THREE
Two weeks until prom
You are cordially invited to ...
Under the Sea
Proudly presented by Maplewood High School’s Senior Class
On Saturday, June 15
From 7:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m.
Maplewood High School Gymnasium A
Tickets:
$40 per person
$75 per couple
$50 at the door
*See Senior social calendar below:
June 3–7—Exams
June 10–12—Prank Days, Senior Symposium, Brick Painting
June 13—Senior Sleepover
June 14—Beach Day
June 15—Prom Night
June 22—Graduation
“Prom is doomed,” I grumble at the demented cartoon whale smiling on our freshly laminated prom tickets. Had anyone else proposed Around the World, Renner would have been all for it. But because it was me, he had to derail the idea.
I pretend to sob into a particularly hideous taffeta gown. The saleslady with the tattooed brows frowns at me from across the boutique. She’s cranky that Nori, Kassie, and I are disrupting her lunch-break reality television episode. I plop next to Nori on the tufted bench outside the changing rooms.
“This is my best work. It’s a certified masterpiece. You’re really killing my vibe here.” Nori’s gold bangles jingle as she holds the prom ticket to the light, admiring her creation from all angles. Her iPad is always at the ready so she can sketch whenever inspiration strikes. She’s wicked talented and could probably make a rock from my driveway look visually interesting.
“Prom will be amazing regardless of the theme,” Kassie says sternly, voice muffled from behind the dressing room curtain.
“Not with gigantic jellyfish tentacles dangling from the gym ceiling.” I shudder at the thought. “Did you know jellyfish don’t even have brains?”
“Okay, but they can clone themselves. Us humans—with our big, useless brains—can’t do that,” Nori points out. The things we learn in biology.
Random jellyfish factoids aside, everyone but me is thrilled about Under the Sea. Even perpetually crusty Principal Proulx.
The past two weeks have been nothing but cramming for exams and elaborate promposals. Most notable was Ollie’s. After a choreographed flash mob at the Friday game, the football team stripped their jerseys, one by one, revealing blue painted letters on their chests, collectively spelling P ROM , K ASSIE ? It was inevitable Kassie and Ollie would go together, just like it’s inevitable they’ll win prom king and queen, get married (with me as maid of honor), and have perfectly symmetrical-faced babies who will go on to procreate with my own children (if my twenty-year plan of marrying a kind-eyed, dependable man who bears a striking resemblance to Charles Melton goes smoothly).
“Char, I say this with love, but maybe you need to sit this one out and let us handle it,” Kassie suggests. “I know you’re super stressed about exams and—”
“ Sit this one out? Prom?” I impulsively scratch my neck. The thought of not being in control is hive inducing. “And I’m stressed for exams a very regular amount, thank you.”
Nori gives me a knowing look. “She has a point. You’ve taken the lead on every event this year. Like, you spent the entire Valentine’s Day carnival running around, stressed out over the broken cotton candy machine. You didn’t even get to ride the Ferris wheel.”
Before I can point out that prom is THE MOST IMPORTANT event of all, Kassie parades out of the stall in a floor-length red sequin number that looks like second skin. The dramatic slits up each side flirt dangerously close to her pubic bone. She steps onto the pedestal and sways side to side, channeling the raw star power of J.Lo.
“Steal-your-man red,” Kassie says in a faux British accent. “As my mom calls it. Does it make my boobs look big or no?”
Nori pretends to shield her eyes. “I dunno about your boobs, but that color is offensive. My eyes are watering just looking at it.” Her tone is a little clipped. She and Kassie are frenemies at best. I’m the glue that somehow makes our unlikely threesome work. To Nori’s credit, Kassie is like a boomerang, always bringing the conversation back to her. Like when Nori broke up with her first girlfriend two years ago, Kassie decided it was an appropriate time to complain about how Ollie didn’t invite her on his family’s vacation to Disney World.
Despite Kassie’s vapid tendencies, I also know a totally different side of her. The Kassie I met at camp when we were nine who took me under her wing when home was the last place I wanted to be. She gave me her polka-dot scrunchie, claiming it was the perfect accessory for my “retro Britney Spears” outfit. The Kassie who picks me up after my hellishly long summer shifts at Two Cows ’N’ a Cone to drive around aimlessly while scream-singing love ballads. The Kassie who gives me clothes on the regular, claiming they don’t fit her anymore even though I know that’s not true.
