Page 52 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
Her expression is distant, but there’s a light in her eye when she replies. “Someone convinced me.”
My gasp is cut off by the sound of the final bell. Unless I want to tack on another day to my sentencing when I’m steps from the finish line, I need to get to detention ASAP. But the rosiness in Anna’s cheeks and the newfound shyness has me rooted in place.
“Anna! Oh my God!” I shout, whacking her arm with my binder. “Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to someone?!”
She shrugs. “It’s notofficialofficial. I still have to ask her.” She sheepishly peeks over at me. “I was wondering…do you think you could help me pull a few strings? Nothing that’ll get you more detention, I promise.”
“Duh, of course.” While I’d love to stand here and grill her about her new romance until she spills every detail, detention waits for no one. Reluctantly, I start to back away, making a V with my fingers and pointing them at my eyes before pointing them at her. “You’re telling me everything tomorrow. No excuses!”
The massive grin on her face betrays the seriousness of her eye roll. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I’m serious! Details. Tomorrow. And if you don’t send dress pictures by ten tonight, I’m sending Nurse Oatmeal after you!” I call out, waiting until she waves in reply before I turn around and run to detention.
Sliding into the room with a minute to spare, I expect to see Mr.Cline, and maybe one of the stoners who are in their usual detention rotation.
I definitely don’t expect to see Tessa Hernandez.
Even in an empty room, she manages to be the center ofattention. Seated in the front row, bent over a notebook, she tosses the glossy curtain of hair shielding her face from view over her shoulder. Her honey-blond highlights catch the midafternoon sun streaming through the window, giving her an effervescent glow.
Being in her presence makes me feel like a potato.
“Thank you for joining us, Ivelisse,” Mr.Cline says in his usual drone. “Please take a seat.”
Choosing somewhere to sit shouldn’t feel like an AP-level math exam, but it does when Tessa Hernandez is a factor. We’re the only two people in detention today, which means my choice holds an annoying amount of weight. Sitting too far away makes it seem like I’m avoiding her. Sitting too close looks as if Iwantto be near her.
OrI’m completely overthinking this and she probably hasn’t even noticed my existence yet and never will.
Banking on the latter, I opt for a seat closest to the windows. Having a view—even if it’s of my classmates having fun while I’m trapped inside—helps the time go by. Once I’m settled, Mr.Cline comes over with the sign-in sheet. Tessa’s name is already written at the top of the page in bright pink gelpen.
“Congratulations on making it to the end,” Mr.Cline says after I’ve signed my name below hers. “Most kids stop showing up after week two.”
Hold on—was not showing up an option this whole time?
“They take the demerits instead,” he says, reading my mind.
Mr.Cline sets down two slips of paper on my desk when I hand him back the clipboard. A slip of paper certifying that I’veserved all three weeks of my punishment and a coupon for free chips and guac at Chipotle that expires today.
“A parting present,” he says without a hint of humor before returning to his desk.
I tuck the confirmation slip and coupon into my wallet and set to work on annotating my tech schedule. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just sliiiiiiightly terrified of how much we need to get done before opening night next week. Listing out everything we have left to build, rig, or paint alone takes up the back of an entire page. The president of the drama club has been side-eyeing me every time she gets to aShrewrehearsal only to find a half-built set and a nonexistent lighting setup, and I can’t even blame her. Shakespeare wouldnotbe proud.
Tech week is always hell. For the rest of the week, our small but mighty tech crew will run on Red Bull, iced coffee, and fear of aspiring actors. We’ll spend all of opening night next Monday hoping and praying that everything comes together before crashing for the best eighteen-hour sleep of our lives and doing the whole thing again for a full week of performances. But this’ll be a special brand of panic. Mami didn’t make good on her threat to call Tío Tony and tell him to take me off the schedule, but I did give up all of my shifts next week anyway. Unless I want a balcony to collapse on Petruchio mid-monologue, I need to get my shit together.
Besides, preventing mass thespian casualties will be an excellent distraction from the fact that my best friend in the entire world, rightfully, hates my guts.
My last hour of detention goes by without incident. With ten minutes left, Mr.Cline startles himself awake with a sneeze soloud it could be heard down the block. Something unspeakably gross dribbles out of his nose as he settles down from the aftershock of the sneeze, quickly covering his face with his hand and rushing out of the room when he realizes there are no tissues on his desk. I’m focusing on the last of my tech week notes and struggling to forget the sight of whatever was dangling out of Mr.Cline’s left nostril when a shadow stretches over me. I peek up, jumping back in surprise at the sight of Tessa Hernandez sitting at the desk in front of me.
“Hi,” she says, all light and casual, like this isn’t the first conversation we’ve had in…well, ever.
“Hi?” I didn’t intend for it to come out as a question, but the shock gets the best of me.
“You’re Joaquin’s friend, right?” she asks with a raised brow. “Ivelisse?”
“Yeah,” I mutter bitterly. Much like Chris Pavlenko, yet another person who has been in the same class as me for almost a decade can’t confidently pick me out of a lineup. Great for the self-esteem.
“I’m sorry,” she says, a sentence so startling I have to do a double take to make sure I didn’t just imagine hearing it.
“For…?” It comes out slowly, begging for her to interject with an explanation, but instead she chews on her glossy lower lip and gazes out the window, doubling as an ethereal fairy.
