It's Our Prom (So Deal With It) Page 19

  “We’re working on getting the lyrics to you.” Azure cuts a look at me and I nod vigorously. Azure’s voice hardens: “We still have time to raise money.”

  “How? And when?”

  “We can have another silent auction. There’s still mountains of stuff to sell.”

  “And we can do bake sales every day,” Shauna adds. “My mother’s president of the PTSA, and I’m sure she won’t mind sending out an e-mail blast asking members to bake cookies and cupcakes.”

  Flacco says what we all know: “You have two weeks.”

  “I’ll get with Mr. Gerardi today and see when we can have the silent auction,” Azure says. “Just leave everything up to us.”

  “No,” Flacco says. “You’ll pass every decision through me from now on. Luke, are you taking notes?”

  In my desire to please—and live—I forgot again. I say, “Photographic memory,” and tap my head. “Hey, I’d be happy to use my superpower to draw prom pictures. Then we wouldn’t need a photographer at all.”

  Connor snickers.

  If Flacco had a hatchet, heads would roll. Make that one head: mine.

  “Connor,” she says, “since you’re not contributing at all, why don’t you look for a DJ? Keep it cheap.”

  Pink rises up his neck.

  “We want a live band,” he mumbles.

  “Well, you can’t afford a band, so you might as well shop around for a DJ.”

  Connor’s jawbone flexes.

  “Has anyone ordered programs yet? Have you figured that into your cost?”

  Static fills the room.

  Flacco adds, “I’ll look back and see what they cost last year. I know it was more than five hundred dollars.”

  Azure gasps audibly.

  “If there’s nothing else…?” Flacco says, pushing to her feet.

  I grab my man bag and shoulder it. Across the table, Azure mimes to me to wait, and I plunk it back down. Shauna gets up and trails Flacco to the door. She shuts it behind her. “I might have to take down our activities temporarily, but I’ll transfer them to the Facebook page. Then, a few days before prom, I’ll put them back on Prom Central. No one will ever know.”

  Except everyone, I think.

  This plan has more holes than SpaghettiOs.

  AZURE

  I call Radhika after school and she actually answers. I ask if Luke and I can stop by. As I glance across the front seat at Luke, I see that he’s still got the same expression on his face that he assumed when Shauna revealed her plan.

  “What?” I say.

  He keeps his eyes on the road.

  “You’re in, aren’t you?”

  “What if we get caught?” he asks. “What if Flacco figures out what we’re doing?”

  “She won’t. She’s not that bright.”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Are you in or out?”

  “In, unless…”

  “Unless what?” I snap.

  “What happens after the prom? When she finds out what we’ve done?”

  “By then it’ll be over. We’re going to have the prom we want because it’s our prom.”

  Radhika opens her front door and hugs me hard. With Luke, she seems kind of awkward, but she gives him a quick hug, too. “I’m so glad to see you,” she says. “I missed you guys so much during break.”

  “Me, too,” I tell her.

  “Me three,” Luke says.

  “I was just making a PBJ. Do you want one?”

  “Sure,” Luke and I both say. I wish he’d stop repeating me. I wish I would’ve had him drop me off, so I could fill Radhika in on our plan and try to persuade her to come to prom with me. As a friend only. But with Luke here… What if he let it slip…?

  I don’t hear or see any sign of Radhika’s mother. As if reading my mind, Radhika says, “My mom’s at pilates.” She crosses her eyes at us and we both laugh. I slit-eye Luke to stop copying me.

  Luke and I both begin to make sandwiches, but I muscle him out of the way. “Quit it,” he says.

  “You quit it.”

  “What’s with you two?” Radhika asks. She takes the butter knife, which I’m holding at an attack angle at Luke’s chest.

  “Nothing,” we both mutter.

  “How was Germany?” Radhika asks Luke, taking her sandwich to the table.

  “Wunderbar,” he says. “If I don’t get into art school, I’m definitely going back.”

  Luke actually waits for me to finish spreading my jelly and cutting my sandwich before reclaiming the knife. When we’re all sitting at the table, I ask Radhika, “What was it like?”

