Page 19 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“Hush,” he snaps, waving his hand out the window toward my direction. “I was thinking…I’ve been so panicked about this whole speech thing for the rally. What if I just kept it short and sweet and asked Tessa to prom at the end of it? The crowd would gonuts.”
Public spectacle aside, the thought of Joaquin pouring his heart out to Tessa in front of the entire school versus the entire senior parking lot makes my skin clammy. The seniors would’ve teased him mercilessly, but getting turned down by Tessa ispractically a rite of passage by now. A rejection in front of the entire student body is totally different, though…
“You’d just have to play this song once I’m done.” My phone pings with another new message from him. A link to a playlist titled “tessa hernandez pls say yes.”
Gross.
I scoff as the opening notes of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” begin to play. “Seriously? You couldn’t have picked a song from this century?”
“When was the last time you heard a good, life-changing romantic song on the radio?”
He’s got me there. If there’s one thing Joaquin inherited from his mom, it’s her taste in music. Before Herbert was ours, we’d get rides from Mrs.Romero in exchange for letting her have total control of the radio. We probably know more old-school ballads by heart than anything from the past decade. Now Joaquin passes as a cool, aloof music snob.
I rest my cheek on the windowsill, willing him to turn his chair around and face me too. “Are you sure you want to declare your love for Tessa Hernandez in front of hundreds of people?”
“It’s notlove,it’sprom.”
“Same thing.”
He sighs, leaning so far back in his chair I wonder if he’ll topple over. “Yes. I’m sure. Again. I just have a good feeling about this one, okay?”
Even with his back to me, I can picture the hopeful smile blossoming on his lips. My best friend’s smile is one of my favorite things about this too-small town. Right below Marco’s, butabove Nurse Oatmeal and the really good taco place down the block from school.
And I hate that this smile lodges a pit in my stomach.
“Yeah, I’ve got you,” I say, settling down on my pile of blankets when it’s clear that Joaquin isn’t going to turn around. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when everyone roasts you for your song choice.”
He snorts before letting out an exaggerated, “Fine.” Then, “You’re the best, Ive.”
“I know,” I say with a smirk. “Oh, also, my mom just—”
Before I can finish, our connection sputters. Leaning up, I watch Joaquin toss the walkie into a desk drawer and flip his bedroom lights off, gone before I could say goodbye, let alone finish what I was saying. Again.
Why is everyone in my life determined to blow me off today?
Slumping against my pillow, I try to calm the uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe I just ate my pizza too fast. Or the questionable food in the cafeteria is finally wreaking havoc on my body. Or I’m just still pissed about Mami leaving me high and dry. I’m considering taking her advice about that Advil when the sound of a crack makes me spring back up.
I’m on my knees in the nick of time, one of the ceiling planks snapping in half and crashing down right where my head was seconds ago. Almost got killed by the one place I can go to be alone. Cool cool cool. If there was ever an excuse that could get Mami to come home from a date, it’d be this.Hey, what’s up, almost got decapitated, you coming home yet?
My heart races as I carefully peek at the hole in the roof.The wood holding the top half of the treehouse together has become so warped I’m surprised it didn’t cave in as soon as I entered. I can’t find it in me to move, though, my attention drifting to the scattered decorations that came down along with the plank. One of the photos of me and Joaquin, holding hands on the beach, is torn down the middle. Our tiny, clasped fingers keep us together, but just barely. I cradle the photo carefully, making sure not to pull too hard or cause a bigger rip, and tuck it into my wallet. It’s safe for now, but I can’t shake off the fear it sends surging through me.
One wrong move could tear us apart.
Chapter Seven
Pep rallies bring outthe worst in the student body.
The senior parking lot is overflowing with tailgate parties, our peers decked out in Cordero’s signature red and gold in various forms—mainly body paint, beaded necklaces, and backward caps. No one’s bold enough to drink beers out in the open. Instead, everyone sits on the hoods of their cars passing sips of cold brew and neon-colored energy drinks. The real drinks have been stored away for the post-rally after-parties.
“Thank me later.” Anna appears practically out of thin air as the final bell before the rally rings, shoving a can into my hand.
My nose wrinkles as I examine the nutrition label. There’s about half a dozen different chemicals I’ve never heard of using every combination of letters in the alphabet. “Raspberry Unicorn?”
“Tastes like shit,” Anna explains after gulping down the last of her own drink. “But it has enough sugar to send a sloth into hyperdrive, and you’re gonna need it.”
She makes it sound like we’re headed into a battlefield and not a high school gymnasium.
And she’s exactly right.
