Prom (7 page)

It got late, then later. The guys playing on the court were older now, guys with hair on their chests and bags under their eyes. They played without talking.

Moira and me swang and drank, though I couldn’t keep up with her, didn’t even try. She talked until I thought my ears were going to jump off my head and bury themselves in the dirt. I remembered why we stopped being friends when she went to St. Cissy. Motormouth Moira O’Malley. She didn’t know when to shut up when she was sober. Drunk, she was even worse.

The guys on the court looked like they were playing underwater, pushing hard through the waves. Sweat poured off their heads, down their backs, and stained the waistbands of their shorts. They fell and got back up, and blood ran with the sweat. Every basket made the chain nets jingle. When they dunked, the rim rattled. I couldn’t figure out why they kept playing. It looked like work, like they weren’t having any fun, like this was the most serious thing that had ever happened to them, like they had to win this game or the world was going to stop spinning.

A black Escalade pulled up to the curb, and a couple of spectators strolled over to it. Local drug dealer, open for business. My gut tightened up, and I knew it was time to go. I got Moira to her feet and more or less dragged her home. She was hammered. All that talking made the beer kick in harder, extra oxygen or something.

Nobody answered the doorbell at her house and it made me sad, but I didn’t want to cry, not with Moira O’Malley leaning on me, mumbling about Father Nunzio. I laid her on her side in front of the door so she wouldn’t drown if she barfed. I made my way back to the boulevard. There wasn’t a bus in sight.

It was a long walk home, but it wasn’t too hot or too cold or too scary, and I sort of liked it until the blister on the inside of my left big toe popped. I stopped at an all-night deli for Band-Aids. I also bought three cans of ravioli for Grandma Shulmensky.

My house was one hundred percent dark and one hundred percent quiet when I got home. That’s how late it was.

I tried TJ’s cell again before I went to bed.

This time he answered. He was all “I’m so sorry, baby, you know I love you, please forgive me, I had to help this guy, my phone was dead, don’t be mad, I’ll make it up to you, I made three hundred bucks, I’m doing all this work for us, say something, Ashley, tell me you love me, it won’t happen again. . . .”

I said two choice words and hung up.

I was Sleeping Beauty, Sleeping Budweiser Beauty. Nothing could wake me.

Billy jumped up and down on my behind. I slept.

Shawn put underwear on my head. Kept sleeping.

Mutt crawled in next to me. Bad breath, but not bad enough to kick him out.

Steven left me alone. Probably reading.

Ma hollered at me, but I didn’t move. Dad told her to let me sleep it off. When she left the room, he whispered that I should eat some crackers, drink a lot of water, and take aspirin. He left the box of crackers by my bed.

I’d like to point out for the record that I got out of bed, took a shower, brushed my teeth, ate a ton of crackers, drank a quart of orange juice, and made it to school in time for Math, fifth period.

Just so you don’t think I was a total loser.

I cut Math to do my star report, because if I showed up in Science without it, I’d be dead, d-e-a-d, call-your-momma and-cancel-your-graduation-party dead.

You couldn’t just sit down and do your homework in peace at Carceras. You needed a pass to get into a study hall or the cafeteria if it wasn’t your lunch. I had to dodge security and avoid the halls with the working cameras. I snuck up stairwells and down the back hall like some chick from a James Bond movie, all so I could get to the third-floor girls’ bathroom without being busted. That’s where I wrote up everything I knew about the constellation Andromeda.

Schools should make it easier for kids who want to do their homework.

Didn’t fall asleep in Science. Head hurt too much.

Wanted to take a nap during lunch but couldn’t, because Ms. Jones-Atkinson hunted me down, captured me, and dragged me to her room where she pointed a gun at me and forced me to take the make-up quiz.

Okay, I made up that part about the gun. But the rest was true.

In Amer Gov we studied the Bill of Rights. Somebody pointed out that high school students don’t get many of them.

By the end of the day my hangover was gone, but I was still feeling like dirt. I ran into Monica by her locker and asked if she knew where Nat was. She said her weight was stuck at 141.5 and she was very depressed and that Nat was kicking prom butt and taking names. Banks gave her permission to take the day off classes to prepare for the emergency prom meeting.

“You’re going, right?”

Monica’s eyes hypnotized me like she was a cobra and I was a baby rat. I didn’t have a chance.

“Sure,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then she said her brother heard that Miss Crane was having an affair with Mr. Banks, and that all sports were going to be cancelled next year because they stole all the extracurricular money.

I told her no way would a young teacher like Crane look twice at a greasy toad like Banks, even if he did have money. She could do better than that.

While we were talking, the loudspeaker read out the detention list. Guess whose name was on it.

“Why do you have so many detentions?” Monica asked.

I had a choice: sit in detention watching the aide pick at her cuticles with a paper clip or go to a prom meeting and make my best friend happy. Detention looked better. Nobody would cry or squeal or complain about the price of silk flowers.

But I walked with Monica to the meeting.

There were exactly six people at Nat’s “big meeting,” including Monica and me. Monica sat with the other girls in the front row. I took a seat in the back.

Nat and I pretended like we weren’t looking at each other. Capris were usually a good choice for her, but that day, with painted bobby pins holding her hair out of her face and a pink T-shirt with a monkey on it, she looked as dorky and lost as she did the first day of second grade.

“Okay, let’s get started,” she said. “I have good news and bad news.”

The door opened, and in walked Banks and Gilroy.

“Natalia, ladies,” Banks said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Nat’s face got all splotchy. “Yes, I mean, no, I mean, have a seat. I was going to come to your office after this anyway.”

