Twenty-Four
Exams pass in a flash, and before I know it, I’m done my senior year at Oakwoods. It’s bittersweet walking out of school Thursday afternoon for the last time, especially since the legacy I’m leaving behind is being Pukey McBarfface, but at the same time, I feel ready to face whatever’s next.
Saturday arrives even faster, and soon I’m in my red prom dress and four-inch stilettos with Emi beside me in the Mercedes and Daphne in the back, and we’re cruising to the banquet hall blasting “Emi and Carina’s Ultra Cool and Fun Playlist.”We had a limo booked, of course, but when we really thought about it, the three of us decided we’d rather be jamming out having fun on our own over sitting in a stuffy confined space with Emmett, Kalani, and ten other friends pretending there’s no awkward tension in the air.
I pull into the lot filled with limos and shiny, expensive cars and park near the back. Emi lowers the volume of Joan Jett & the Blackhearts’ “Bad Reputation,” which is a fitting soundtrack for our entrance.
“Let’s do this shit,” she exclaims, holding the door open for her girlfriend.
We link arms as we strut through the parking lot and the banquet hall, uncaring of people staring or whispering about us, or at least me. I’m not old news yet; in fact, the video has reached astronomical numbers, enough for even a few celebrities to comment on it. But at least their comments were lighthearted and fun, saying they’ve done the same thing after a great night out, and it made me feel kind of cool—even though my vomit was bad-fish-induced, not from alcohol and partying, but still, I’ll take the cool points.
Our friends are already all at the table, dressed in their very best dresses and suits, excitedly chatting with one another and others who walk by the table. There, talking with Vic and her girlfriend, is Kalani. She’s wearing a designer dress in her signature deep purple, with her dark curls tamed in an elegant updo and her makeup intensifying her deep brown eyes. Online votes for prom queen were due yesterday, so she’s no longer campaigning, but I’m sure she’s still anxiously awaiting the results even as she makes friendly conversation with all the people she hopes voted for her. Emmett’s beside her, his hand on her lower back, looking handsome and perfectly coordinated with Kalani in a deep, subtly purple suit with black detailing and a black bow tie.
Watching them, I wait for the jealousy or longing or butterflies to start up, but nothing comes. I feel nothing looking at Emmett’s dimples as he smiles, and that in turn makes me smile.
“Look at them, smiling and pretending like nothing happened,” Emi fumes from beside me, plucking champagne flutes from a server’s tray and passing one each to me and Daphne before downing one herself. She makes a face and discards the glass on a random table. “Ugh. That wasn’t champagne.”
Daphne sips her own. “It’s sparkling cider. They can’t serve alcohol at an official event, not even at your fancy rich-school prom,” she jokes, bumping Emi’s shoulder with a laugh.
Daphne’s giving cottagecore vibes in her light green dress with a fitted corset top and tulle skirt that flows to the floor, which is embroidered sporadically with little flowers. With her long red hair and freckles, she looks like a whimsical fairy. Her school is having their prom tonight too, but she decided to come to ours instead and spend the night with Emi. And I’m glad because I enjoy Daphne’s company, especially now that I’m not worried about being a third, or fifth, wheel.
Emi’s lips curl in a mischievous smile. “Good thing I brought my own then.” She reaches into the combat boot she paired with a designer strapless dress that’s made from crisp black tulle speckled with gold glitter and pulls out a flask.
“Emi!” Daphne and I exclaim, and Daphne snatches it from her gloating hand and tucks it under her arm before any of the teachers see.
“What?” Emi asks, discreetly taking her flask back and stuffing it in her boot. “If I have to get through dinner sitting at a table with Kalani after everything she did and not start a fight, I need reinforcements.”
I’m touched that Emi’s so offended on my behalf, and she’ll have my back through thick and thin because she’s genuinely hurt by what happened. But even so, I say, “We can still be civil.”
“Exactly,” Daphne agrees, dotingly fixing Emi’s short hair. She’s moved on from purple to a rocker dark green. It’s almost amusing to see Daphne and Emi side by side, because they have completely different aesthetics, but somehow it works.
“And we can even try to have fun,” I say, picking up two shrimp cocktails from a passing server and handing them to my friends. I’m staying away from shrimp for the foreseeable future, my stomach churning at the sight of it.
My phone buzzes, and I fish it out of my clutch. It’s a text from Jay, a picture of him, Caleb, and Ralph in their suits, smiling and looking dashing.
The most handsome men at prom, yours or ours, he captioned it, and I can’t disagree.
Jay, as always, continues to be the hottest boy I’ve ever seen. The black tux does nothing to take away from his bad boy sharp jaw and perfect angles, and my heart squeezes at the sight. Ralph and Caleb look good too; the former, in true Ralph fashion, is wearing a hideous pink-and-teal flamingo tie, which I surprisingly think looks good on him.
To reply, I take a selfie of me, Emi, and Daphne smiling at the camera and holding up our drinks or shrimp cocktails.
His reply is immediate.
I bet I can guess what color panties you’re wearing.
He adds a knowing smirk emoji for extra measure, and I laugh out loud, a secret thrill going through me at his intimate knowledge of my panty-matching tendencies when before it would’ve pissed me off.
As we head to our table for the beginning of speeches, I text him back.
You assume I’m even wearing panties in this tight dress. You know I don’t like panty lines.
“What’s the evil chuckle for?” Emi asks as she sits beside me at the table.
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down at it.
I can be there in thirty to verify that statement. Don’t you dare leave.
“You’re doing it again,” Emi comments, and I stuff my phone in my clutch, trying to contain the blush on my face.