  She shrugs. “Pretty. Gorgeous, actually.”

  Luke says, “What was what like?”

  I click my tongue at him. “You know.”

  “We got a tour of the campus,” Radhika says. “There’s a lot of history there.”

  “What campus?” Luke asks, taking a chomp of his sandwich.

  “The campus,” I repeat.

  Radhika says, “My parents dragged me to New Haven over spring break to visit Yale.”

  “What?” Luke’s eyes widen.

  What a liar. She never told him.

  “Sneaky bastards,” he goes.

  Which is what I thought when Radhika told me.

  “You’re not changing your mind about going to Yale, are you?” I ask her.

  Radhika takes a bite of sandwich. “I’d get away from my parents, at least. How’s the prom coming? Have you raised enough money?”

  “Yeah, we have plenty. We don’t need a penny from your dad.” I eye Luke just in case he was going to contradict me. He’s licking jelly off the sides of his sandwich.

  The conversation comes to a standstill, and we all nibble our sandwiches as slowly as possible, avoiding eye contact. It’s like this cliché: There’s an elephant in the room, something that isn’t being talked about, and in this case Dumbo’s name is Prom. I can’t stand having it loom over us, so I tell Radhika, “We have a plan to put on our alternative prom, just like we were going to. Actually, it was Shauna’s idea.”

  “Really?” Radhika says. “Tell me.”

  I explain about moving everything to a Facebook page, then moving it back a few days before prom.

  Radhika looks intrigued. “Or you could block out Mrs. Flacco’s faculty ID from Prom Central. In fact, you could create a shadow Prom Central, with different activities. The one Mrs. Flacco sees would be stripped down, and the one the students access would be the real Prom Central.”

  “We could do that?” I say.

  Radhika replies, “You’d need Mrs. Flacco’s faculty ID to misdirect her. I don’t know how you’d get that.”

  Now my synapses start firing. “She probably has her ID card in her purse. Maybe…” I look at Luke.

  “Don’t look at me,” he says. “There’s no telling what’s in her purse. Weapons of mass destruction.” He chokes and goes, “Do you have any milk?”

  As Radhika gets up to retrieve a carton of milk and three glasses, I say, “All we have to do is find her ID card and write down the number.”

  Radhika sets the milk and glasses on the table and I pour. “You’re a playwright, Luke,” I say. “Write us a script.”

  “To steal her ID,” he says. “I’m so sure.”

  “We wouldn’t be stealing it. Just getting the number.”

  “Without her knowing.” He shakes his head.

  “Yeah. Like a diversionary tactic. Grab her card, copy it, then put it right back.”

  Luke’s eyes glaze over, which means his creativity has kicked in. This is the kind of stuff he lives for.

  We all finish our sandwiches and glasses of milk at the same time. “Only one problem,” I say, thinking aloud. “I’m not sure anyone on Prom Com knows how to set up a shadow file.”

  Radhika says, “I’ll do it. On one condition.”

  “Anything,” Luke and I say together.

  “What?” I add.

  Radhika goes, “You let me
back on the committee.”

  That must mean she’s dropping the seminar and not going to Yale! And maybe, just maybe…

  “OMG,” Luke says. “Yes, yes, and hella yes.”

  “You were never off,” I tell her. “We were keeping your seat warm.”

  She smiles at me. “Has Mr. Rosen said anything at all to anyone?”

  “He wrote us a letter apologizing for letting us get carried away,” I reply. “But he said that he supports us still. I have your copy of the letter in my backpack. Just a sec.” I dash to the foyer, where Luke and I dropped off our bags, then hurry back and hand her the letter.

  She reads the letter and her face falls. “None of this was his fault,” she says.

  “I know,” I say. “He’s cool.” I feel bad for Mr. Rosen. I hope getting fired from the committee doesn’t affect his salary, or lack thereof.

