Prom Queen of Disaster (7 page)

My phone buzzed on my lap. It was my mom.
Just at the Mall, honey, let me know if you need anything
. “It’s my mom,” I said, punching her phone number in.

“Hi sweetie,” she answered. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m in Starbucks with the girls,” I said.

“Want me to come meet you?”

“Oh no, I’ll come meet you,” I said with relief on my chest.

“Okay, I’m outside
Forever 21
with your sister,” she said.

“I’ll be there in five,” I said.

I felt eyes and ears on me as I hung up. The only sound made was a long slurp as Ava polished off her drink.

“I’m going to meet my mom,” I said, taking my drink and clutch bag. “So, I’ll see you later.” I gave them a one-handed wave. “Text me.”

I knew they were going to be annoyed that I’d left, especially when things were getting exciting; the discussion of their sex lives was my favorite topic, it made me appreciate a little bit more that I had a secret part of me.

With my eyes on my phone, texting Dylan, asking him what he’d said, I bumped into Kaleb. Our shoulders collided. My Starbucks was empty. Otherwise, it would’ve been everywhere, and I didn’t have
another
change of clothes.

“Zoey,” he said, standing still in shock. “I—I—I”

“Watch it,” I said, picking my bag up and throwing the empty cup into a trash can. “Well?”

“Why are you always getting in my way?”

“
No
, don’t start that,” I said. “What were you doing last night?”

“Shut up,” he said.

“You spiked the punch!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before he could move, I noticed my mom approaching us. She grabbed me in her arms and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Hon, you look like you’ve been rooting through Goodwill,” she said. “I told you if you want to keep your old clothes, just say.”

“Mom,” I said, wrangling my way out of her arms.

“And who’s this?” she tipped her head at Kaleb. Before I could speak, she squinted her left eye at him. “Wait, Delgado?”

Kaleb grinned. “How’d you know?”

“I knew your parents, hon,” she said, reaching out for his arm. “Sorry about your loss, it’s been what, eleven years now?”

He nodded, smacking his lips together. “Yup.”

If there hadn’t been enough reason not to trust Kaleb, another reason presented itself. His parents were dead, I knew he lived with his brothers, but I thought because he had the whole runaway thing going on.

“I never knew,” I said.

“Don’t go to school telling everyone,” he said.

He left seconds later as my mom called Maddie over.

“Well he’s very nice,” she said.

I smiled. “What do you know about his family?”

“Your dad and his dad worked together. He was your dad’s co-pilot for a few years. He died in a crash with his wife. Thought it was a hit and run. Such a tragedy.”

“I bought that top, Mom,” Maddie said, holding up the glossy bag. She took one look at me and pressed her tongue to her teeth. “Zo, where’ve you been?”

“A sleepover, and this was the only change of clothes I had,” I said quickly. “I know, it’s not a good look.”

Mom tussled my hair and tssked. “Oh, honey, it has its charm,” she said. “But as soon as you get home, please for the love of all that is holy, wash the hairspray out. It’s gonna become a bird’s nest.”

I pulled my head up. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Show me your top.”

She pulled at it. A white and pink ombre top with a fringe midsection. “Do you like it?”

I couldn’t lie; it wasn’t something I would picture my
baby
sister wearing. What was she becoming? “Is it really
you
?”

“You hate it?”

“No, just didn’t think you’d wear anything like
that
.”

Mom intervened before I could do any damage, not that I’d meant to—I didn’t. I never want to hurt my sister, but everything was getting to me,
everyone
was somehow piling inside my head and cramming their voices down my throat. “She loves it, Maddie.”

“I do.”

“Well then tell your face that’s what you mean,” Maddie said, the sass vibrated throughout the mall. “I don’t ask you to be nice to me.”

“But I do,” Mom said. “Now girls, let’s not make this a
thing
, the top is beautiful just like you. You’re both my beautiful babies.” She pulled us both along in her arms.

I was pulled back to the phone buzzing in my hand; three missed calls and several texts from Dylan. I couldn’t stomach looking, so I turned it off.

We reached home before I turned my phone on to more of Dylan’s calls or texts. I rushed straight to my room and threw myself on the bed. I punched in Dylan’s name and called him, to his many
babes
and
answer me
’s; he’d better answer before the first ring.

“Zo, what happened?” he asked, and all the pent up anger I’d had over him discussing us vanished, like a hot breath after so long of holding it in, it cooled over me. “Zo? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I said, “I was with my mom. The girls were saying
shit
about us, and it annoyed me like you didn’t want to wait until prom, and you told all the guys.”

There was a break in silence. I laid back and stared up at the ceiling. “No, it’s not like that,” he said. “They were asking me why we were waiting, and I told them it was because I love you, we’d decided on prom.”

“But if I didn’t want to wait anymore, what would you say?” It was a leading question, as much as I didn’t want to test him. It was something I wanted to know.

“I’d trust you to make a decision on when you’re ready,” he replied. “I love you, Zo, you know that, right?”

I nodded to myself. “I know,” I said. “I love you too.”

“Oh, and my dad is coming home tonight so I won’t be able to make dinner,” he said. “Apparently he brought a new girlfriend home with him, so you know that’s going to be
fun
.” He laughed nervously.

