The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,9

the first time I’ve seen them without smudges of dark liner, but they’re still as unnerving as ever.

“I guess. I don’t know . . .” My words catch in my throat, and then to my horror, I feel another tear spill over and slide down my cheek. I swipe quickly at my face, hoping they haven’t noticed.

“Maybe you want to come with us?” Jolene suggests suddenly. I blink.

There’s a noise of protest from the backseat, but Jolene whips her head around and fixes Bliss with a fearful stare. “We were thinking of heading to DQ,” she adds. “Just getting out of here.”

My heart sinks. “So, you need a ride.”

“Well, yeah. But you don’t have to . . .” Jolene shrugs, nonchalant as ever.

I waver.

For three years, I’ve been invisible to girls like Jolene and Bliss — drifting silently around that school; overhearing snatches of everyone else’s crazy gossip, while I sneak my sandwiches in the quiet of a library carrel and daydream of one day, maybe, being a part of things. I’m not stupid; I know that they just need a chauffeur tonight, and I happened to turn up at the right time, but even so . . .

Bliss and Jolene do things. They have adventures. They don’t sit, weeping in a parking lot while everyone else has the night of their lives.

It’s a waste of a damn pretty dress, that’s what it is.

“OK.” I wipe my eyes again and start the ignition. “Let’s go.”

Meg drives even slower than my abuela, Jolene switches the radio to some noisy punk rock station, and I get a bunch of desperate WHERE R U?? texts from Courtney, but by the time we pull into the deserted DQ parking lot, I’m buzzing with a fierce kind of energy. Bailing on prom after I spent so long planning for it is crazy, I know, but that backseat lap dance has already ruined everything. There’s no point faking smiles for the rest of the night, knowing all along it’s a lie. No, now’s the time for payback, when I’ve still got this sharp heat in my rib cage urging me on.

Something’s in motion now. There’s no going back.

“I’m, umm, just going to use the restroom.” Meg clambers out of the car. Her mascara is smudged, and her eyes are puffy from all that crying I pretended not to see. She waits, blinking at us.

“Sure!” I reply. What does she want, permission? “See you in there.” I watch until she’s inside before turning to Jolene. “So, what’s the plan? When do we ditch her and get started?”

“Relax.” Jolene looks amused. She slams the car shut and stomps toward the brightly lit entrance like she’s heading for battle, not a soft-serve restaurant. I grab my purse and hurry after her.

“But, you’ve got one, right?” I’m struck with another panic. “A plan, I mean. I didn’t leave the biggest party of the year just to hang out and get ice cream!”

Inside, the place is practically deserted, nothing but a depressing stretch of red-and-white tile and empty booths under too-harsh fluorescent strip lights. An overweight man sits alone by the windows, slowly scooping at a huge sundae. He stops with the spoon halfway to his mouth, staring at us and our formal dresses. I quickly turn away.

Jolene marches to the counter and calls out, “Denise, you there?”

A woman emerges, maybe forty or even older. She wipes her hands on her apron and gapes. “Oh my word. Honey, just look at you!”

“Shut up,” Jolene protests, but it’s softer than all her biting replies to me have been. She folds her arms over the ruffles, like that’s enough to hide them. “I left some stuff in my locker. Can I grab the keys?”

“Sure thing.” Denise waves her through, and Jolene disappears into the back. Right. I forgot she works here, even though I’m sure she must have served me a dozen times.

“Can I get you anything?” Denise asks, clearing up the counter. Her hair is dyed an unconvincing shade of red, and she’s got a tired look around her eyes, the one my mom spends a fortune on spa treatments to smooth away.

I hover, awkward. It seems rude not to order something. “Umm, just a Diet Coke, thanks.”

“I hope you girls are taking plenty of pictures.” Denise beams at me. Moving to the drink machine, she begins filling a huge cup. “I remember my prom. . . .”

“Back in the eighties, when Bon Jovi was still cool.” Jolene finishes for her, reappearing