Prom Queen of Disaster (10 page)

Mr. June butted in. “But the main goal is fun.”

“And win,” Char added. “Always go for the win. We’re a team.”

“Most importantly, the fun.” Mr. June laughed. “Char is your cheer captain, of course, she wants the win. I’d hope you all want to win.”

We had practice scheduled in for most days after school, and when we didn’t, I was signed up for extra studio time to figure out a concept for my senior pieces. The better the pieces, the higher chance of being showcased in an actual gallery and receiving a scholarship.

I waited in the bleachers for Dylan after practice had finished. He came over, covered in sweat and craned his head toward mine for a kiss, I pulled away and held a hand up. “Didn’t you shower?” I asked.

“I knew you were waiting for me,” he said, stealing a kiss.

Not having a car meant I had to count on friends, and my loving boyfriend to get to and from school. I would count on my mom but she drove Maddie, and if she drove me as well, it meant I would always be late, or she’d drop me off disgustingly early, and I was a fan of neither option.

“Date night on Saturday?” he asked on the drive back to my house. “We both have practice during the day, but in the evening we could go to the drive-in theater.” He pulled up.

“I’d like that,” I said, kissing him.

“Good, I’ve bought tickets,” he said. “I think it’s Carrie.”

“Old one, or Chloe Grace-Moretz one?”

He shrugged. “I think everyone’s going,” he said.

So, it wasn’t date night, it was an outing with friends. “It’ll still be nice,” I said.

I kissed him again. “See you, tomorrow.”

It was the 1976 CARRIE, with Sissy Spacek. I made sure to look it up; it wasn’t half as scary as the new one. Having spent the past couple of days attempting to sketch something resembling the talent I believed I had, especially after so many years being told my art was good—perhaps it was refrigerator art. Either way, I was ready to relax.

“Mom,” I called from my room. She stood in my doorway as I shimmied into a skirt. “How does this look?”

She walked in behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “Perfect, as always, sweetie.” I brushed my hand down to straighten the creases. “Is this for the drive-in movie theater they’ve just reopened?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Your dad and I would go there when we were dating,” she said. “In fact, we’d go there with your friend, Kaleb’s parents. We were so close.”

“So you knew his family really well?” I asked, turning to her.

“I guess.”

“What about now?”

“Well, we sometimes bump into the older brothers, their faces are quite familiar, not so sure if they know me, but I always wave out of politeness. They own some club, bar, whatchamacallit, out on the freeway.”

I knew that too well. I smiled. “Mom,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I think Kaleb spiked the punch.”

“Oh?” she said, her eyebrows knit tight together. “I had an update from your school; they don’t know who’s responsible.”

“I haven’t told them,” I blurted. “I don’t want to get him in trouble, he’s new at the school.”

“Zo, honey.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me tight. “You know you should tell the truth, no matter how tough.”

Forever told to tell the truth,
well
, the truth would set me free. I found myself worrying more about what would happen, and the pressure of Char telling us who pin it on. We all knew she wanted a spot to open up in the student body.

“Zo, Dylan’s here,” Dad shouted from the foot of the stairs.

Dylan was standing in the living room wearing those tight bum jeans and a white striped button-up shirt. I could see the vest top underneath and the sleeves rolled up almost completely. Even though it was November and cooler outside now, it was always t-shirt weather.

“You ready?” he asked, flashing his perfect white smile.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

The choice of food was mine, fast food or traditional restaurant. I shouldn’t have wanted fast food with practice almost six days a week.

“Jack-in-the-Box,” I said. “Craving their fries.”

“I won’t tell my coach if you don’t,” he said.

“It’s not my coach I’m worried about,” I said.

“Char?” We laughed.

It wasn’t incredibly romantic, the white fluorescent lighting against the tiled walls and floors did no favors to anyone. We ate in a single booth, everything I got was large, my body craved it. I knew I’d be paying for it in some way over the next few weeks during practice.

I grabbed snacks while Dylan filled up the tank. It was straight to the drive-in theater from there. Ava and Kaleb had arrived beside Char and Benny. We parked to the left of them both.

“My mom said she used to come here,” I said. “I think it’s cute.”

“I think you’re cute,” he said, pulling a blanket from the backseat. “In case it gets colder.” He placed it around my shoulders.

To the left of me, Ava rustled a bag with glass bottles clanging. She turned, her face red. “It’s not beer,” she said. Kaleb pulled out a bottle opener. “It might be.”

Char laughed. “As long as you’re not drinking and driving, you know they like to bring cops to these places.”

The cops didn’t come. Although Ava never drank and Char had taken a bottle for herself, Benny wasn’t a huge drinker. He only drank soda at Char’s house, and even then, he had a great time.

The film was great, I’d remembered most of it already, but all I
could
focus on, apart from Dylan kissing my neck, was Char and Benny in the next car over, chewing on each other’s faces. I might not have mentioned it, but my face sure painted the picture.

“After party?” Char asked as the credits rolled. We turned to her and shrugged. Benny whispered leading to a smile. “Actually, I’m pretty tired.”

I looked at Dylan, biting his lip as he sat back, his arms across the back of my headrest and the driver’s side door. “I need to get Zo back home too.”

I laughed. I knew my dad had told him to get me back as soon as the film was over. He hated me being out late, and it was now pitch black, minus the light coming from the projector. It was 11 PM, but my curfew had been 10:30 PM unless I was sleeping over at a friend’s house.

Without the streetlights on Peyton Lane, it was in complete darkness. I had a few neighbors who would leave the porch lights on, but the light didn’t filter out. Dylan walked me to the door. Leaving me with a kiss, and a reminder to book a hotel to see us at the cheer competition.

