Page 71 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
My heart pounds as I wrench my eyes shut and lip-sync belt the last lyrics of the chorus, Anna fading out the song for me.
The crowd doesn’t even wait for the music to fade before giving me a rousing round of applause and a standing ovation, while Eileen stews onstage.
Finally, I meet Joaquin’s eyes, prepared to see him shielding his face from view, or attempting to gracefully sneak out of the room. Instead, he’s beaming, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he gives me the most adoring look I’ve ever seen in my life.
In that moment, I wish I had more. A sign, or a banner, or something that asks the question for me. Instead, all I have is my voice.
“Joaquin Romero, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since you came over to my house fourteen years ago and asked me if I wanted to play with your Legos. Will you go to prom with me?”
He deserves something bigger, more spectacular. Fireworks spelling his name in the sky. A full choir belting his favorite song. A lifetime supply of Marco’s slushies. But this is what I can offer—putting myself and my heart on the line and praying that’s enough for him.
An excited buzz spreads through the audience as they crane their necks for a peek at the guest of honor. While I wait for his response, my heart hammers so loud I’m sure the mic is picking it up and broadcasting it to the world. A blush creeps along the apples of his cheeks as he laughs quietly.
“Only if we can get slushies first.”
The audience giggles like kids on the playground and my cheeks ache as I hold the mic back up to my mouth.
“Deal.”
Cheers and hollers spread through the entire auditorium,but everything fades to a hum. All that matters is him, and the way he looks at me like I’m made of stars.
Eileen appears out of nowhere, yanking the mic out of my hand. “Very nice, thank you for that, Ivelisse,” she says, discreetly shoving me toward the exit.
I scurry backstage as quickly as I can, trying to return to the light booth before she can tear me limb from limb for disrupting her show. From stage right, with a wave and a mouthed“I’ll see you soon”to Joaquin, I rush off the stage and let the real show begin.
I’m totally not biased, but this was the best damn spring playyet.
The cast gets a generous standing ovation that continues on through them thanking the band and pointing to me and Anna up in the light booth for our own moment of glory at our last ever Cordero show. Anna does a deep, dramatic bow even though no one can see us through the tinted glass, but I make up for it by giving her the hype she rightly deserves. After we’ve turned on the house lights and powered down the light board, Anna pulls open the door with a grand flourish.
“Go get your man.”
Fear takes over as I come down from my promposal high and reality starts to sink in. I just asked my best friend to prom in front of hundreds of people. Via lip sync and passable dance. And now I have to walk right into the thick of it and try not have a semi-public meltdown becauseJoaquin said yes.
“I should probably clean up in here before we—”
“Nope,” Anna interjects, making it clear that this is a demand, not a suggestion. “Go get your man.”
Swallowing my nerves, I nod, accept her encouraging hug, and head out to “get my man.”
Most of the audience lingers in the auditorium, waiting with bouquets and balloons for the cast to emerge fresh-faced and out of their period costumes. I scan the clusters of supportive parents, siblings, and friends for any sign of Joaquin, but his entire row is vacant. There’s no curly mop of hair peeking out over the tops of the crowd like usual, and I will myself not to panic. He wouldn’t leave now when he came to see me.
Unless he doesn’t actually want to go to prom with me and ran away instead of telling me to my face.
Once I’m sure he’s not in the auditorium, or in the hallway, I burst into the parking lot with the last shreds of my chill. The air is warm, almost humid, and the skyline beyond the lot is a shade of purple so vibrant it would stop me in my tracks if I wasn’t already so enamored by what’s right in front of me.
Joaquin, leaning against Herbert, with the bouquet and a smile that makes my knees weak.
“Sorry to make you come all the way out here,” he says as he pushes off the door. “EmilyW asked for a bunch of selfies, then told her friend to come get in them, and it was turning into a whole thing, so I snuck out here.”
I snort at the thought. “You’re so popular these days.”
He shrugs, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck. “I guess…”
Before I can rib him for his newfound superstardom, he brushes off his shyness and launches into a new train of thought.
“The show was great. Especially the part where this cute girl asked me to prom.”
“She sounds pretty cool.”
