The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,42

can fix it now. What do you expect me to do — wipe the Internet blank or something?”

“No . . .” Eli looks at me funny for a second, and then his thin lips spread into a truly evil grin. “But maybe it’s time you found out what it’s like to be a total joke, in front of everybody.”

I stop. “Wait, what?”

Eli laughs, almost to himself. “Yup. This is going to be good. Come on.” He rounds the desk and gestures for me to go ahead of him. I don’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Then you don’t get this.” He takes a slim black gadget from his pocket and dangles it in front of me. “See, I figured out the price, what it’s going to take for you to earn it.”

“Asking nicely?” I suggest, already getting a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top?”

“Nope.” Eli has a smug expression in his eyes. Smug, and definitely cruel. “You’re going to grace us with a public performance. Maybe even a song.”

“No. Way.” I back away at the thought.

“Aww, c’mon. Kind of fitting, don’t you think? Eye for an eye, and all that.” Eli is still smirking, like he somehow knows exactly how much I don’t want to get up on that stage. There’s a reason nobody has ever heard me sing in public, and it’s directly related to a little something called my dignity. “But, hey, if you don’t want to, then my original offer still stands.”

“What, you mean . . . ?”

He looks at my chest again. “A date. With, you know, benefits.”

“Hell, no.” I think fast. “Come on, Eli, there’s got to be something else.” Something that won’t make me need to scrub my skin off, or require therapy after.

“Nope, that’s it.” The smile slips, and Eli looks at me, totally serious. “I’m done wasting my time with this. Either you pick one, or we’re done here. Your call.”

I gulp. There’s no way in hell I’m renting myself out, and failure isn’t an option if I want to get back to normal prom fun anytime soon, which leaves . . .

“Can I at least pick the song?”

I’m already regretting this when Eli interrupts the band and drags me to the edge of the stage. “Hey, listen up, everyone! We’ve got an extra-special performance tonight.”

I look out at the crowd. There are maybe a hundred or more scowling kids, all looking supremely unimpressed that we’ve interrupted their night. My stomach gives a nauseous lurch. Right now, seven minutes in heaven with Eli is looking way more attractive.

“Eli —” I start to panic, but he’s talking to the band, tapping microphones and checking wires. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to find Jolene.

“What are you doing?” She looks around. “We were going to be discreet, remember?”

My whole chest is closing off as I realize exactly what I’m about to do. “Eli . . . the deal . . . I have to . . .” I flap my hands uselessly.

Jolene grips my shoulders firmly. “Focus, Bliss! What’s going on?”

“He’s making me perform!” I finally get a full lung of air. “For the gadget thing. It’s his idea of, I don’t know, sadism and torture!”

Jolene brightens. “That’s great!”

“No, it’s not! I can’t sing!” Jolene rolls her eyes, thinking I’m just being dramatic. “No, really,” I insist, losing all sensation in my legs now. Any minute, I’m going to break out in some kind of rash. “I’m like, tone deaf. I can’t carry a single note!”

Jolene shakes her head. “You’ll manage. It’s only a couple of minutes, and if we pick the right song . . . something that’s mostly talking, OK?” She bundles me back to the middle of the stage, where Eli is waiting with a mic.

“Here she is, everyone,” he announces to the crowd. “Our star performer, Bliss Merino!”

“Give me just a second,” I hiss desperately as a spotlight flashes on. “I need to find the music, and —”

“Already taken care of.” He gives me a firm push into the middle of the space. “I chose a real classic. You’re going to love it.”

Oh God.

I try and remember how to breathe, surrounded by a mass of bored, hostile strangers. I can see it in their eyes, they hate me already — there’s no way I’ll ever be able to live this down. And then, when I think this can’t get any worse, the music starts. Three familiar chords that are burned into