How Not to Spend Your Senior Year (19 page)

I can't let him do it,
I thought.
It isn't fair. It isn't right.

“Don't,” I whispered. “Please, just don't.”

At that moment, the music ended. Not looking at me, Mark released me and stepped back as we both joined in the applause.

After that I really did start to feel like Cinderella at the ball. All around me, people were having fun. But there was simply no way I could settle down and enjoy myself. Instead, like the ticking of a clock, one phrase repeated over and over inside my head:

The end is coming. The end is coming.

Sooner or later, the results of the prom queen and king elections would be announced, and the packed-to-capacity gym would get the answer to the question burning in the mind of each and every student present.

If Jo O'Connor was elected, would her ghost show up to wear the crown?

As the minutes clicked closer to eleven o'clock, the hour the results were due to be announced, I could feel the level of anticipation rise. Even Mark seemed caught up in the overall excitement, but that could have just been because he was waiting to be proved right. Jo O'Connor's ghost and Claire Calloway couldn't be in the same place at the same time.

They couldn't. I knew they couldn't. It was crazy to even consider such a possibility, let alone try to make it happen. But the longer I watched Alex and Elaine together, the more certain I became.

The only way they'd ever find happiness was if Jo's ghost made things right.

“You can't go with me,” I said.

“Give it up, Calloway,” Mark responded. “It's ten forty-five. I'm sticking to you like glue for at least the next twenty minutes.”

“Fine,” I said. “I hope you find the girls' bathroom an edifying experience. I think I'll just let you explain your presence to the chaperones.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Mark said.
He studied me for a moment as if trying to read my mind and figure out if I was up to something. Which, of course, I was. “Okay, but I'm waiting for you right over there.” He pointed to a vantage point which had the entrance to the bathroom in plain view.

“Suit yourself,” I said. “Take a few pictures of people going in and out while you're at it. I'm sure no one will mind.”

Mark rolled his eyes and pointed. “What about over there?” he asked. This spot was slightly better as far as I was concerned, a clump of tables not far from the band. The bathroom entrance would be partially obscured by the band platform.

“Fine,” I said. “See you in a few.” Purposefully I walked toward the girls' bathroom.

So far, so good,
I thought.
Now what am I going to do?

Two seconds later the answer literally came right at me in the form of Khandi Kayne. I'd never been so glad to see someone in my whole life, which, you may consider a true measure of my current desperation.

“Khandi,” I said as I seized her by the
arm. “You look fabulous! I'm so glad I ran into you. Remember that picture we were talking about the other day?”

Not giving her a chance to get a word in edgewise, I turned and pointed to Mark, who was staring at me with what I was pretty sure were narrowed eyes. I smiled and waved. After a moment, Mark lifted a hand.

“See that guy who's waving?” I asked. “He's the photographer for the paper. Tell him I said I wanted some shots of you. Let's see—maybe over there.”

I pointed again, this time to a particularly large display of the paper flowers that festooned the walls. In a location which would require Mark to turn his back on the bathroom entrance in order to take the shots I was asking for.

“Tell him I said to shoot, oh, half a dozen. I want to make sure I have lots to choose from when I run my article on you.”

“Thanks, um . . . ,” Khandi said.

I gave her my best smile. “Claire. Claire Calloway,” I said. Then I released her arm, and aimed her straight at Mark.

Safe inside the girls' bathroom, I counted to twenty while I gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes enormous. Neither of which was terribly surprising. I was about to undertake either the most thoughtful or the most idiotic action of my entire life. Both, most likely.

I gave myself an extra ten count just for good measure, thankful that the bathroom was deserted for the moment so no one could observe my somewhat odd behavior, then eased my head out around the door. Much to my delight, Mark was being totally monopolized by Khandi, who appeared to be giving him instructions on how to get the best shots.

So far, so good,
I thought. Phase One of Project True Love was now complete. For Phase Two, I had to have help in the form of Mr. Barnes.

I found him over by the souvenir photo area, folding one of the costume pieces he'd brought along and stowing it in what I couldn't help but think of as the dress-up box. That's what my dad and I had called the one I'd had when I was little.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Mr. Barnes?”

He straightened slowly.