  Once we get going, it feels like someone led the elephant out of the room because we talk about other things, like Luke’s play and my dad’s online dating. Then the garage door whirs open and Radhika says, “My mom’s home. I better get back to studying.” She hugs us both good-bye, and Luke and I head out to the Caddie. Then I think of something and tell Luke, “I’ll be right back.”

  I race to Radhika’s door. I forgot: The self-affirmation I’ve been saving all spring break is in the front pocket of my backpack, and I pull it out. I stuff it into Radhika’s hand and wait for her to read it. The smile she gives me is worth PBJs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The affirmation reads: “The choices you make today may affect the lives of everyone you love.”

  There’s applause when Radhika enters the art room. I added a note in our Google docs that she was returning to the committee, and outlined our plan for the shadow Prom Central, so everyone is really happy to see her. Luke actually came up with a devious ploy to get Mrs. Flacco’s ID, and everyone responded, “YAY!” Naturally, he put himself in the starring role.

  When Radhika sits next to me, Mrs. Flacco snipes, “We’re having a meeting in here.”

  “I know,” Radhika says. “The prom com. I had to drop out temporarily, but now I’m back. If that’s okay with you.”

  Flacco exhales a weary breath. “I don’t suppose one more person could do any more damage.”

  Geez, what is it with her? Teachers love Radhika. Everyone loves Radhika.

  Under the table, Radhika squeezes my hand, and my love for her comes rushing through me like a river.

  “Where’s Luke?” Mrs. Flacco asks. “Why can’t people get here on time? It’s no wonder this committee has accomplished nothing.”

  I seethe and Radhika squeezes my hand harder. Today’s self-affirmation is actually appropriate: “Anger is an unproductive emotion. Channel it into action.”

  Luke comes tearing into the room like a whirlwind, his messenger bag slamming into an easel, then smacking Mrs. Flacco in the head. “OMG,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” With both hands he pats down her hair, which doesn’t move a millimeter, and while he’s apologizing, he snags her carryall from the chair back. It thuds to the floor and Luke goes, “OMG. I’m sorry.” He crouches down, apologizing some more, and Mrs. Flacco doesn’t even have time to react as Luke overturns the bag, dumping its contents. With his back to her, he riffles through her stuff until he finds her wallet.

  I watch all of this, trying not to laugh.

  “Will you stop it!” Mrs. Flacco pushes him away, then scoots back her chair and squats down to shovel her belongings back into her bag. “For heaven’s sake.”

  The fire alarm blares.

  We all spook, and I look around to see that Connor has disappeared. Right on cue.

  “Leave it,” Mrs. Flacco orders Luke. “Everyone out of the building.”

  As I’m grabbing my backpack, Luke passes Mrs. Flacco’s wallet to me and I stick it in my pack.

  We gather in a group outside the gym to wait for the fire trucks. “I have to text my mom,” Shauna says. All of us text one another so we don’t have to converse with Mrs. Flacco.

  Mr. Gerardi hustles around the corner of the building with two firefighters. “Did any of you see if someone set off the alarm?”

  We glance sideways at one another, feigning innocence.

  Luke says, “We were in the art room.”

  Mr. Gerardi calls to a student in the parking lot, “Hold up there.”

  Once the all clear is given, I say, “I need to make a pit stop on the way back.” I duck into the restroom, while everyone else files back into Studio 2B.

  As quickly as possible, I flip through the pictures in Flacco’s wallet. Aw, cute baby. Does she have grandchildren? Poor kids. She has a ton of credit cards. Finally, tucked behind her driver’s license, I find her faculty ID card. I start to write the number on my palm, then realize she might see it. Instead, I scrounge for paper in my pack, and find an old English essay.

  When I return to the studio, Luke’s still shoveling items back into Mrs. Flacco’s bag, then pulling them back out, stalling for time. “I’m really sorry,” he says again, holding up a ginormous bottle of Excedrin. She snatches it away from him. I pass behind Luke and hand off the wallet. He just manages to stick it in a side pocket of Mrs. Flacco’s carryall as she yanks it away from him.

  I sit and covertly give everyone the thumbs-up.