My dad called out to me as I walked through the door. He stood in his night robe and reading glasses, pouring coffee in the kitchen. “How was your night?”

“Dad? What are you doing up?” I walked over to the kitchen counter. “Yeah, it was good.”

“Jet lag,” he said. “You’d think I’d be able to handle it by now.” His crooked grin was enough to make me smile.

“Where did you go this time?”

“Paris,” he said. “Stayed there for a night. Brought your mom some red wine. Boarded a flight to Australia, before catching my connecting flight home.”

“I remember Paris,” I said. “Do they still have the bridge with locks?” I imagined one-day adding mine and Dylan’s names to it.

“Think so,” he said.

We didn’t go away much since I started high school, usually for summers, but the past few years I’d been going to summer camps, or Orlando to visit my dad’s sister, Berta, a veterinarian. She used to live here before falling in love, and he turned out to be a she, a woman named Wendy. My dad would always tell the story, and made funnier because she still lived out there.

“Are you taking us anywhere soon?”

He shrugged. “Any ideas?”

“Rome?”

“We went to Rome when you were ten.”

“I barely remember what I had for breakfast,” I said. Answering myself internally as I knew I hadn’t eaten anything because I woke up late.

“Maybe I’ll think about taking you somewhere over Christmas,” he said. “But it depends on your mom.”

“Mom’s the boss,” I said.

He moved around the counter to give me a squeeze in his arms. “She is indeed.” He rested his coffee cup on my head slightly. “Are you up early tomorrow?”

“It’s Sunday. But I should be going to bed.” I kissed his cheek. “God knows, Mom will try and get me to go to church.”

My phone vibrated in my bag. The group chat was going hard and strong, messages beeped, one after the other. I undressed, climbing into bed in the dark. I flipped the bedside lamp on before looking at the messages.

It all spiraled from a video one of the girls had recorded. The camera was shaky, and the voices were quiet. Mila was speaking with Delilah in the girl’s bathroom. Every time I went to watch it, another notification came through, pausing the video.

I grabbed my earphones from the laptop on the desk. “Geesh, what’s happened?” I said to myself, blowing out my tongue as I laid back on the bed, ready to play the video. It was inside a cubical looking out onto Mila and Delilah.

“Can you believe that bitch?”
Mila said.
“First off,capti we had nothing to do with the punch bowl, and secondly, that son of a—grrr, she probably did it herself.”

Delilah snapped her fingers in support.
“Exactly. I saw Zoey as well, since when did she go by Zo, what stupid effed up name is that? Who does she think she is? And she was affected, of course she was.”
She said, raising her hands in air quotes.

My chest swelled at the mention of my name. “Errrgh.”

“I don’t mind Zoey, honestly, she’s quiet,”
Mila said.
“Bring those cheer bitches down.”

Delilah mimicked a
Bring It On!
quote, “
this isn’t a democracy, this is a cheerocracy!”

“I’ll tell the others, we’ll discuss ideas,”
Mila said.

The video cut.

It was on YouTube, and had hit over 12,000 views since its posting that afternoon, but it was the first I saw of it. My eyes scrolled through comments.

They were asking me what they wanted to happen, they were coming to me for an answer. It wasn’t me they were after, from what I’d seen, they were after Char; the cheer captain, but I’d been mentioned as quiet, and having a stupid name, which was nothing in comparison

Does anyone know what they’re planning?
I asked.

I think it’s The Golden State Cheer Championships – they’re going to come for us
, a few of the girls had commented.

Char’s name flashed on my screen as she called. I answered through the microphone piece on the earphones. “Who shot the video?” I asked.

“Some sophomore,” she answered immediately. “I can’t believe this is the first we’re hearing of it. Well, we had no signal out in the middle of god knows where. So, what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re planning to bring us cheer bitches down,” Char said. “So, what are
we
doing?”

I knew Ava was usually her go-to when it came to that sort of drama. I’d never been that person, I never knew. “Come Monday; we need to get a story,” I said. “No, not a story, we need to come together and have a truth, something we all recite. If they’re coming for us, we go for them three times harder.” I didn’t know where it came from, perhaps fear, or passion in the swell of my chest.

“
This
is what I’ve already tried to get us doing,” Char said. “So, Mila or Delilah?”

“Both?”

“And we have that video as proof,” Char said. “Trust me. I’ve spent years acting a victim. If divorcing parents taught me anything, it was tears, lies, and inflating someone’s ego.”

Before long, we had a new group chat aptly titled
Those Bitches
; the conversation was to destroy them, pulling from the extremes of suspension and all the way through to getting them criminal records and their last choice of college. It was a selective chat. We didn’t include any of the other girls, this way we could be completely radical without being judged.

The darkness of the early hours crept in. Our text chat turned into a five-way Skype, as they usually did.

“Should we let them know we’ve seen it?” Hannah asked. “I mean, even though the video is on YouTube, should we like, you know,
tell them
?”

“I think we need to show Principal Sanders,” Char said. “He’ll be happy to see what the student body and a nobody have been saying. First thing, Monday morning, we
march
to his office and make sure he’s aware of it.”

“Well, we don’t really know what they’re doing,” I said. “It could be anything.”

“But it’s something,” Ava added. “I don’t think that matters, but something is more than nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“What could they do? Get us to carb load?” I laughed, harder and louder than I’d expected. “But seriously, poison us?”

“Again?” Libby gasped. “Maybe they’ll try to pin the punch bowl thing on us, and if they do, we’ll probably be banned from all dances, even the cheer competition.”

“Take a breath, Lib!” Char laughed. “That will
never
happen.”

We continued, chatting about what we’d thought they were going to do with their revenge, when all I could think about was spooning the cold side of my pillow, before I was finally sleeping, my face staring blindly into the laptop screen.