En route to the bathroom, I overheard Reese and Jaime fighting—it seemed all they did was fight or screw—but perked up at the mention of my name. She accused Reese of liking me, busting him on staring at me throughout the evening. After more muffled conversation, she told him to go fuck himself. I strained to hear, and my stomach churned at being the focus. He meekly defended himself, mumbling something about my new haircut. He pleaded with Jaime, groveling about how much he loved her. I glanced about, hoping our friends couldn’t hear their squabble.
As I left the bathroom, Steve stumbled out of the bedroom, his hair mussed and clothing disheveled after being comatose for a few hours. He shrugged but smiled, clearly embarrassed. We walked to the kitchen where the guys started in on him about not holding his liquor and being a pussy. He grinned as if expecting nothing less.
Pete’s eyes met mine, and he tapped his watch. I had ten minutes before my curfew expired. Still flying high, I asked around for a joint, anything to help me come down and avoid suffering through another sleepless night. I came up empty—and time and options had run out.
I said my goodbyes, tainted with envy and misgiving, and jogged the few blocks home. I crawled into bed, tossing and turning as I ruminated about Reese and Jaime’s fight and the upcoming prom. Hundreds of thoughts careened through my wired brain, miles away from Zs or even rest. Before long, the sun broke the horizon and the birds greeted the new day with their squawks and songs while vapid ruminations continued to plague me. I prayed for even one hour of shuteye instead of this strung-out, tedious limbo.
§§
Prom night arrived. I took care with my appearance, paying special attention to styling my new hairdo and wearing eye shadow, mascara, blush and lipgloss. After donning my emerald floor-length gown with rhinestone accents and matching jewelry, I was pleased with the sparkling and pretty reflection staring back at me.
I waited in my room until my father called for me, making an entrance. My breath caught at the sight of Pete. His classic black and white tuxedo only enhanced his good looks. We checked each other out, stupid grins on our faces.
Pete kissed my cheek and whispered a compliment in my ear as he slid a corsage with delicate miniature white rosebuds along my wrist. In turn, I pinned a matching boutonniere to his lapel. My parents made us pose for several photos. My boyfriend even managed an unstrained smile.
The other couples arrived at my house as prearranged, and we posed for more pictures. The guys looked sharp in their different tuxedos, while the colorful cascading dresses only enhanced the beauty of the girls.
We convoyed to The Rusty Scupper, a classy waterfront restaurant in Jack London Square where we enjoyed a delicious and expensive meal, almost an unwritten prerequisite for prom. I ate my favorite entree on the menu—prime rib—plus had chocolate mousse for dessert. Afterward, we drove to the swanky hotel overlooking Lake Merritt designated for our special occasion.
I craned my neck as we entered the ballroom, decorated to reflect our voted-on theme of An Enchanted Evening. Silver stars hung from the ceiling, and the walls resembled a garden. Round tables and chairs surrounded the dance area centered in the room. In one corner, a photographer took pictures of couples with a backdrop of cheesy flower arrangements. In another, a DJ took requests.
Perhaps I was a bit naive, but I wanted it to be an enchanted evening. All dressed up with the man I loved, I longed for him to sweep me off my feet and dance the night away, especially since my last formal turned into such a disaster. I could still picture it clearly in my mind—Alec picking me up in his hot car, followed by feeling pushed into drinking cheap wine and smoking pot, which in turn made me sick, which sent us back to the car, so I could get my bearings and…
I shook myself back to the present. You’re with Pete now. Tonight will be different.
Alas, my night was hardly Cinderella’s Ball. I loved to get down, but my boyfriend hated it, and I watched as couple after couple left their tables to gyrate on the inescapable floor taking center stage. It depressed me, casting a glaring light on how we differed.
Pete finally asked me to dance when a slow song played, but as soon as it ended, he wanted to leave. At first, I thought he meant the dance floor, but to my horror, he meant prom. We’d only been there an hour. Reese also pestered Jaime to bail. Their master plan involved going back to Reese’s house, getting high and hanging out.
Eventually, they succeeded in bending us to their will. We let the event photographer take the formal pictures our parents requested and split.
Inwardly I fumed at Pete’s selfishness, and I stood waist-deep in disappointment. We could hang out at Reese’s anytime, but there would never be another Junior Prom. Worse, Pete and I didn’t ride with Reese and Jaime initially so we were forced to ride in the bed of Reese’s grungy truck (a loaner from his dad since his Mustang was in the shop). A part of my dress snagged on something as I fumbled my way in the dark.
