Page 14 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“Oh, I know.” I let go of his shoulders to squat down and start rearranging his hot mess of anR.“Only a truly wonderful friend would wake up this early for someone as annoying as you.”
He squats beside me, picking up one of the roses and poking the end of its stem against my arm. “Dick.”
I swipe the rose from between his fingers, careful to avoid the thorns as I tap the petals against his nose. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
Instead of replying, he bites his lip but can’t hold back his smile. Something in me wants to stay there, holding on to this image of him backlit by the glow of the sunrise. But I pull the flower and my attention away and get back to the task at hand.
Everyone knows you can’t stare too long at the sun unless you want to get burned.
Considering our very sweaty start to this whole fiasco, the finished product is actually pretty swoony, if I do say so myself. The hit to Joaquin’s meager summer job savings was well worth it for the sheer size of the spectacle alone, the questionPROM?stretched out past Tessa’s parking space and toward her neighbors, who hopefully won’t mind. It’s usually a free-for-all in the name of romance this time of year.
“Are roses too cliché?” Joaquin asks, as if he has time to return to the florist and buy a fresh truckload of daisies.
“I mean, I’m more of a peony gal, personally, but roses are classic. Can’t go wrong.”
“I should’ve gotten another two bouquets,” Joaquin mumbles as he goes to fidget with the question mark for the hundredthtime.
“And force yourself to declare bankruptcy?” I snap before smacking his hand away. “It’s more than enough. Now, go get changed unless you want to prompose to Tessa in sweatpants.”
I had the foresight to tell Joaquin to pack a change of clothes last night. Coming up with this plan on his own was impressive, but I had a feeling he’d forget that presentation isn’t everything. Tessa would sooner drop dead than accept a prom invite from someone who looked like they just rolled out of bed.
While Joaquin heads off to change, I handle the finishing touches to the display. Weaving battery-operated fairy lightsthrough the roses was a pretty good idea.Good job, Joaquin.The gently flickering lights pull his vision together. Spelling something out with roses isn’t as easy as it sounds.
People start trickling into the lot. A group of stoners camped out on a nearby picnic table see me and giggle to themselves. For a second, I’m worried they’ll start asking about the display, but they quickly become distracted by a more important debate: who’s next in their blunt rotation.
A car comes barreling toward me at way too high a speed for a parking lot. I only have a split second to jump out of the way of the SUV, narrowly avoiding ruining our hard work. Whoever my oh-so-kind classmate is has the courtesy to blare their horn at me. The car finally slows down to a crawl in front of the roses, and I read theGud Vibesvanity plate.
Nothing about this car or its driver saysgood vibesto me.
The bass of an EDM song keeps the car vibrating even when the motor turns off and the window rolls down, the music so loud it pushes me back like a tidal wave. A head pokes out, a boy in a letterman jacket who pulls off his sunglasses slowly, like he’s some kind of action hero. Hank “The Tank” Azario. The meatiest meathead on the football team.
Hank runs a hand along his stubbled jaw, humming as he takes in the display in front of Tessa’s parking space.
“I’m not the one asking her,” I blurt out. It’s common knowledge that Hank’s been in love with Tessa for years. So much so that he even tried paying someone to ask out Julia just so he could stealthily make his move on Tessa. Long story short, it didn’t go the way he’d hoped.
I’m surprised he didn’t shoot his shot on day one likeeverybody else, so he must be biding his time. Or scoping out the competition.
Hank’s not going to tackle me because I might be asking outthe girl he likes, but the intensity of his glare makes me weak in the knees. And not in a hot way.
“Then who is?” he asks, shouting over the radio instead of just turning it down.
I clam up, my lips pressing into a line to keep from babbling anything that might get my friend in trouble. Hank might have enough of a conscience not to pick a fight with me, but I can’t say the same about Joaquin. The football and baseball teams are bigger rivals than ouractualrival, Elmwood Prep. In a town dictated by high school clichés, the baseball team being more popular than the football team is considered a crime. Especially to the football bros. But I guess they should suck less?
After almost a minute of silence, Hank sucks his teeth and waves me off with a scoff, rolling up his window and screeching away so fast he almost bowls over a group of girls gossiping on the grass. I’m sure having to watch the entire school battle over your longtime crush is doing a number on Hank’s ego, but luckily he didn’t smash any of the roses. Though, he was close enough to leave a very un-sexy puddle of motor oil in front of the display. It’s not as pristine as what we’d originally put together, but it’s better than having to start over with five minutes to the bell.
Speaking of the time, if Joaquin doesn’t hurry up, I may wind up promposing to Tessa for him.
I quickly scan the lot, double-checking for any signs of Tessa or any of her other exes who might want to derail this plan. With the coast clear, I dash toward the front entrance.
The sound of lazy, too-loud laughter stops me in my tracks. I turn slowly, afraid of what I’ll find. The stoners break out intooooohs as one of them snatches the blunt out of the rotation and takes an unearned puff.
It happens in slow motion. An elbow against a shoulder, an arm pushed into a rib cage, the blunt flying through the air and rolling toward the roses, then catching on the puddle of oil. The burning smell. Smoke.
My body doesn’t operate on rational thought, just instinct. I put my blind faith in the stoners to keep things from getting out of hand as I dart as fast as I can toward the bathroom, smacking right into Joaquin as we both turn a corner.
“Geez, watch—” Joaquin stalls when he realizes it’s me, all the nerves he scrubbed clean returning in full force. “What happened?”
“Okay, don’t panic.” I rest my hands on his shoulders, marveling at the soft fabric of the royal-blue blazer he picked out for the occasion. While he was gone for what felt like forever, he’s cleaned up spectacularly, his curls falling in front of his eyes, framing his long, thick eyelashes. The beach tan makes his brown skin glow and brings out the warmth of his eyes, glittering with what I’m now realizing is panic.