Kassie knows my mom juggles two jobs—her begrudged day job as a pharmacy assistant and twilight shifts as an aspiring novelist. I’m not poor by any means, but unlike most of my peers at MHS, I can’t afford the newest clothes and electronic devices. Kassie knows all this and has never said a word about it to anyone. Sometimes I feel like I owe her for that.
“The color is nice,” I say defensively, turning back to Kassie. “You could go in a burlap sack and shoes made of Kleenex boxes and still win prom queen.”
“I don’t think I’m feeling it. Doesn’t go with the theme,” Kassie decides, running a hand over the tight bodice.
“The theme,” I mumble bitterly, following Nori into the dressing room. “Renner ruins everything. He’s like that marinara sauce stain on my white Keds that won’t go away no matter how many times my mom bleaches them.”
“I know you guys hate each other. But for your own sanity, you’ve gotta stop letting him under your skin. It only encourages him,” Kassie warns, like it’s all my fault he’s the bane of my existence.
“Lest we forget what he did,” I shout from behind the curtain.
“We were fourteen. And still obsessed with Shawn Mendes. You really need to forgive and forget,” she says as I step into a satin, purple dress.
For the record, I’m still obsessed with Shawn Mendes. I also have the memory of a dolphin.
And it extends far beyond homecoming.
J.T.Renner’s transgressions against me: a complete history
-9th grade—ditched me at homecoming
-9th grade—called me a “kiss ass” and “teacher’s pet”
-9th grade—made a penis joke during my biology presentation
-10th grade—invited entire sophomore class to his garage party except me
-10th grade—loudly pointed out a spelling error in my Civil War history PowerPoint presentation
-11th grade—accused me of ripping a potent fart at Lucy H.’s New Year’s party
-11th grade—made fun of me for being the only girl who didn’t receive a Valentine’s Day carnation and candy gram in homeroom
-11th grade—mocked my driving in driver’s ed
-11th grade—unfairly beat me in a law class debate
-12th grade—still brags about last year’s law class debate
-12th grade—emotional trauma from his bullying caused me to fail my driver’s test—twice
-12th grade- claims to have beaten my SAT score (no evidence of claim provided)
-12th grade—THE STUDENT COUNCIL ELECTION
Of all Renner’s transgressions, student council was the cherry on top. I’d been the ninth, tenth, and eleventh grade rep, and the entire student body of Maplewood High School knew the president position was mine. I’d worked tirelessly for the past three years for this.
Extracurriculars are key for graduate school, which I’ll need to become a school counselor. They’re also important for scholarships, which I spent all of spring break applying to. In fact, I have an interview next week for a $20,000 scholarship from the Katrina Zellars Foundation—a nonprofit that funds aspiring educators. Mom has saved as much as she can for my college fund, but it’s still barely enough to cover one semester in the dorms.
Anyway, I was high on endorphins, practicing my victory speech because I was running unopposed. Then, two days before the election, Renner decided to toss his name in with zero forethought, despite having no student council experience whatsoever.
When I confronted him about why he was running, he just said, “Because I knew it would piss you off. And I thought it would be fun.”
Fun. That’s how Renner lives his life. Lover of all things fun is even his social media bio.
Unlike me, Renner had no official election platform. I spent countless hours hunched over my laptop, surveying peers, developing a list of goals I was passionate about, including increased support for diverse clubs, adding a deli and salad bar in the cafeteria, and equality for girls’ sports programs.
Meanwhile, Renner spouted off fifteen minutes’ worth of unpracticed, somehow eloquent nonsense about collective school spirit and ensuring all voices are heard, channeling the effortless charisma of Obama.
And because everyone loves J.T.Renner, he won the presidency with a 75 percent majority.
I still can’t talk about it without ugly crying. Renner’s obsession with ruining my life cost me my dream college on the West Coast. The admissions counselor never said it outright, but I think he was less than impressed by my status as vice president—not president. The only benefit is that now I’m going to college in the city, with Nori.
