Someone Like You (26 page)

“Ta-da!” she said, sweeping her arms over herself and back down again, as if she was a prize on a game show. “Crazy, huh?”

She just stood there, grinning at me, and I had to smile back. Since we'd decided we would go to the prom and fulfill our
Seventeen
daydreams, nothing had been normal. But then, nothing had been normal, or even close to normal, for a while.

Since January, something had changed. It was all subtle, hard to see with the naked eye, but it was there. The way my mother held her tongue when I knew she was dying to offer an opinion, to dominate a conversation—to be my mother. She'd take a breath, already gathering words, and then stop, let it out, and look hard at me as something passed between us, imperceptible to the rest of the world. She'd backed off just enough, focusing on other things: selling Grandma Halley's house and visiting her often, as well as the new book she'd started writing about her experiences being a daughter again. Maybe I'd be in this one. Maybe not.

As for Macon, I hadn't talked to him much since that night in my side yard. He seemed to be coming to school even less, and when he did I was skilled at avoiding him. But I still felt a pang whenever I saw him, the way I still felt a soreness in my wrist every morning, or a pain in my ribs when I lay a certain way at night. In March, when I heard his mother had kicked him out, I worried. And in mid-April, when I heard he was dating Elizabeth Gunderson, I cried for two days straight.

I made myself concentrate on something more important: the baby. I saw it, small and hardly recognizable, when we had the ultrasound during Month Six. It had hands and feet and eyes and a nose. The doctor knew the sex, but Scarlett didn't want to know; she wanted it to be a surprise.

We had a baby shower at my house, inviting Cameron and his mother, the girls from the Teen Mothers Support Group, and even Ginny Tabor, who bought the baby a huge stuffed yellow duck that quacked when you squeezed it. But something was wrong with it, and it quacked whenever you picked it up, and then wouldn't shut up until you took its head off, an option we never had with Ginny herself. Cameron's mother sewed a beautiful layette set, and my parents gave Scarlett ten babysitting coupons, for whenever she needed a break. For my gift, I had blown up a recent picture of me and Scarlett, sitting on her front steps together. Scarlett's belly was huge, and she had her hands folded over it, her head on my shoulder. I had it framed and Scarlett immediately hung it over the baby's crib, where she or he would see it every day.

“The three of us,” she said, and I nodded.

And then we just waited, circling in a holding pattern, while the due date got closer and closer.

We planned. We bought a baby name book and made lists of good ones: something simple, not bringing to mind someone else, like Scarlett's, or needing a paragraph of explanation, like mine. We both knew how far a name could take you.

We went to Lamaze classes, me sitting in a long row of fathers, her head in my lap. We were the youngest ones there. We breathed and we pushed, and I tried to tell myself that I could handle this when it happened, that I could do it. Scarlett was scared and tired, with all that huffing and puffing, and I always nodded at her, confident.

And Marion had come around. She acted like she was firm on adoption until about Month Seven, early March, when I walked in on her in the nursery. The sun was slanting through the window, warm and bright, bouncing off the yellow walls, and the constellations Cameron had painted on the ceiling. Everything was ready: the clothes all folded in the drawers, the crib and changing table in place, the stroller finally assembled (with the help of a neighbor, who was an engineer and the only one who could figure out the instructions). She was just standing there, arms crossed, surveying it all with a smile on her face. And I knew it then. There'd never been a question of where this baby was going or who it belonged with. Of course, when she saw me she turned around and scowled, muttering something about paint fumes, and hurried out. But that was Marion. I knew what I had seen.

And lastly, I walked with Scarlett to the mailbox as she carried the letter we'd worked and re-worked, all these months.
Dear Mrs. Sherwood,
it began,
You don't know me, but I have something to
say. She dropped it in, the mailbox door clanked, and there was no going back. If we heard from her, we heard from her. If not, this baby had enough love to carry on.

And now, on May twelfth, we were going to the prom. I was doing this for Scarlett; it was important to her. When Cameron asked her, I had to go, too. Which is how I ended up with Noah Vaughn.

