Page 28 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“I double owe you, don’t forget that,” he calls out to me before jogging to his French class.
“I won’t!” I call back in response, turning around to find Anna waiting for me with crossed arms.
“What now?”
She uncrosses her arms and glances over at where Joaquinwent. “Is this even worth it? Seems like a lot of effort for two people who might not even like each other.”
“They like each other,” I insist, turning my attention back to my Post-its. “She winked at him once and said hi to him in the hall the other day. That’s basically a declaration of love from her, right?”
Anna sighs.
“Tessa likes it when people compliment her nose,” she says, an unexpected sadness to her tone. “She got it done in seventh grade after a cheerleading accident and never liked the way it turned out. And talk about her eyes. They’re her best feature.”
Before I can thank her for the tip, she walks off, leaving me and my hundreds of Post-its.
Thanks to my free period and an online thesaurus, I’m a compliment machine by the time the final bell rings. Doesn’t matter if any of them are true, just that they’re done.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek at the few that Joaquin managed to finish during lunch. Most of them are vague (nice smile,shiny hair) and even the more specific ones (fun to talk to) aren’t very inspired. I’m not sure how I feel about it, though. Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about anything anymore.
Friday was…a lot. Realizing you’re in love with someone should be exciting, but instead it felt terrifying. Joaquin and I have been best friends practically since we could talk. I canbarely imagine a life where I’m two hours, and a state, away from him—what the hell would I do if he shot me down and things were so awkward between us that we never spoke again? Or, even worse, he feels the same way, only for us to break up like every other high school couple and bitterly despise each other for the rest of our lives? Just look at my parents—they haven’t spoken in over a decade.
Joaquin and I may be best friends, but we’re not meant to be. Just like with me and Danny, the popular guy and unpopular girl never last long.
I gather up my treasure trove of Post-its proclaiming Tessa as everything from “magnanimous” to “perspicacious” into my bag and bolt for the parking lot near the baseball field. Time is of the essence if I want to pull off my plan.
Fighting off the guilt took up more time than I’d anticipated. My complicated feelings for Joaquin may be locked up in a box in the back of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly okay with him and Tessa as a concept. An uneasy feeling is still swirling in the pit of my stomach as I head outside, but the thought of Tessa waltzing into my life and pushing me out of Joaquin’s keeps me grounded.
Because if Tessa agrees to go out with him, I can kiss any future moments with him goodbye.
I only have a fifteen-minute grace period before Mr.Cline, the detention supervisor, marks me absent. The last thing I need is another week tacked on to my sentence. As expected, the lot behind the baseball diamond is packed with cars. Most of the seniors sticking around for practice move their cars over duringlunch to avoid the twenty-minute trek from the senior parking lot to the field. One of the few times Cordero’s massive, sprawling campus has come in handy.
Scanning the lot, I quickly spot Tessa’s black Prius and her signature hot-pink steering wheel cover in the prime spot in front of the vending machines. Now I just need to scope out a victim. Another black Prius—not this year’s model, like Tessa’s, though—is parked on the opposite end of the lot.
A countdown rings in my ears as I get to work, plastering as many of the Post-its onto the car as I can. My hands are a blur of pinks, blues, and greens as I rush to spell out the wordPROM?before anyone can spot me. I have about ten minutes before the cheer team starts filing out of the locker room and onto the field for their practice. With my luck, I have five.
Compliments blur my vision and my fingers have never felt so disgustingly sticky, but I find my rhythm. Blue for theP. Green for theO. Pink for the rest. Soon enough, I have control over my body again, pinning the notes in place like a well-oiled machine. Nearly finished, I dart out of view, hiding behind a neighboring car, when I hear someone approach.
“Yo! Check this,” a voice shouts. DeShawn is the first to take in my handiwork with wide, amused eyes.
I’m a regular fixture in the stands and on the field, so my presence wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary to any of Joaquin’s teammates, but it does ruin the illusion of romance if they catch me setting up a promposal for him.
DeShawn calls out to his teammates one more time, “Bruh, you’ve gotta see this!” before disappearing into the locker room to rally the troops.
Shit. Less time than I thought.
Whispering a Hail Mary under my breath, I throw on a few last-ditch Post-its, half of which don’t stick for longer than five seconds, before darting across the lot to safety behind the ticket booth.
DeShawn is back with half the team moments after I make it to my hiding spot. I’m too far away to make out what they’re saying, but they’re clearly amused—slapping each other on the back, taking pictures and videos.
Weird…
Promposal season is like Oscars season. A few Post-it Notes on a car is hardly video worthy. Best-case scenario I just Post-it’ed some cheerleader’s car and saved her lazy jock boyfriend from having to put any actual effort into his own promposal. Or, worst-case scenario, I stuck them on one of Joaquin’s teammates’ car, and he’ll brush it off as a prank.
The possibility of accidentally having Joaquin prompose to some unsuspecting dateless cheerleader also crossed my mind. Though,datelessandcheerleaderdon’t usually belong in the same sentence. I wouldn’t put it past him to get down on one knee and ask out someone he barely knows—not that he and Tessa know each otherthatwell—but anyone is better than Tessa.
The rest of the baseball team and some cheerleaders come spilling out of the locker room, the crowd surrounding my slapdash masterpiece getting rowdier by the second. I can’t shake the gut feeling that I may have just seriously messed things up.
And not the way I’d hoped to.
