The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,59

what happened to make her so reckless, she can’t help adding, “And a fire extinguisher in my emergency pack. Just in case.”

That’s our girl.

We walk down the hill with our supplies and a blanket Bliss insisted on taking from Meg’s trunk. “You’ll get it dirty,” Meg points out, scooping her sandals up in one hand to walk barefoot like me.

“That’s the whole point,” Bliss replies, unsteady on her bandaged ankle. “It’s machine washable, but my dress isn’t.”

“And that’s the most important thing?”

I let them bicker, walking silently alongside. Soon, the ground levels out and we reach the nearest hole; the flag ripped from the ground and discarded from my first trip through. I carefully pick it up and ease it back into place.

“So. Arson for beginners.” Bliss spreads the blanket and sits herself down. “Should this be all ceremonial or something?”

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” Meg quips, and then looks embarrassed when Bliss laughs. “What?” she says. “The Craft is a classic.”

“Old school,” Bliss agrees.

Their buzz and energy dances around me, just out of range. I’m still wrapped in sadness, too tired to care. I lay the painting out on the ground and douse it with fluid, looking down at the bold brushstrokes that I went through so much drama to get. I thought it held some kind of meaning, but it’s just a sheet of canvas and paint.

I light the match, watching as the whole thing flares up and burns, brilliant in the night.

The other girls fall silent, staring at the flames.

This is it; I feel it. This is the end.

When the painting is nothing but embers and a scorch-mark on the ground, Bliss yawns. “Now that’s done, I think it’s Meg’s turn.”

“What do you mean, my turn?” I tilt my head to the side and find her watching me with an unnerving concentration.

“Relax.” She smiles, a flash of white teeth in the dark. “I just mean, we’ve spent the whole night running around for everyone else. It’s time we do something for you.”

“Like what?” My arms are still spread wide, the grass damp against my skin as I lie, just watching the stars. It’s so peaceful here, with the open sky above us and the distant hum of traffic kept at bay by the neat lawn and careful tree line. I take another deep breath, feeling a strange warmth roll through me; not sleepy, but content. Jolene is sprawled, silent, on my other side, but her withdrawal doesn’t matter; the wordless companionship is more comforting than they could ever know.

“Anything you want,” Bliss says. She flips back onto her stomach and begins to play with the fringe on the edge of the blanket. “I did the diary thing, and Jolene wanted that painting. So, what do you want?”

“Cheeseburgers,” I suggest, only half-joking. “I’m hungry.”

She throws a handful of grass at me. “I’m serious! What’s the one thing you want, more than anything in the world?”

I pause. The one lone wish I do have, these girls could never fulfill, but it touches me that she would even ask. “I don’t know . . .” I stare up at the blackness and those tiny pinpricks of light, so far away. “I wanted the perfect prom. Or, at least, the way it’s supposed to be. The dress, the guy, dancing . . .” I trail off, remembering that excited drive to the country club, and all my naive hope. It feels like a lifetime ago, so much has happened since. “It’s stupid, I know,” I add softly. “But I wanted to be . . . normal, just for one night.”

“It’s not stupid,” Bliss insists quickly. “I wanted the exact same thing. I mean, for it all to be perfect,” she adds, a teasing note in her voice. “Not normal. Why settle for normal?”

I laugh.

“But it’s too late now.” I prop my head up on one hand, twisting to look at her. In the distance, a car winds its way along the road on the edge of the golf course, its lights glaring through the dark until it turns back out onto the main street. “Prom’s finished. The party’s over.”

“Not all of them,” Bliss muses slowly. “Brianna’s after-party goes all night. Her parents went into the city for the weekend and left her older sister to chaperone,” she explains. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“Right,” I say wryly. “And in what universe am I actually invited to that party?”

Bliss sighs. It’s too dark to see, but I’m pretty sure