Actually, it was my mother's fault. She brought up the prom one Friday night when the Vaughns were over, Mrs. Vaughn lit up like the sun, and it went from there.
Of course I keep telling Halley she should go,
my mother said,
I mean, it's the prom. Well, Noah, I can't believe you haven't mentioned this, said Mrs. Vaughn. Well, Halley's best friend is going, you know Scarlett, but Halley hasn't been asked,
said my mother, and now I was realizing what was happening, how awful this could be, as Noah watched me from across the table and my father giggled at his plate.
But Noah doesn't have a date either,
said Mrs. Vaughn,
so I don't see why you two couldn't ...
And then my mother, who had learned something, looked across the table, realizing too late, and said quickly,
Actually I think Halley might have
plans
that weekend,
but of course now it was too late, way too late, and Mrs. Vaughn was already clapping her hands together excitedly, and smiling big, and my mother kept trying to get me to look at her but I wouldn't. All I could see was Noah across the table, eating a slice of pizza, with cheese all over his chin.

Of course Scarlett was ecstatic. She dragged me out to buy a dress and shoes, and insisted we get ready together. And I went along, trying not to complain, because I knew somehow that this was the end of something for her, before the baby came and everything changed.

“Smile!” my mother said, stepping back across the kitchen with her camera's red light blinking. My father was leaning against the kitchen door, making faces at me. “Oh, you two look just great. So glamorous!”

Scarlett put her arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer, tighter in for the shot. I saw the red in her hair, her easy smile, the small sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

“Okay!” my mother said, now against the far wall, crouching down. “Now say prom night!
”

“Prom night!” Scarlett said, still smiling.

“Prom night,” I said, more softly, my eyes on her, and not the camera, as the flash popped bright all around me.

 

I could tell that Noah was drunk the minute he crossed the living room holding the corsage.

“Hi,” he said as he got close, reaching out with the pin toward my bodice, his breath hot and sweet. “Hold still.”

“I'll get it,” I said, taking it from him before he stabbed me while Mrs. Vaughn, who obviously hadn't gotten close to him lately, and my mother, who looked like she might bust with happiness, watched from across the room. Beside us Cameron was carefully attaching Scarlett's corsage, a group of pink roses and baby's breath, to her ample bustline. Cameron looked very small and very dapper in his tuxedo and cranberry-colored cummerbund and socks. Very European, my mother had said when he arrived, with Noah in his rented tux and too-short pants with gym socks peeking out beneath. I stuck my corsage on, barely missing poking myself in my haste, and settled in for another round of pictures.

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Vaughn said, circling us with the video camera while Noah snaked his arm around my waist. The liquor had obviously emboldened him.
“
Halley, smile!
”

“One more,” my mother said, going through at least another roll of film, flash after flash. “What a great night you'll have! Terrific!
”

Marion was there, with one of those disposable cameras, taking picture after picture of Scarlett in her dress. She was going to a medieval tournament with Vlad that night, and was already dressed for the part in a long velvet dress with puffy sleeves that made her look like Guinevere, or maybe Sleeping Beauty. She'd gotten into Vlad's weekend hobby, bit by bit, and she seemed to like it, tagging along to tournaments and drinking mead while he jousted. Scarlett was embarrassed, but Marion just said being someone else was kind of nice, every once in a while.

“Scarlett,” she called out, waving one hand over her head. “Over here, honey. Perfect. Perfect!
”

After we'd been satisfactorily documented, we finally got out the door and to the limousine, on loan from the hotel where Cameron's father worked. Cameron, for all his quirkiness, really knew how to make an evening. I couldn't exactly say the same for
my
date.

“Where's the bar?” Noah slurred as soon as we shut the door and drove off. “There's supposed to be a bar in these things, right?”

Scarlett was just eyeing him, settling her dress around her, and I said, “He's wasted. Ignore him.”

“I am not,” Noah said indignantly. Already he'd talked more to me, total, than he had in the entire year and a half we'd been broken up. “But there
is
supposed to be a bar.”

“I'm sure they just took it out,” Cameron said quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Scarlett said to him, squeezing his arm. “We don't care.”