  I call Radhika, and the first thing she says is, “The shadow file is up and running.”

  “Already?” She’s a computer geek—in a good way.

  “I added a note in the real Prom Central asking people to please not tell their parents about the alternative prom. I explained how we wanted to make the prom inclusive, so everyone would feel welcome and wanted. I don’t know if it’ll help. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  This wasn’t the reason I called Radhika.

  She fills the quiet by asking, “When’s the next auction?”

  Crap. I forgot to ask Mr. Gerardi. “I’ll know tomorrow.”

  “I saw that Shauna wrote in Google docs that her mom didn’t want to impose on the PTSA for another bake sale,” Radhika says. “Shauna said… well, you’ll have to read what she thought about that.” Radhika lets out a small laugh.

  Great, I think. I’m definitely putting high minimum prices on each of the auction items.

  I open my mouth and finally the words come out: “Radhika, about prom—”

  “Azure, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you have to go.” Desperation makes my voice crack. “Come with me as my friend, at least, so I don’t have to go alone.”

  There’s a prolonged pause. In a halting voice, she says, “Why did you have to say that?” Then, as if she’s swallowed a lump in her throat, she adds, “There’s nothing you could say or do that could make me change my mind. And you’re wrong about my choice. It has no effect on anyone.”

  LUKE

  A flock of vultures descends on me in the theater. It’s coming down to the wire and the costumes still aren’t complete. The lighting and sound crews want to know when we’ll be doing another full run-through for their final checks. And someone asks, “What kind of hair and makeup do you want for the Mothballs?”

  “Mothballish,” I say. “Where’s Gabe?”

  “I assume he’s jumping off a building.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Britny says. “Gabe and Haley broke up.”

  “OMG! Details, girl.”

  Britny says, “I can’t. I promised Haley. And I’m surprised you don’t know why.”

  What does that mean? Maybe she’ll go with me.

  And stomp on my heart again. Never mind.

  “Do you want the Mothballs to all look alike, or can they have different hair and makeup?” Britny asks.

  I’m still back on Gabe and Haley. Gabe comes rushing in, muttering, “Sorry I’m late.” He doesn’t look so hot, like he’s got a terminal case of bed head.

  People are hustling around, but something’s missing. Music. “Where’s
Mario?”

  Britny replies, “He went snowboarding over spring break and broke his arm.”

  I start hyperventilating. My chest aches from what I’m sure is an imminent heart attack. All the other stuff I can handle; in fact, I thrive on the adrenaline rush of performance anxiety, the last-minute jitters. But I have no backup plan for my keyboardist being out of commission.

  My cell rings and it’s a text from Azure:

  Get over to the art studio. We’re in deep shit.

  This can’t be happening.

  I clap my hands. “People. Listen up.” I wait until the din dies down. “Everything’s going to be fab. Let’s do a walk-through today without the music. I have to leave for just a sec, but I’ll be right back. T.J., stand in for me.”

  His face brightens. “Will do.”

  “Gabe, can you stand in for T.J.?”

  Gabe gives me a glazed look and mumbles, “I don’t think so.”

  Swell. “Ryan,” I shout at him. “You take over for T.J.”

  “Me?”

  “Awesome. Thanks. I promise I’ll be back.”

  There’s a buzz of commotion while everyone takes their places. If they knew how panicked I felt at this moment, they’d be racing for the nearest exit. But a writer, producer, choreographer, director, and star must remain calm at all times. Thank God for antiperspirant.

  I’m out of breath when I sprint into the studio and skid to a stop. Flacco snarls, “So nice of you to join us.”

  I slide in next to Radhika, where I feel safe. I scan the room. Everyone’s head is down.

  Flacco snipes, “I’d like to know whose idea it was to block me from Prom Central and think you could get away with it.”

  How’d she find out?

  Azure says, “Nobody blocked you. Maybe it was just a computer glitch.”

  “And maybe this copy of Prom Central is fraudulent.” She slaps down a printed version of our real, restored file.

  I start breathing hard again, wishing I had an inhaler even though I don’t have asthma.