewhat fractured variety.

Enormous pieces of butcher paper completely covered the gym walls. On them, senior art students had created a combination of Sleeping Beauty's enchanted forest and a walk down memory lane. Blown up pictures of prom queens and kings from years past were surrounded by drawings of a garden decorated with enormous tissue paper flowers.

The white icicle lights you see on every other house at Christmastime dangled down from the ceiling, interspersed with tiny brightly colored streamers made of shiny Mylar. Everywhere your eye turned, something twinkled or gleamed. A mirror ball hung down from the very center of the gym ceiling, ready to spin at a moment's notice.

Even the area reserved for the taking of the requisite souvenir photograph continued
the theme. Students could pose in front of a rose-entwined bower. I recognized it as a piece of scenery from a school production of
A Midsummer Night's Dream
.

Those who wanted something a little more unusual could poke their faces through a life-sized cut out of a prom king and queen, or pull period costume pieces from a dress-up box. Plainly the prom committee had taken full advantage of the fact that Mr. Barnes was this year's faculty advisor, a position that also made him head chaperone.

It was a prom no student in attendance was going to forget, even if Jo O'Connor's ghost did turn out to be a no-show.

After much discussion, I'd gotten Alex and Elaine to agree to let me meet them at the gym after Alex picked Elaine up at her house. Much as Elaine and I had dreamed of getting ready for our senior prom together, we'd decided I simply couldn't risk trying to pull off my Claire Calloway masquerade in front of her mom.

Believe it or not, I ended up changing clothes in the fancy bathroom of a downtown department store. A thing which
might have been incredibly depressing were it not for the fact that everyone who came into the bathroom while I was doing my final primp got so psyched about it. By the time I actually arrived at the gym, I was feeling pretty good. Okay, so it wasn't the prom I'd dreamed of. But, speaking as someone who was supposed to be dead and therefore unable to attend at all, let me just say it was a whole lot better than nothing.

“You look great, Claire,” Alex said as soon as he saw me.

He bounced up from the table where he and Elaine were sitting. In the dimmed light of the gym I could see several clumps of tables and chairs arranged around the periphery of the dance floor. On a dais at one end the band made various tuning up sounds.

“Thanks,” I said. “Okay if I leave my stuff here?”

“Sure,” Elaine said. She gave me a slightly strained smile. Elaine's dress was this beautiful peach color that sort of made her glow all over. It had a tight bodice and a long, floaty skirt. Actually, she was the
one who looked as if she ought to be wearing the pair of glass slippers.

“You look fabulous, Elaine,” I said as I slid my dressy shoulder bag onto the back of the one of the chairs and the canvas tote with my street clothes under the table.

“Sorry about the bigness,” I said as casually as I could. “Reporter stuff. I'm here to work, after all.”

“I like your dress too,” Elaine put in.

In keeping with Claire Calloway's sense of fashion, I'd gone for basic black. Of course. Form fitting with a handkerchief hem that swirled around my calves. Tiny black beads decorated it at random, catching the light as I walked.

I'd piled Claire's hair up on top of my head. It was held in place by clips decorated with tiny chips of this really cool stone called marcasite. Like the beads on the dress, they sparkled in the light.

I'd gone easy on the makeup. A little soft color on my lips. Some smoky eyeliner and shadow to bring out my eyes. That effort was somewhat wasted behind the glasses. But I was pretty pleased with my look as a whole. Simple and sophisticated.
That was Claire Calloway's choice for the prom. Actually I was kind of starting to like Claire's fashion sense. Maybe I'd keep some of it around when I went back to being Jo O'Connor.

“And then of course there's Alex,” I said, determined to lighten things up. If things got much more tense between Alex and Elaine, they'd need therapy before graduation. “I'm impressed. You wore a tux.”

Alex's grin flashed across his face. “I like to think of myself as a trendsetter,” he said modestly.

I let my gaze wander obviously around the room as if taking in the attire of the other guys.

“It seems to be working,” I commented. “I think I see one or two more.”

Alex laughed, and Elaine shot me a grateful smile. The band finished tuning, announced themselves, then launched into their first number. The crowd around us gave a spontaneous whoop of excitement. From all sides of the gym, students streamed out onto the dance floor. A sudden look of confusion crossed Alex's face.

“You guys go for it,” I said quickly. “I'm just going to take a minute to review my plan of attack for the evening.”

“Oh, but . . . ,” Alex stuttered.

“It's all right,” Elaine said. “Really, you two can go.”

“Absolutely not,” I said firmly, doing my very best imitation of Elaine's mother speaking to her younger brother, Dennis. “It's
your
prom.”

“Well, if you're sure,” Alex said.