Banks took the chair from behind the teacher’s desk and sat in it.

Gilroy saw me and frowned.

Gilroy liked the “good” kids, people like Nat who joined clubs or Lauren who was real smart or anybody who played varsity anything. Normal kids like me, he hated. If a good kid messed up, he was all “I understand, you’re under a lot of pressure, try not to let it happen again, give my best to your parents.” When a normal kid got in trouble, the attitude was different: “Thought you could get away with it, why are you wasting our time here, they’ve reserved a space for you at the penitentiary, you make me sick.”

Gilroy took a seat by the door. He turned the desk at an angle so he could stare at me.

“We’re sorry to interrupt,” Banks said. “Go ahead, Natalia.”

Nat fiddled with a bobby pin. “Right. Okay. Like I was saying, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that we have a week and a half to pull this off. A lot of people came up to me today and said they really supported our efforts. Prom is important. People care. We can do it.”

Yeah, she was looking at me when she said that.

“And the bad news?” asked Gilroy.

“Um, yeah. I called thirty-five hotels, twelve country clubs, three community centers, and a firehouse. I’m still waiting for the VFW post to return my call.”

“And?” asked Banks.

Nat picked up a piece of chalk from the blackboard tray. “They’re all booked and besides, we can’t afford them with the cash we have left. A couple said we could reserve a date for next year, but I explained that wouldn’t help our class because we’d all be graduated by then.”

“What about the other vendors that Miss Crane dealt with?”

She tossed the chalk from one hand to the other. “The party store guy hung up on me. The rest either cursed me out or told me they are going to sue the school if they don’t get paid.”

The door opened again. Lauren and two other girls came in.

“Sorry we’re late,” Lauren said. “We had an NHS meeting.”

Gilroy smiled. “No problem, ladies, we’re almost done.”

Nat frowned. “I was just telling everybody that we have a lot of work to do.”

Gilroy interrupted her. “But you don’t have a facility.”

“Right.”

“No suppliers of decorations.”

“Right.”

“What about the caterers?”

“They won’t return my calls.”

“The DJ?”

“Nope.”

“The videographer?”

“He laughed at me.”

“And the suppliers for the gift bags?”

She put the chalk back and rubbed the dust off her hands. “They said we should go pound sand.”

Gilroy looked at Banks, who sighed and shook his head. “I was afraid it would come to this,” Banks said. “We all owe Natalia a debt of gratitude for her dedication and extra effort, but I’m afraid the odds against her, against this prom, were simply stacked too high.”

“But I didn’t call everybody yet—” Nat started.

Banks and Gilroy stood up. “I’m sorry, girls,” said Banks. “We have to face facts.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “We must cancel the prom.”

A couple girls cursed. Gilroy’s eyes went buggy, but Banks glared, signaling Gilroy to keep his muzzle on
. Bad Gilroy. Don’t bite the students.

Nat started shaking in her sandals. The other girls kept swearing and talking louder and louder and louder. Junie burst into tears.

That’s when the third miracle happened.

I raised my hand.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Banks walked over to Nat, put his arm around her shoulders, and spoke to her quietly.

Gilroy was reaching for the door, trying to get his boss out of there.

I waved my arm in the air, but nobody noticed. The one time in my life when I wanted to participate, and nobody would pay attention.

“Yo, I got a question here,” I said.

Well . . . I shouted it.

Actually, I screamed it. “YO! I GOT A QUESTION HERE!”

The talking stopped.

“That’s better,” I said. “Geez, you guys. We’re not done yet. Nat, are we done? Is the meeting over?” I shook my head from side to side to give her a clue.

Nat wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “Um, no?”

“Good. I was thinking about a few things.”

Nat sniffed. “Um, okay?”

“Do you have a constructive suggestion, Ashley?” Banks asked.

“Yeah, I do. We could use the gym. For the prom, I mean.”

“What?”

“No hotel wants us, we don’t have much money; why don’t we use the gym?”

Monica turned around in her seat to look at me. “If it’s in the gym, it’s just a dance, not a prom.”

I caught Nat’s eye and pointed to Mr. Banks. She quieted everybody down by banging her sandal on the desk.

“Thank you. That’s better.” She slid her sandal back on. “First of all, we have to ask the principal—Mr. Banks, is there any reason why we can’t hold the prom in the gym?”

Banks frowned. “I’ll have to check with the legal people, liability issues, you know. . . .”

“Security would be a nightmare,” Gilroy said. “We’d have to negotiate with the custodial staff, food service . . .”

My hand shot up again. It had a mind of its own all of a sudden.

“Yes, Ashley?”

“I don’t think we should use our cafeteria staff, no offense.”

That got a round of applause.

“What do you suggest?” Banks asked.

“We could cook for ourselves, or get our families to help. My mom’s macaroni and cheese is famous in our neighborhood.”

“Or we could just have cookies and stuff,” said Monica.

“More liability issues,” said Gilroy. “Potential food poisoning.”

“You saying my mother can’t cook?” I asked.

“Wait, wait,” Nat said. “The football boosters make food for football games.”

“Good point,” Banks said.

“A lot of kids won’t go,” Lauren said. “They won’t think it’s a real prom if it’s at school.”

“I see more negatives than positives in this scenario,” said Gilroy.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Banks said. “I think we should try it.”

The committee cheered. Gilroy pouted.

“Don’t anybody leave, we have to make up to-do lists,” Nat said. “Ash, you’re going to help, right?”

“Oh, no, no, no, that won’t work,” Gilroy said. “Ms. Hannigan here has way too many detentions to be able to participate in an extracurricular activity like this.”