The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,60

she rolls her eyes as well. “What was that just there?” she asks in response. “Do you want like, a gold-leaf card or something?”

I shake my head. “Come on, Bliss. It’s nice of you to ask, but can you imagine if I actually went? Nobody wants me there.” I try to picture the look on Brianna’s face if she saw me mingling with the high-school elite. Would she even deign to ask me to leave, or just sit, making bitchy comments with her friends and laughing at me until I slunk off myself?

“So? Make them want you.” Bliss bounces up, excited. “Ooh! We could do a makeover!”

There’s a snort of disdain from Jolene’s general direction, but Bliss ignores her. “I’m serious. If we get you in the right outfit, some makeup, a cute hairstyle . . . You’ll fit in, no problem.”

“Really?” I’m not convinced. Hollywood may like to think that all it takes is for the girl to put on some mascara and wear a new pair of jeans, and suddenly the world bends to her every whim, but real life doesn’t work that way. At least, mine doesn’t.

“Totally,” Bliss insists. “Nobody cares, as long as you look the part. And the guys are so shallow, they’ll lap it up.”

I pause. It’s impossible, of course. Even the new, vaguely badass Meg Rose Zuckerman has no place at Brianna’s exclusive after-party. Facing down the security guard at the office pales in comparison to the challenge of the East Midlands social scene.

Still, I can’t help but casually ask, “Which boys are there, do you know?”

“The usual crowd, I guess.” Bliss shrugs. “Kellan, Nico, Tristan . . .” I must have brightened without realizing, because she stops. “Tristan Carmichael? You have a crush on him?”

“No!” I protest, my cheeks hot. “And I was serious about the cheeseburgers. Let’s go find something to eat.”

I scramble to my feet, glad it’s dark enough to conceal my embarrassment. Jolene lifts her head slowly and speaks for the first time. “The diner on Fifth Street is open twenty-four hours. They do great chili fries.”

“There,” I say brightly. “We have a plan.”

The other girls haul themselves to their feet, pulling on shoes and yanking up the blanket. I walk ahead, barefoot, toward the car, but Bliss catches up with me.

“He is single. . . .” she says, her voice thoughtful.

“Who is?” I pretend I don’t know exactly who she’s talking about, down to his class schedule and locker location.

Bliss ignores me. “I don’t think he’s dated anyone since his breakup with Lily over Christmas,” she continues, “and he’s smart, too. You know, you guys might work.”

Just the idea is enough to make me laugh, self-conscious. “You don’t have to humor me, Bliss.” We reach the car, pulled off the side of the gravel road at the top of the ridge. “I know he’s way out of my league.”

“Whatever.” Bliss is clearly unimpressed by the idea of leagues and hierarchy, but then, she would be. Those at the top don’t understand just how rigid the rules really are for those of us not blessed with the sparkling glitter of access or privilege. “If he’s what you want, we’ll make it happen. Won’t we, Jolene?”

She whirls on Jolene, who’s slouching along behind us. Jolene makes a noncommittal noise.

“See?” Bliss beams at me. “What do you say?”

I don’t believe her. I open the car door instead, flooding us with light. It can’t be so easy, to just say she’ll deliver the boy of my dreams with a bow on top, as if she’s a fairy godmother in designer clothing.

My doubts must show, because Bliss flips her hair impatiently. “Trust me,” she insists, and despite everything, I can’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope at the confidence in her tone. She wouldn’t be doing this to make a fool of me, not after everything.

“OK.” My voice comes out hesitant, but I clear my throat and say it louder. Like I know what I’m doing. Perhaps she’s crazy, but if there’s even the smallest chance Bliss could come through with this . . . “Tristan. That’s what I want. Who, I mean.”

“Awesome!” Bliss beams. “Let’s do this.”

And then she takes off her dress.

“It still doesn’t fit,” I say, twisting uncomfortably. We’re parked by the knot of SUVs and gleaming cars outside Brianna’s, making last-minute adjustments to my new look. The sound of the party is still filtering down the long driveway, every light in the house ablaze.

“That’s because you’re slouching.