“
I don't need it anyway,” Noah said loudly, pulling a plastic juice container from his inside pocket. “Got it all taken care of, right here.”

I just looked at him. “Noah,” I said. “Please.”

“Wow,” Scarlett said as he opened the container and guzzled down a bit, dribbling on his shirtfront. “That sure is classy.”

“Works for me,” Noah said snippily. He stuck it back in his pocket, wiping his mouth, and put his arm over my shoulder, which I shrugged off as best I could.

By the time we got to the prom, Noah was completely loaded. The limo dropped us off in the bus parking lot, by the cafeteria, and I just started to walk inside, leaving him to stumble along behind me. He'd downed the last swallow of his stash, dropped the container on the sidewalk, and reached out to grab me; instead, he got my dress, tearing it at the waist. I felt cool air on my back and legs and stopped walking.

“Ooops,” he said as I turned around. He had something white and shiny, formerly part of my dress, in his hands and he was giggling. “Sorry.”

“You jerk,” I snapped, grabbing behind me to bunch the fabric together, covering myself. Now I was at the prom with Noah Vaughn
and
half-naked. There was no end to my shame.

“Halley, what's going on?” Scarlett called from the front entrance to the cafeteria. I could see Melissa Ringley, prom chairwoman, sitting at a table watching me. “Hurry up.”

“Go in without me,” I said. “I'll be right there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged, handing Melissa their tickets, and she and Cameron disappeared inside. I could hear music playing, loud, and people kept walking past, on their way in. I backed into the shadow of the science lab to do something about my dress.

“Here,” Noah said, stumbling in behind me, “let me help.”

“You cannot help me,” I told him. “Okay?”

“You don't have to be a bitch,” he snapped, still reaching around to the back of my dress, his hand brushing my skin. “You know, you've changed so much since we went out.”

“Whatever, Noah,” I said. I needed a safety pin, badly. I could not go inside and moon my entire class, not even for Scarlett.

“You used to be nice, and all that,” he went on, “but then you started thinking you were all cool, hanging out with Macon Faulkner and all. Like you were too good for everybody all of a sudden.”

“Noah,” I said. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” he said back, loudly. Two girls in white dresses and heels looked over at us, trying to make us out in the dark.

I ignored him, reaching around the back of my dress again, when suddenly he was right up against me, his breath in my face when I turned around. I didn't remember him ever being so tall. He slid his arm around my waist, reaching back to the gaping fabric, and stuck his hand down my dress, brushing over my underwear. I just stared at him, dumbstruck, and watched his face get closer and closer, eyes closed, tongue starting to stick out—

“Get
off
me,” I said loudly, pushing him away. He stumbled, tripped over a tree stump and landed on the sidewalk just as another group of people started to pass by. I leaned against the wall, not caring anymore about my dress, or this night, and tried to hide myself.

“Whoa,” a guy in the group said as he stepped over Noah, who was still prone, blinking. “You okay, buddy?”

“She's just—she's such a ...” Noah sputtered as he got to his feet, unsteadily, and started to weave back around the side of the building, muttering to himself. The guy and his date just watched him go, then laughed a little nervously and headed across the courtyard to Melissa Ringley and the cafeteria. And I was alone.

I thought about going home. I had money and could easily call a cab, or my father, and just give up entirely. But Scarlett would worry, I knew, so I bunched together the back of my dress, holding it that way, and went to tell her myself.

I found her on the dance floor, with Cameron. They couldn't dance that close but they did what they could, her stomach between them. All around her were these perfect girls, hair swept up and wearing lipstick and high heels, with their dates in dark tuxedos and dress shoes. I saw Ginny Tabor and Brett Hershey, wearing Prom King and Queen crowns, making out by the punch table. And Regina Little, one of the fattest girls in school, in a huge white dress with a hoop, dancing with a guy in a military uniform who looked at least thirty. And lastly, in the corner, I saw Elizabeth Gunderson and Macon, not dancing or smiling or even talking, just standing there staring at the crowd, same as me.