How Not to Spend Your Senior Year (20 page)

I pulled in a deep breath, wrapped the cloak more securely around me to make sure my dress was covered, then eased myself forward just as Mr. Barnes swung the light back toward the band platform.

“Look—there she is!” I heard a voice cry out.

The light swooped across the platform once, twice, then steadied on my form. In
the crowd of students closest to the platform, one of the girls screamed and collapsed into her date's arms. I was pretty sure it was Khandi Kayne.

I held up a hand for silence. Miraculously it fell. Unbelievable as it may seem, my former fellow students appeared genuinely convinced they were in the presence of a ghost.

My ghost.

“Thank you,” I said.

The crowd gave a collective sigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alex start forward. Mr. Bird laid a hand on his arm and he checked. With the light in my eyes, I couldn't distinguish faces in the crowd. I had no idea where Elaine was.

“Thank you for this incredible honor and for making my presence here possible,” I said. “I can only stay a few minutes and I . . . I won't be coming back.”

A strange moan went through the assembled students.

“As I'm sure you've realized by now, it's not exactly natural for me to be here,” I said. “I appreciate everything you've done to honor me, all the memorials. But now
you have to let me go. That's the way it works. The way it's supposed to be. What you've done means more to me than I can say. But now we all have to move on.

“Before I go, though, I have a request.”

I could sense a ripple of movement from the crowd. Students toward the front surged forward as they were jostled from behind. As if everyone wanted to get as close to the ghost as possible.

“I can't wear the prom queen crown tonight. I can't take part in the traditional dance between the king and queen. It simply isn't possible. But I think your king deserves a partner; he deserves a queen to hold in his arms.

“So I hope you'll agree it's appropriate for me to name a successor. The girl I'd most like to see wear the crown you've given me tonight. The girl I'd most like to see in the arms of the guy you've selected as your prom king.”

“Who is it, Jo?” a voice I couldn't identify yelled out.

“I was hoping you'd ask that,” I said. A ripple of laughter passed through my former fellow students. “I'm talking about the
best friend a girl could have: Elaine Golden.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Then, in an excited jabber of sound and movement, I saw a form being urged forward. In the next moment Elaine was being pulled onto the opposite side of the stage from where I stood, to take her place beside Alex. To say she looked dazed would be the understatement of the year.

“Thank you,” I said again. “Students of Beacon High, thank you for giving me a place when I didn't have one. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of friendship. Thank you for one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It's over now, but I won't ever forget you.”

I raised a hand as if to wave good-bye. This was the signal Mr. Barnes and I had agreed on. The spotlight winked out, then came back up on Elaine and Alex. In the darkness surrounding me, I turned and swiftly made my way to the back of the platform. Crouching at the edge, I hopped down. I could feel the hem of my dress catch. I yanked it free.

And then I was running for the door.

I did it!
I thought. Jo's ghost had finally put in a successful appearance. It looked as if the third time really was the charm.

Fast as my legs and high-heeled shoes could carry me, I dashed around to the front of the gym, whipping off the cloak as I ran along. It was from a previous year's production of
Dracula
, or so Mr. Barnes had informed me. Was that great or what? Now all I had to do was hope nobody was loitering near the entrance so that I could ditch the cloak, then blend in with the crowd.

My luck held. The only one standing near the entry to the prom as I panted up was Mr. Barnes. Silently he took the cloak from me and stowed it back in the costume chest.

“Nicely done.”

“Thanks,” I said, still a little out of breath. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“I'd like to hear the whole story someday,” he said.

“You will. I promise.”

“You'd better get back out there,” he said.

“I will. Thanks again, Mr. Barnes.”

Smoothing down my hair, I slipped back into the gym just as the band began to play a slow and dreamy song. The king and queen's traditional dance, I thought. I edged my way along the crowd.

Just grab your stuff and go,
I told myself. I couldn't afford to hang around. Mark was bound to be looking for me, no doubt extremely annoyed because I'd managed to give him the slip and sic Khandi Kayne on him.

I located the table I'd shared briefly with Alex and Elaine, slid my shoulder bag off the back of the chair, then reached beneath the table for my canvas bag. My fingers closed around the handle. I dragged it out, then turned to go.

As I did so, my eyes fell on the dance
floor. There, surrounded by their fellow seniors, Alex and Elaine danced together, locked tight in each other's arms. If this had been a movie, instead of real life, this would have been one of those moments when you'd hear the music swell.

You know that saying about how people in love look radiant? I'd never known what it meant until now. But I swear that Alex and Elaine seemed to give off their own light. Their happiness was like a beacon you could see for miles. At the sight of them, my feet faltered. The truth was, I simply couldn't tear my eyes away.

“I have to admit, you're good, Calloway,” a voice near my ear said. “Or should I say O'Connor? You had me wondering right up until the end, I'll say that much for you.”

“I don't know what you mean,” I said.

“Save it,” said Mark London. He held up a hand. In it was a scrap of black fabric decorated with a smattering of shiny black beads that shimmered in the light.

My dress,
I thought, suddenly remembering the moment when I'd caught it on
something climbing down from the platform. Once I'd tugged free, I hadn't given it a second thought.

“I can't believe you had me so fooled,” Mark went on, his voice bitter. “I actually thought that you were nice. Now I see you're just a heartless jerk. The only thing I don't know is why.”

I took two steps forward and seized him by the shoulders. I could see his eyes widen in surprise. I spun him around toward Alex and Elaine.

“Look at them,” I said, my voice an intense whisper. “Look at how happy they are, then tell me that I'm heartless.”

“You're saying you did it all for them?” he asked. “That you did it all for love? How incredibly stupid do you think I am?”

