Chapter Six
Mara-senior year of high school
Slipping Through My Fingers-ABBA
The prom is finally here. And with prom comes the promise of graduation around the corner.
And after that, California. I’ve already been accepted to the University of Southern California with a focus on literature and a minor in communications.
I want to be an English teacher, I want to read and share the best of the written word with others.
What’s better than reading and talking about books for a living?
It took me two hours to get ready, but most of that was spent listening to music and enjoying the solitary peace.
I listened to Florence + The Machine, Hozier, and ABBA while doing my hair and makeup.
The smokey eye with a nude lip paired with my smooth, loose curls is just what I envisioned.
It felt all too perfect that “Slipping Through My Fingers” began to play while I was zipping up my dress.
Although Bryce isn’t here yet, I head down the stairs expecting what I see in all the eighties movies, I expect my mom to have a camera out snapping photos of my Cinderella moment in the indigo blue A-line dress that perfectly flares to make me look like I have curves, and a lace off the shoulder detail to really drive the princess theme home.
I expect my dad to be waiting to embrace his little girl and vet the prom date, even though he’s met Bryce before.
But I should have known better. My mom isn’t the sentimental type, and my dad doesn’t really care for emotional exchanges. I don’t even think he’s home from the office yet. Probably helping someone else get a divorce when he should be focusing on his own marriage.
My mom is in the kitchen, though, seated on one of the leather bar stools at the kitchen island scrolling through details about some function she’s organizing on her tablet. She doesn’t even notice when I walk into the room in my flowing, poofy prom dress. She knows what day it is.
“Mom?” I grab her attention, she turns her head toward me before her eyes leave the bright screen.
“Oh, honey, you look so nice.” There’s a lack of sincerity to her voice, it’s the same way she told Mrs. Thatcher she loved the new drapes, and how she answers my father when he confirms dinner plans with various associates.
But I guess I should just be happy she isn’t critiquing something about my appearance.
“Though, those earrings seem a little gaudy for the occasion.” There it is.
“It’s prom,” I try to muster up some enthusiasm, “what better occasion for full glam than that?” She doesn’t agree or disagree, she nods subtly.
I pull my phone from my clutch purse and hand it to her before she can go back to her work. “Can you take a picture for me?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she replies reluctantly, taking the phone from me.
“The lighting is better outside, do you mind if we go to the garden?”
“Mara, I really need to get back to work. Let’s just do it here.
You look fine.” You look fine, not the lighting is fine.
I don’t know why I expected more from her.
She’s never been much of a mother past the point of playing the part in public.
I’m convinced they had a child because they felt obligated.
Because everyone else was having one. I’m no better than a Birkin bag.
I pose with one hand on my hip and the other clutching the purse at my side with a fake-ass smile plastered on my face.
I move to another pose with both hands clasped in front with a slight tilt to my head in a very romantic pose, but my mom has already closed the phone screen and extends her arm to hand it back to me.
One photo, that’s all I get.
I’m sure I could get Bryce to take some of me later but then he’ll want to be in them, and I don’t really want any photos with him, I don’t want to remember prom as a night with him, just as a magical last hurrah before college.
I know it’s not going anywhere with him, I know that we’ll break up this summer and I’ll never think of him again, so I don’t want him tainting these memories.
A horn honks outside just before the telltale sound of tires on the gravel half-circle driveway.
My dad always parks his car in the garage so I know it’s Bryce with the limo and the gang.
I peep through the window to verify and see a long black limo stretched on the drive, no Bryce in sight.
Apparently, it’s too much to come to the door and escort me like a proper date.
“I’ll be home around one, Mom,” I say in farewell.
“Sounds good, honey.” I’m honestly surprised she calls me honey. It’s too much of a term of endearment. But she’s called me that since I can remember.
Halfway to the limo, Bryce steps out of the back seat and I know before I even smell the vodka that he’s drunk. The dopey smile on his face and the glazed look to his eyes gives it away before I spot the flask in his hand.
“Heyyyy, baby.” What a romantic greeting. “Are you ready for a party?”
“No, I’m ready for prom,” I insist. “Please tell me we will actually make it there instead of stopping off at the field to smoke behind the bleachers.”
“Of course, baby,” he waves a hand dismissively. “But we are totally going there after.” An eye roll is all I grant him. Why am I not surprised?
