The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,74

if I don’t deserve his attention when I’m myself, then what good is he?

“Thanks for tonight,” I tell him quietly. “I had fun.”

“I don’t understand.” Tristan can’t seem to process the fact of me turning him down. He pushes his hair back, staring at me in frustration. “I thought this was what you wanted!”

I give him a faint smile, turning to go.

“I changed my mind.”

I slip back through the house, retrieving my purse from where I hid it under a pile of coats in the hallway. I feel a pang, just leaving like this, but I suppose if Bliss and Jolene wanted to say good-bye, they would have by now. Perhaps they’ve already gone. I take one last look at the party — my prom night over, at last — and then hurry out of the front door.

It’s not until I’m halfway down the steps that I remember: Bliss switched purses with me to match the dress; there’s nothing in her bag but lip gloss, tape, and a wedge of photocopies, folded over to fit. My car keys are nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

Collapsing on the steps, I stare blankly at the dark lawn. I’m worn out, my contacts itch, and all I want is to curl up in bed at home, but now I have to search the house for her — and that’s if she hasn’t left already. So much for an airtight alibi; arriving home in a cab or calling to get picked up here might be the smallest hint to my dad that I haven’t spent the night at an innocent all-girl slumber party. My gaze falls on the papers, the reason all of this even began. It seems like a lifetime ago that Bliss was so determined to make Kaitlin and Cameron pay. Well, was it worth it?

Skimming the first pages, I begin to read. Page after page of Kaitlin’s immature whining, about Bliss and Brianna and Cameron, and then —

I stop, horrified.

Oh, God, what have we done?

Leaping up, I sprint back into the house and search every room in turn. There’s no sign of Bliss anywhere, so I head out to the back patio, scanning the yard. People are grouped around, laughing at something down by the pool, so I trip down the steps, jostling in the crowd until I see them. Jolene and Bliss hauling are themselves out of the water, completely soaked.

“Hey, guys, I need to talk to you.” Finally, I break through the onlookers.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Another girl — Kaitlin, I think — is still splashing around in the water, but I don’t have time to figure this out. “Bliss, Jolene, come on!”

They ignore me. “Couldn’t you keep me out of it?” Jolene shakes water from her hair. The ruffles are hanging in damp clumps from her chest, the fabric almost transparent.

“You were the one who got in the way!” Bliss wipes water from her eyes. “You should have just stayed back.”

“Listen!” I grab an arm from each of them and drag them a safe distance away from the crowd. “We’ve got a serious problem!”

“You mean besides Bliss’s unresolved anger issues?” Jolene smirks.

“I’m the angry one? You —”

“Shut up!” I interrupt. “We don’t have time for this.” I pick a page and begin to read. “‘I can’t believe anyone would have sex with her, and now the sad bitch is pregnant!’”

Bliss looks confused. “What is that?”

“Kaitlin’s diary,” I tell them grimly. “Miranda Jones had an abortion. Uma Pearson cheated on her SATs. Kenji Anede spent a month in rehab last summer for an eating disorder — it goes on and on.” I look between them, trying to make them understand just how bad it is. “This isn’t just about Kaitlin’s secrets; don’t you see? She found out all kinds of dirt on everyone else. And we gave it away.”

Oh, crap.

Right away, I forget about the pool and the fight and the cold water dripping down my body. I snatch the Xeroxed pages from Meg, frantically scanning through the scrawled print. But she’s right; the secrets are all there, laid out in Kaitlin’s stupid curly writing for anyone to see.

Jolene sighs at me. “God, did you even read it?”

“Not everything!” I protest. “I was just finding parts about Kaitlin and the boys she was hooking up with.” But now that I’m looking for it, I can see the names of the other girls buried in sections about Kaitlin’s fat thighs and how much she hates Nikki. I groan. “She