I emerge from the dressing room in the purple gown, hoisting myself onto the pedestal with an ungraceful grunt. I feel like a bride on Say Yes to the Dress , minus twelve nearest and dearest bystanders in varying degrees of bitter over my upcoming nuptials.
This satin, royal-purple number does absolutely nothing for my five-foot body. My flat chest occupies only about half of the laughably huge cups. I look more like a five-year-old playing dress-up in her mom’s clothes than a teenager one year shy of adulthood.
Nori hops onto the pedestal next to mine in a bumblebee-yellow trumpet-style two-piece and frowns like a hungry couture model at Paris Fashion Week.
“Only you can pull off a color like that. You look amazing,” I assure her before her doubt creeps in.
The saleslady saunters over with the emerald-green dress I was eyeing in the window draped over her arms. “Still want to try this on, dear?” she asks Nori.
Nori blinks and points at me, confused. “Uh, my friend is the one who wanted to try it.”
The saleslady’s hawk eyes cut to me, surely judging my uncanny resemblance to Barney in this purple number. “Oh, right.” Flustered and embarrassed, she shuffles into my changing room and hangs the emerald gown on the knob.
Nori flashes me a funny look. This isn’t the first time people have mixed us up, even though we look nothing alike. Nori is Korean, tall, and pale, with unicorn-dyed hair that grazes her shoulders. And I’m half-Chinese, half-white, with long, dark hair. It’s not like Maplewood isn’t diverse (sort of), but there’s always the odd person who stares, or kids who crack stupid Asian jokes about being good at math. Apparently, by simple virtue of being Asian, your spot on the honor roll is guaranteed.
Once I reemerge in the green dress, Kassie circles my pedestal to capture it on video. Nori nods vigorously in the mirror, signaling her approval as I turn to inspect my side profile.
Strangely, the halter neckline actually elongates my short torso and legs.
“I might even have the perfect heels to match,” I say. I found orthopedic nude heels with specially padded insoles last month for graduation.
Kassie rolls her eyes. “Not those old-lady church shoes.”
I gasp, feigning offense. I spent weeks scouring the depths of the internet for them. “They are not church shoes. They’re functional. Optimal arch support is important. I’ll just need to break them in.”
Disclaimer: me and high-heeled shoes have a troubled history. The first time I wore heels at a middle school dance, the left heel wedged itself into the front lawn and I fell face-first into a bed of thorny roses. Fast-forward to the tenth grade Spring Fling: the ambitious red stilettos I ordered online turned out to be literal stripper shoes (not that I’m judging). I looked like Bambi on stilts, towering over my five-foot-tall date—Jamie Nemi.
If I could do one thing in this life, it would be to bring justice to flip-flops. They get a seriously bad rap for being tacky. But they’re functional as heck. Unfortunately, I doubt I’ll be able to revolutionize flip-flops before prom. So I’ve succumbed to geriatric heels.
Nori straightens the train behind me. “Forget the ugly shoes. This gown is everything. If you don’t buy this right now, I’m buying it for you. End of story.”
“You have five minutes to decide. We’re gonna be late for class,” Kassie warns. She pulls a tube of shimmery lip gloss from her bag and applies it generously, smacking her lips in the mirror.
I stare at my reflection and hold my hair up the way I’ve always imagined it, a soft, romantic low bun. I’m reminded of how confident I felt getting ready for freshman homecoming, staring into Kassie’s hairspray-smeared bedroom mirror. Though I’m determined prom will have a better outcome. If I’m spending half my savings on one night, I’d better look fire. “Okay. This is it. I’m saying yes to the dress!”
Nori squeals and claps. “See? Prom is gonna be perfect. Fish or no fish.”
I snort. “Ew. Never put fish and prom in the same sentence again.”
Kassie shakes her head like a disgruntled mom of five children brawling in the back of a minivan. “Please just don’t rip J. T.’s head off at prom. Let us have one last drama-free night, okay?”
“I can do that,” I agree. “So long as he sits on the opposite end of the limo. Far away from me.”