“Oh yeah, here.” Bryce hands me a plastic container bearing the corsage I asked him to get. A white rose against a bed of small fern leaves and baby’s breath. The jerk didn’t even have the decency to put it on me himself.
Not a battle I want to pick.
The limo is loaded with the usual suspects.
Clay is in the car with his date Jasmine.
Travis and Dan, two more wrestlers, are at the front with their respective dates.
I recognize their faces, but I don’t know their names.
I don’t think we share any classes since I’m the only one in the car who takes AP classes. I smile politely and compliment them.
“Hi,” I wave with my free hand that’s not holding the clutch. “Your dresses are beautiful.” I mean it, they are beautiful, but my words still come off as insincere. It’s the anxiety of being around unfamiliar people that draws that side out of me.
“Thanks,” Dan’s date replies for them both. “You too. I love the color.” Great start to the night, awkward niceties that end in awkward silence. If this is how the night will go, I’m already dreading it.
I don’t even bother to ask their names because then I’d have to admit I don’t know them, and after four years at the same school—probably more, since it’s a small town—I should probably know them.
My mistaken identity is often that of a snobby rich girl who can’t be bothered to socialize with peasants, and that’s fine.
I let them believe it. Because the truth is that I don’t want to get attached to people I’m going to leave.
I don’t want ties to this town. I just want to get out of here and never look back.
If the stuck-up persona keeps people from trying to be my friend, so be it.
I don’t care what they think because I won’t be here in a few months.
To my delight, we pull up to the event center downtown where prom is hosted every year.
The venue is used for everything from weddings to job fairs.
There’s a lush garden with sweeping wisteria crawling over the arbors and a little gazebo in the center.
The entire garden is illuminated with twinkling fairy lights giving it an enchanting aura.
The theme this year is fairytale. Pretty cliche, if you ask me.
But I’ll give it to the prom committee, they ran with the theme and created a little girl’s fairytale dream.
Hundreds of battery-powered candles lead the way to the main event space.
The wall of windows opposite the entrance shines the golden hour light upon paper mache castle towers wrapped in ivy scattered around the perimeter between tables covered in lilac tablecloths.
The support beams are garnished with more twinkle lights and flowers.
The stage for the band is covered in more sweeping wisteria and vines that lead to a large print of a castle behind the instruments and musicians.
They’re playing modern music, thank goodness we don’t have to listen to Disney music all night.
The sight is truly breathtaking. I’ve been both pessimistic and optimistic about tonight, hoping for the night of my life, but also worried it’ll disappoint. But the room looks so perfect I can’t help but feel a little hopeful. Maybe tonight will be as wonderful as I dreamed.
“Hey, Bryce.” I turn to face my date seeing he’s eyeing Chloe Taylor where she sits at her table, batting her eyelashes at my date.
While I’m annoyed by the inconvenience, I don’t really care if he is looking for someone else already.
He and I will be done soon. After tonight, he will have served his purpose.
“Can you get me something to drink?”
“Sure thing, babe,” he grips my ass through the layers of tulle. “Want it to be a fun drink?”
I don’t bother to hide my eye roll. “Sure. Thanks.”
He’s back in a minute with a drink for each of us in silver and white paper cups. I take one sip and decide this will be the last fun drink I have tonight based on how strong he mixes them.
I want my wits about me tonight. No sloppy drunk girl at the prom stories. That might be ok for everyone else, but it’s not who I am.
“Look who showed up,” Clay says on Bryce’s other side.
I scan the room and find Jason Alder sitting at a table by himself.
He’s wearing a black sports coat and jeans but no tie, white shirt untucked.
He’s actually pretty good looking when he cleans himself up a bit.
“Why the fuck would the Mute want to come to prom? And by himself, no doubt.”
“You don’t know that,” I scoff at his presumption. “For all you know, his date is in the bathroom.”
“Yeah. Or maybe he brought his faggot brother as his date.” Bryce’s comments about that are getting really old. Is he really that offended by modern relationships?
I see the mischievous gleam in his eye warning me that his twisted mind is working before he speaks. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s have a little fun tonight.” A well deserved chill races down my spine when Bryce turns to me and says. “And, babe, you’re going to help.”
Oh no.