I knew Dylan hated it when his dad brought one of his many girlfriends over, let alone introducing him to them; he somewhat guessed their names based on popular stripper names or the pretentious name of a paint color. “What’s her name this time?” I asked.

“Candy? Jazmonique? Caramel Shortcake?” he reeled off, “your guess is as good as mine.” He laughed harder.

“Money is on Caramel,” I said. “Where did he go?”

I could feel him shrug. “Phoenix or Tucson, so maybe something earthy.”

“Definitely Caramel,” I said.

“I’ll tell you when they get here.”

Before long, we’d finished on the phone. Dylan had gone for dinner with his dad, and I was still staring up at the ceiling with my phone clutched to my chest. The buzz and beep of texts whirled in.

It wasn’t unusual for me to disconnect myself from the internet and friends. I’d felt too connected recently. I had to paint to ground myself. I usually spent most of my time at the easel in my room covered in licks of paints.

The weekend was already over. Dylan revealed the name of his dad’s new girlfriend, Carmelita; an off-brand caramel product found small Latino shops. I finally felt some normality from the incident at homecoming. I bathed in a bubble bath, sitting in the water until I was cold and wrinkled. It had been my mom’s answer to all life’s problems since I was little.

Dylan picked me up in his dad’s convertible. I climbed in, greeted by a kiss. It was either Dylan or Char picking me up, and I preferred it when Dylan did. He made me warm inside, kissing me and telling me how pretty I was, even when I was carrying five pounds of water and PMSing.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, on cue. “Do you have practice after school?”

I kissed him and sat back to lock the seat belt in place. “Yeah. You?”

“Hardcore now homecoming is over,” he said. “Coach wants us to be on our A game.”

“There’s a cheer competition in a few weeks, so Mr. June and Char are pushing us,” I said, rolling my eyes at the thought. Last year we came in third at the Golden State Cheer Championship, where selected schools across California came together at one of the largest convention centers in Los Angeles to perform routines. This school year, Char was gunning for the top spot.

“When?” he asked, reversing out of the driveway. “I’ll come along and cheer for you.”

“I think it’s an overnight thing,” I said. “You should come!”

He grinned. “I’ll talk to the guys and see what they think if you girls don’t mind,” he said, flashing his smile.

The news of spiked punch was all over the bulletin board, from the large poster asking for information to the voice over on the PA advising of drug and alcohol safety.

I sat beside Char and Ava in home room when the voice came again. “At 2 PM this afternoon, we’ll have a visitor from the local PD, this is a mandatory school assembly, you are required to attend. To repeat, that’s 2 PM in the auditorium. Arrive early to be seated.”

Char playfully punched my arm. “Damn,” she said, “those bitches spiked the punch, and now we’re all being punished with a visit from the PD.”

“If this eats into cheer practice, I’m gonna flip,” Ava said.

“Cheer practice is at 3:30 PM,” I said, “it’ll be someone saying
don’t do drugs
. Not like last time when they brought in those dogs.”

Char rolled her eyes. “Shit! You think?”

“Have something to hide?” Mila spoke up from behind. “Sound mighty guilty.”

“You look guilty of offending your face with an eyebrow pencil this morning, Mila. Did you sneeze or something?” Char asked, flicking her hair.

I looked back. It was accurate. I turned quickly to grab a glance at my face; I’d gently wiped a brush over my eyebrows this morning to give them a fuller look. They were twins, not identical, but close enough. As someone who loved art as much as I did, painting my face was an easy feat. Only the slightest lip gloss, blush, but enough concealer to
remove
the darkness beneath my eyes and any odd blemishes.

“You okay?” Ava asked.

“Yeah? Why?”

“The bell rang,” she said.

That happened often. Losing myself in thought, I tried to make it less obvious, but sometimes I’d forget what I was doing before I began thinking.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Char said, blowing a kiss.

First period, AP art studio. It was all focused on my final module, made from a portfolio of cohesive pieces shown at a gallery the school had connections with, but they’d only show the best, if you didn’t make it, you’d end up part of the school gallery showing in the auditorium or gymnasium.

I pulled my hair tight and tied it high on my head in a bun. I switched out my clothes for the paint-stained smock. I didn’t have a vision, theme, or anything to resemble an idea. I was clueless. We weren’t allowed to paint direct to the canvas, a stupid decision for anyone to make, we had to sketch, then show those to the teacher, and Mrs. Galloway, the head of the department, she would approve or advise on improvements. Most canvases were made in house, from woodshop and tailor made to size. We had to think of measurements and shape it all together. Free reign.

“Where’s the emotion, Zoey?” Mrs. Galloway said, looking over my shoulder.

I paused in response, looking up and hiding the paper with my arm. “It’s not finished, so I’m not sure.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll get there,” she said. “But try raw emotion. A necessary evil, Zoey.”

I gave a full smile behind my lying face. “Thanks.”

A single comment would throw me – it did. I didn’t expect anything else from Mrs. Galloway; she was always hovering over us. Of the seven of us in the AP class, I looked like I was struggling the most.