All of a sudden I was completely exhausted. I'd done the best I could. I'd tried to make the people most important to me happy. Now Mark London was going to blow the whole thing sky high.

“Actually, I don't think you're stupid at all,” I said as I stepped back and hefted my canvas bag up onto my shoulder. “Just misinformed.”

“Then inform me,” he said, blocking my way when I would have stepped around him. “Tell me why!”

“I can't do that,” I said. “At least, not here and now. When I can explain, I promise you'll be the first in line.”

“That's not good enough.”

“I'm sincerely sorry to hear that,” I said. “Right at this moment, it's the only offer I've got.”

I moved toward the exit with Mark hot on my heels.

“How do you think people are going to feel when they find out you've deceived them?” he asked. “When they find out you've been playing them all for fools for weeks on end?”

I didn't answer until we were safely out in the parking lot. Then I turned to face him.

“Gee, I don't know, Mark. I imagine they'll be furious and hate me for it. Is that the point you're trying to make? I get it. Though, for the record, I never wanted to deceive anyone.”

“Then why pretend to be dead in the first place?”

“I already told you I can't tell you.”

“Then let me tell
you
something, Calloway—O'Connor—whatever your name is,” Mark said in a furious voice. “I am going to write the tell-all article of your nightmares.”

“Gee,” I said. “Now there's a surprise.”

I began to walk quickly through the parking lot in the direction of the street. If I didn't get away from him soon, I was going to do something completely disgusting, like disgrace myself and cry.

“Don't walk away from me. Where are you going?” Mark said.

“To the bus stop.”

“What do you mean to the bus stop? Nobody leaves the prom on the bus.”

“How the heck do you think I got here?” I all but shouted, rounding on him as a flood of frustration overcame my desire to cry. “In a carriage that will turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

“Why didn't Crawford pick you up?”

“Because I wasn't his date,” I said succinctly. “Elaine was. Is.”

Mark dragged a hand through his hair. “My car's right over there,” he said. “I'll drive you home.”

“No way,” I said. “And listen to you tell me what a lying jerk I am all the way across town? I think I'd rather walk.”

Before I could take so much as a step back, Mark crossed the distance between us and yanked me into his arms. In the next moment, his mouth crashed down onto mine. Twice before I'd thought he was going to kiss me, but he hadn't. I guess he must have figured he had nothing to lose now.

The kiss was full of frustration, almost as full of frustration as of desire. It was a kiss that begged for mercy, took no prisoners, searched for answers, and made promises it could never keep, all at the same time.

In other words, it would have knocked my socks off if I'd been wearing any at the time. It certainly made my knees weak, a thing that probably would have annoyed the hell out of me if it hadn't been quite so exhilarating.

“That's the last thing I'm ever going to say to you,” Mark said when the kiss was over.

In a silence that felt like a blackout at the end of the world, I let him drive me home.

The apartment was dark and quiet when I got home. I could see a band of light from beneath my father's door, hear the quiet murmur of his voice as he talked on the phone.
Must be Detective Mortensen,
I thought.

He was pretty much my father's only contact with the outside world, aside from me, of course. I hoped the fact that he and my dad were speaking so late at night didn't mean that something was wrong. Make that something else.

I went into my bedroom and undressed, hanging my ruined prom dress up in my closet. Then I took a quick shower, running
the water almost too hot to stand. A shrink would no doubt relate that I was trying to punish myself. Then, pink as a lobster, I bundled myself into my jams and curled up beneath the equally pink chenille bedspread. I'd pretty much just pulled the covers up to my chin on my way to pulling them right over my head when I heard my father's door open. A moment later, he appeared in the open doorway to my room.

“Hey, Jo-Jo,” he said.

I eased the covers back down to chest level. There was no sense in alarming my father by letting him see me with the covers over my head. Particularly since, somehow, I was going to have to find a way to confess all the things that had been happening the last few weeks to prepare him for the tell-all article Mark was no doubt composing at this very moment.

“How was your big night out?” my father asked.

“Okay,” I said. I didn't sound all that convincing, even to my own ears. A shadow of a frown crossed my father's face. “Please notice the dutiful observation of curfew,” I went on, determined to lighten the moment.

“Duly noted,” my father said.

I pretty much expected him to turn and go back to his own room, but he hesitated in the doorway, as if uncertain whether to go forward or back. This was totally unlike him. If there was one thing my father was, it was decisive.

“You sure you're okay?” he finally asked.

“Sure I'm sure,” I said. “Dad,” I surprised myself by going on. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, Jo,” my father said.

He moved into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed.

“Have you ever tried to do the right thing and totally had it blow up in your face?”

A strange expression moved across my father's face. “Maybe,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “I was sort of hoping for a yes or a no.”

“Okay, well then let me ask you something,” he said. “Do you think you had a miserable childhood?”

“What?” I asked.

“Your childhood, did it make you
unhappy?” my father asked. “I tried to do the right thing, moving us around all those years, but sometimes I wonder if I didn't get it all wrong instead. You never seemed to question the way we lived, so I thought you were happy, but . . . ”

“I was happy, Dad,” I said. “I didn't ask questions because it took me years to figure out that not everybody lived the way we did. Which may not make me all that bright, but it never made me unhappy.”

My father gave a strangled laugh.

“There is one thing, though,” I said.

“What's that?”

“There aren't any pictures of me. No record. It's sort of like I don't exist.”

“What do you mean, no pictures?” my dad said.

“School pictures. Yearbooks. Things like that. I only realized it recently, but it makes me feel kind of weird.”

Abruptly my dad stood up. “Be right back,” he said.

I heard him move off down the hall. A moment later I heard the scrape of a dresser drawer being opened. Then my father returned carrying a large leather-bound
object in his hands. He placed it in my lap, then sat down beside me on the bed.