“Sure I'm sure. Though if you make me say one more thing like that, I'll make you sound really stupid when I do my write-up.”

Alex pulled Elaine to her feet. Together they moved off onto the dance floor. I watched the crowd part, then flow back around them.

“That was an incredibly nice thing you just did,” a voice said.

I turned, unsurprised to discover Mark London. When I hadn't spotted him upon arriving at the gym, I'd briefly allowed my hopes to rise. Maybe he'd been bluffing, to see what I'd do. Maybe he wouldn't show up after all. Naturally I should have known better. But somehow, I wasn't
nearly as distressed to see him as I'd thought I might be.

“I can be nice,” I replied lightly, “as somebody else once said, if I recall.”

Mark smiled at the memory of our first car trip together, then sat down at the table beside me, scooting his chair next to mine so that we could both watch the dancers gyrating on the dance floor.

“Why do you think what I did is nice?” I asked after a moment.

“Because you made it easy for him,” Mark said.

“Easy for him to do what?”

He looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown an extra head. “For somebody so smart, you're not very observant, Calloway. It's obvious he's totally in love with her.”

I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

“You mean
she's
in love with
him
,” I corrected. “That's the thing that's obvious.”

“Okay,” Mark said agreeably. “If you say so. But watch the way he looks at her. You'll see what I mean.”

I leaned forward, my eyes on Alex. The band was playing a fast number. As I
watched, he captured one of Elaine's hands, refusing to let go as they boogied in time to the music. He tugged her a little closer to him, ducking his head close to hers to say something. It reminded me of when they'd played Romeo and Juliet and he'd stolen Romeo's first kiss. The intent expression on his face was just the same.

Oh. My. God,
I thought as I suddenly remembered the strange look that had crossed his face following our one and only kiss. That was the moment he'd realized the truth, I thought.

Not Jo, so new and different. But Elaine, whom he'd known forever. She was the one Alex really wanted. A thing he'd discovered not when he'd kissed her, but when our lips had met but hadn't sparked.

He's never going to tell her.

I have no idea where that thought came from, but the minute it popped into my head, I knew I was right. In the normal course of events, Alex would have found a way. But Jo O'Connor's sudden death had put things so far off course that there was no hope of them ever getting back to normal.

Alex knew he loved Elaine. Elaine knew that she loved Alex.

But the only person who knew the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was the person who stood between them, dead or alive: Josephine Claire Calloway O'Connor.

What am I going to do?
I thought.

“You're awfully quiet,” Mark observed.

“I was just wondering,” I said. “Wondering if he'll ever tell her.”

Mark cocked his head to one side, his eyes on Elaine and Alex. “I doubt it,” he said after a moment. “Crawford strikes me as the true-blue type. Now that Jo O'Connor's dead . . . ” He let his voice trail off.

“Pretty much what I was thinking,” I said.

“Of course,” Mark said promptly, “if he knew that Jo was still alive . . . ”

“You never give up, do you?” I asked.

He gave me his devil's grin. “Nope. So whaddaya think, Calloway? Do I get that dance?”

“Let's see the cummerbund.”

His expression blandly agreeable, Mark
stood up. I laughed before I could help myself.

Mark's cummerbund was black with hot pink polka dots.

“I believe I specified plaid,” I said.

“Give me a break here, will you Calloway? I got the ugliest one I could find.”

“You definitely did do that,” I said. I looked up, meeting his eyes. “One dance,” I said. “We're supposed to be working, you know.”

“One dance,” he agreed as the first dance ended and the crowd applauded.

He held out a hand. I took it and let him ease me out onto the dance floor. The band settled into its first slow number and Mark London pulled me slowly but surely into his arms.

Dancing with Mark was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It's hard to explain. The best I can do is to say that it was sort of like holding a live wire in my arms.

I could feel his body pressed along the length of mine. Leaner, stronger than I had thought. Feel a current of energy connecting
us together. Touching Alex had made me tingle. But I'd never felt anything like this before. All my senses heightened, as if I'd suddenly become some kind of superhero with extraspecial powers.

This is what was missing before with Alex,
I thought. With Alex, I'd felt attracted. With Mark, I felt alive. I could feel where each and every one of his fingers held me to him, pressed along the length of my spine. Feel his breath against my neck, his head bent to my shoulder.

Then, without warning, he lifted his head. With one hand, he tilted my chin up. In the flickering sparkle of the mirror ball overhead, I could see myself reflected in his eyes.

Except it isn't me,
I thought. Jo O'Connor might be dreaming suddenly astonished romantic dreams. But Mark London believed he was holding Claire Calloway in his arms.

He wanted to kiss me. Was going to kiss me. I could see the desire, the intent, plain as day even in the gym's dim light.