Page 27 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
Cutthroat stuff.
With today’s double feature wrapped up, we turn back to the task at hand.
“This is impossible.” Joaquin groans before letting his head hit the lunch table with athwack.
I nudge my shoulder against his. “Chin up, soldier, we’re almost done.”
We’re most definitely not almost done. There’s only ten minutes until the bell and we still have about a hundred Post-its left to cover with compliments about Tessa. It’s a testament to my acting abilities that he doesn’t see how nervous I am too. Both because of my startling realization of “holy shit, I’m in love with him” at Marco’s on Friday, and because we’re nowhere near done.
Drama club has clearly rubbed off on me.
Joaquin runs his Sharpie-stained fingers through his tousled curls. “I’m running out of things to say.”
“She’s a Gemini moon,” Anna offers, glancing up from her own batch of Post-its. “And a Pisces rising,” she adds when we give her blank stares.
“I don’t know what that means,” Joaquin replies.
She grumbles something under her breath before scribblingnice hairon her next Post-it instead.
Joaquin looks forlornly at the endless stacks of multicolorednotes taking up our table. We’ve been working on these since first period, and it feels like we’ve barely made a dent.
“She’s half Dominican, half Italian, right?” Joaquin asks, scratching his head with his pen. “Is there something there?”
“Dynamically Dominican and exquisitely Italian,” I throw out.
Anna snorts, her loc cuffs clanging together as she shakes her head. “Please. Tessa’s as Italian as Olive Garden.”
Joaquin shrinks, curling into his hoodie like a petrified turtle. I glare at Anna, but she’s too busy writingflawless skinto notice me.
“What about personality stuff?” I propose, which gets Joaquin to come out of his metaphorical and physical shell. “You’re the one who’s into her—what about her drew you in? Was she funny? Easy to talk to?”
Asking feels like pulling teeth, especially when I know I don’t want to hear his answer. But I trample my emotions down. This whole “realizing I’m in love with my best friend” thing couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time, considering he’s already got his heart set on someone else.
Joaquin shrugs, gesturing to a crumpled stack of Post-its to his left. “I tried that. But it just felt…weird.” He uncrumples the one closest to him, smoothing it out until we can see themakes me smilewritten on it in Joaquin’s signature chicken scratch. “Like I wasn’t really talking about her, y’know?”
“Then who were you talking about?” Anna asks, arching her brow.
Joaquin clams up, retreating into his hoodie again and concentrating on the task at hand. “No one,” he mumbles.
The first bell breaks up any lingering tension at the table. Panic is written all over Joaquin’s face as he ogles our puny completed pile and mountainous unfinished pile. “I can work on some of these during French. And then finish up the rest after bio, and maybe some during—”
“Quin,” I interrupt, gripping his arm tight enough to get him to hold still. “I’ve got this.”
His expression softens, tension melting off him. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I reply with a nod. “I have a free period after this.”
He doesn’t appear convinced, peering over my shoulder at our cluttered workspace. “Isn’t this supposed to be from me, though? Does it feel insincere if I let someone else do it?”
In theory, yes. But in practice, none of these compliments are going to matter by the end of the day. Not that he knows that. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“But you came up with this…”
He’s got me there. “Butyouthought to come to me for help. That counts for something, right?”
He ponders that for a moment. “You’re right.”
“As usual,” I taunt, turning him around and pushing him toward the exit.