Now what?
I thought. Essentially my plan called for me to reveal I wasn't dead, then beg him to help me pretend that I was. Which, now that I was actually trying to execute it, I had to admit left a lot to be desired, as far as plans go.

“I know we've met, but I'm not sure we've ever really been introduced,” I faltered.

At this, a faint smile flitted across his features.

“That's all right,” he said quietly. His eyes looked steadily into mine. “I know who you are.”

My mouth dropped open. There was absolutely no mistaking what he meant. I shook my head, trying to snap my brain cells back into functioning order.

“Okay, I just have to ask this before I can move on,” I said. “How?”

Mr. Barnes's smile got just a little wider. “I came back into the theater that first day,” he explained. “I'd forgotten something. I didn't actually mean to eavesdrop, but then I saw Alex go down.”

“So you heard it all,” I said.

He nodded. “Pretty much. It wasn't what I'd call a complete explanation, of course, but it was enough for me to know who you really are. Now I have a question for you, if that's all right.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Do you know what you're doing, Jo?”

“Not a hundred percent,” I admitted. “But I'm trying to make that right. Will you help me, Mr. Barnes?”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Quickly I outlined what I wanted to do. “Just think of it as a farewell performance,” I urged. “After tonight, both the ghost and Claire Calloway will be gone. But Alex and Elaine will still be here. They'll know they can be together.”

Mr. Barnes shook his head. “You should definitely consider being a producer when you grow up. You think big, I'll give you that much.”

“I'm just trying to do the right thing,” I said. “Please, Mr. Barnes.”

“Don't beg,” he instructed. “It makes you sound like a whiner.”

“Sorry,” I said immediately. He smiled. I smiled right back.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. He turned back to the dress-up box and rummaged for a moment. “Take off those ridiculous glasses and put this on.”

The band counted down to eleven o'clock, just the way people do on New Year's Eve, only this time the clocks were off by an hour. In the moments right before the countdown began, Mr. Barnes and I dashed around the outside of the gym, then came in through the side door closest to the band platform. Now I was crouched down below it, waiting for the announcement of the election results. Mr. Barnes was hurrying back to his preassigned location. He was going to operate the special equipment that would illuminate the lucky winner: the spotlight.

During the actual announcements, the mirror ball and the spotlight would be the primary sources of light in the gym. If Jo O'Connor's name was called, Mr. Barnes would sweep the light wildly around the room. Concealed in the long, dark cloak
he'd pulled from the costume box, I'd use the cover of darkness and general confusion to climb up onto the band platform. There, I'd be “discovered” by the spotlight.

I'd make my farewell speech. Mr. Barnes would kill the light, and I'd make good my escape.

All in an evening's work for a ghost devoted to the cause of true love. Or so I hoped.

From my position crounched beneath the platform, I heard the winner of prom king announced. I probably don't have to tell you that it was Alex. As I heard his name announced, I almost swore that I could feel my heart swell with happiness for him.

You really deserve this, Alex,
I thought. Just like he deserved to celebrate with the girl he really loved. In another few seconds, I might have the chance to make that happen.

“And now,” the principal, Mr. Bird, said, “the moment I know many of you have been waiting for. We had a rather unusual nomination for prom queen this year. One that I think reflects very well on
the sense of community within our student body.”

I heard a rustle of paper as Mr. Bird opened the folded piece of paper on which the name of the winner was written. That's how quiet the gym was.

“I'm pleased to inform you,” he said, “that this year's prom queen is Jo O'Connor.”

What I am about to say now will make me sound unbelievably full of myself. But I have to tell the truth about what happened next. I promised you the truth way back on page one.

The crowd went wild.

Students screamed, jumped up and down, and hugged each other. The mirror ball began to revolve. I could see the spotlight beam, sweeping wildly. My heart was beating so loudly it almost drowned out the cheers of the crowd.

This was the moment of truth.

You asked for this, Josephine Claire,
I thought.

Before I could lose my nerve, I scooted out from underneath the riser and boosted myself up onto the platform.

In the dim light the gym was a sea of eddying forms. Each time the spotlight moved, students swung in that direction, as if anticipating that the light would reveal the thing they were all waiting for: the ghost of former classmate Jo O'Connor.