“Then why’s he coming in the house? Hey! Pants required in this joint, numb nut!”
I shut the cabinet door to verify my grandpa’s observations. He’s right. I nod to my friend as I toss two aspirin into my mouth and tilt my head back, swallowing them dry. When I right my head again, Jake is glaring at me with disgust.
“How can you do that?” he asks.
“Uh, how can you run four blocks naked?” I throw back at him.
He twists his lips and appears to be mulling over a comeback, but comes up short.
“Fair point,” he says, poking me with his index finger.
“Why are you here?” I move to sit back down for more non-reading, but Jake swoops his hand under my arm and lifts me back up, proceeding to drag me out the front door.
“Bye, Mr. Wydner!” he shouts over his shoulder.
“Dumbass,” Grandpa mumbles.
The door bangs closed behind us and my feet grow heavy in an effort to slow us down as we near his car.
“Jake, I’m not in the mood,” I gripe.
“A bet’s a bet.” He stops short of his car and turns me to face him, folding his arms over his chest as though he’s some superhero ready to stop me from destroying the world. What a shitty villain I would make. I don’t even feel like destroying the world.
“I’m not streaking through the neighborhood,” I say.
“Har har,” he mocks.
It’s an irritating habit he’s picked up from some of his bros on the basketball team.
“That wasn’t our bet. Our bet was that the Bronco runs by Thanksgiving and you get your ass to prom.” He stares me down as if everything should be clear now. It’s not.
“I remember the bet. It’s December, Jake. Prom is not until April. Plus, I really don’t want to go alone and stand by the punch bowl like a legit loser.”
“Which is why,” he says before I can continue, “you are going to come with me right now and pick up a tux. I happen to know that your date is across the street, and she is being pampered by my very capable and talented girlfriend, so you know she is going to be hawt! You cannot show up for your prom wearing— What are you wearing?”
He gestures up and down the length of my body, enjoying this power trip.
“They’re pajama pants,” I say through a grimace.
“Right, and this math club sweatshirt, very chic. But still, not the right aesthetic.” He’s playing this up as if we’re really going through with it. I back up a step and wave my hands.
“Wait, wait. Where are we supposed to have a prom, Jake? She leaves in hours.” My pulse is starting to race with this inflamed sense of urgency he’s triggered.
“Again, the where is in my girlfriend’s very capable hands. My only task is to get you a suit and make you look presentable. So, how about you give me a break and get your ass in the car?” He marches to the passenger side and holds the door open wide while wearing the sternest expression I’ve ever seen him make.
“Is that . . . is that your game face?” I ask, pointing to him but relenting and heading toward the open door.
“Yes. Yes, it is. Look at what you did. You made me go game face. Are you happy?” He starts snapping, urging me to pick up my pace, so I do. I’m playing along with his game, and while part of me tells myself I’m doing it just to mess around with my friend, a part of me is also a little excited by the whole idea. The romantic that I thought died in my soul is taking a breath and waking up a little.
For the next three hours, I basically become Jake’s personal Cinderella, and he’s my barely functioning hairy godfather.
December is a big month for suit rentals. The selection is slim, and the prices insane. Apparently, though, my mom has been in on this little plot too, so she hooked Jake up with some spare cash to make this happen.
“You really think I can pull off powder blue?” The suit is vintage. It was one of three in the price range, and the other two really felt like funeral attire. I could not show up in anything somber. Though in a strange way, I think I might be rocking this look.
“For sure. It makes your wild hair make sense, too. Like cosplay,” he says.
I pause from straightening my collar in the mirror and stare at his reflection. He finally meets my gaze and gives me his usual palms-out, “What?”
“Just what every girl dreams of when going to prom. Oh, I hope my date shows up looking like a cartoon.” I roll my eyes and get back to work on my tie, trying to emulate what I learned from my grandfather.
“I didn’t say cartoon. I said cosplay. Very different.”
I laugh at his reasoning. Is it, really?
With my third tie attempt complete, I turn to face my friend and he brushes his hands down my sleeves to straighten the fabric. Grandpa pokes his head in and cuts Jake off, undoing my work and giving me an actual Windsor knot.
“You’ll get it. It takes time,” he assures me, pulling it a little too tight against my neck. I cough and loosen it when he turns.
My mom came home early. I heard her milling around downstairs, and Jake has been in constant communication with Gemma across the street. I’m actually sweating from nerves, and if I hover in my bedroom much longer, I’m going to sweat this powder blue suit right into navy. I give Jake a nod and he leads the way out of my room and down the stairs. My mom is waiting at the bottom, and the minute I step into view, she starts snapping photos with her phone. She is maybe the only person on the planet who I will not give grief to for keeping