Lunch rolled around. The girls sat at
their
table with their lunches on plastic trays. I’d brought my lunch from home, like I do every Monday, because meatball Monday could not be trusted, it was a mystery meat my body could not digest. But Friday was pizza day, and they couldn’t go wrong with pizza.

“You should’ve reminded me,” Hannah said as I pulled my sandwich from my lunch bag.

“Every Monday,” I laughed.

“Think it’s real meat?” Libby asked.

“God no,” Char said, “it’s all ball. No meat.”

“Poor guys,” Ava added. “Question is which animal do they take them from?”

We glanced at each other, often, we weren’t sure if Ava was serious. Usually, she wasn’t and trying to add something to the
joke
, but it would never seem to land. “It’s beef, so probably a cow,” I said, not believing myself. I had a sandwich; I didn’t need to believe.

“Oh.” She creased her face at the thought. “So the male ones?”

“Bulls,” Char said.

“But cows are the ones you milk,” Ava said.

“Yeah. Try and milk a bull and I’m sure he’d be upset, or excited.”

“Ew.” She stabbed a fork into a meatball. “As long as they taste semi-nice, that’s fine.”

I dug into my cheese and pastrami sandwich. Tuesdays in the cafeteria were usually hamburger patty days, the leftover mystery meat from Monday. Funny enough, I enjoyed Tuesdays.

A voice came over the PA again before the bell for final period. “A quick reminder, at 2 PM, a mandatory assembly is being held, and you’re all expected to attend. That’s 2 PM in the auditorium.”

Last year, something similar happened when a girl overdosed on some designer drug. They made it sound almost like she had died, but she didn’t, she had her stomach pumped and was back in school a few days later. She’d been a cheerleader, a year older than me. My mom threatened to homeschool me at the thought of drugs circulating the school.

“If Sadie was here,” Char began, “she’d be having some serious flashbacks.”

It was time for the dreaded assembly. We’d pre-emptively changed into our cheer outfits, an expression of how much we would rather be in gym class or cheer practice to the stuffy auditorium.

Three tall men, bulked in their police uniforms walked on stage. They were from the San Rafael Police Department, their faces solid in place, like half of San Rafael’s over 50 within a mile radius of a plastic surgeon’s office.

A microphone had been placed center stage, adjusted higher than it was for Principal Sanders. He stood awkwardly beside them.

He tapped three times. “Sure by now you know why you’re here,” the middle man boomed. “And if not, you missed out on the dance, but at least you were safe.” He took a step back.

“We received a call at 9 PM on Friday night.” Another stood forward. “Reports of teenagers’ vicious vomit attacks. Now, one person, we can understand, two people, again, we anticipate you to experimenting with alcohol, but when almost forty students are reported, well that’s no coincidence.
That’s
a malicious attack.”

Staged gasps sounded throughout, we all knew someone had spiked the punch, the question was,
who
? Our bets were placed on the student body, but mine were on Kaleb.

“We pulled a sample from the punch and found traces of the ethanol that went missing.” The third took the microphone. “Known as pure alcohol. We’ve noted a substantial amount missing from the science labs, and we’re investigating this further.”

They continued to use their scare tactics, asking for any further information. It was a witch hunt.

“Does anyone have anything to say, publicly, or privately? We’ll be here for a few more hours,” the middle officer spoke up.

Char cleared her throat and stood. “I have something,” she said. “The only people I saw beside the punch table were the student body.” She shrugged her shoulders. I glanced at the back of their heads; Mila, Heather, and Kirsten. “I mean, I’m
not
accusing anyone, but isn’t it weird, they stood beside it all evening, and none of them were ill?”

Voices in agreement chimed up. “Not to name anyone specifically.” Ava stood beside Char. “But if the film HEATHERS taught is anything, it’s not to trust a Heather.”

Heather Meakin wasn’t the only Heather in school, of course, she was the only one on the student body.

The principal took the microphone. “Enough, Charlotte,” Principal Sanders said, straightening out his tie. “We won’t be accusing anyone; this will be dealt with by the school and the local authorities.”

It was soon over, and I found myself waiting to bump into Kaleb. He had serious issues going on, and things he didn’t want anyone to know, but I couldn’t help it, I wanted to know what happened.

“What do you want?” He stopped in front of me on his way into the locker room. “C’mon.”

“What’s up with you?” I asked. “As someone concerned about the next school dance, y’know, in case you decide to throw something worse in the punch.”

“Why would you think that’s something I would do?” he asked. “Because I’m damaged? Because my parents are dead? Am I vulnerable? Is that what this is, do I look like a project to you?”

I took a couple deep breathes. “No, no, not at all.”

“Good,” he said. “Now please move.”

And yet it was clear as day; there was something painful to him. I was intrigued. He was what I needed for my art project; raw and emotional. I was an observer.

“Get your butt out here, Zo. Practice is about to start,” Libby shouted down the hall. “If you see Han, tell her too.”

I found Hannah lip-locked with a sophomore from the basketball team. She noticed me and pushed him away, straightening herself out. “C’mon Hannah,” I said. The guy blushed, rushing off before waving goodbye. “We’ve got practice.”