Page 73 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
The dress did go through a Cinderella-esque makeover. Doña Carmen, former seamstress extraordinaire, was able to fix the imperfections in the timeless pink dress Mami wore to her sophomore homecoming. She adjusted the too-wide straps to a more modern Bardot top, added a layer of tulle, and patched the holes left behind from our brief but very terrifying moth infestation with embroidered flowers. The moths also ate up the bottom of the skirt, but thankfully it still works as a tea-length dress, too. Plus, Doña Carmen cinched the waist to make up for the fact that I didn’t inherit Mami’s hourglass curves. My clavicle looks great, though.
It’s not at all what I expected—it’s better.
“La más hermosa nenita en todo el mundo,” Doña Carmen proclaims as she admires her handiwork before giving me a kiss on the cheek. In this dress, with my hair tumbling down myshoulders in soft waves pinned to one side, my eyes smoldering thanks to a smoky glitter eyeshadow and lined with wings sharp enough to kill, and my tanned skin shimmering like a mythical goddess—thank you, Rihanna—it’s impossible not to feel like she’s right. I am the most beautiful girl in the world.
A knock startles the three of us. We turn to find Joaquin in the doorway, hands covering his eyes. “Am I allowed to look? Or is that bad luck?”
“It’s not a wedding dress,” I tease, crossing the room and pulling his hands down to his sides. The thrill of his fingers slidinginto mine still doesn’t feel any less surreal, and I hope it never does.
Doña Carmen whispers something to Mami that makes her nod vigorously. The two of them shuffle out of the room as quickly as they can, mumbling about needing to go grab the corsage and boutonniere.
“Door open!” Mami calls out from the hallway, leaving the door to my room cracked just enough that we have some privacy without her needing to worry about any funny business. Not that I have any interest in getting out of this dress when it took twenty minutes to put it on.
When their voices have faded, we finally take each other in. I already knew Joaquin cleaned up well from previous dances we’ve been to over the years, but his newly rented black suit is especially on point. Impeccably cut to every slope of his body, with a soft pink silk tie that matches my dress so perfectly it’s as if they were designed to be worn together.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers, an awed expression on hisface as he cradles my cheek in his palm. His thumb runs along the curve of my lower lip, careful not to disrupt the gloss. “You always do, but a little extra today.”
“Only a little?”
He chuckles, letting his chin fall to his chest. “Fine. A lot.”
His hand shifts to the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss that makes me even more unsteady than I already was in these heels. His movements are careful, minding my hair and the pins holding my dress together as he rests a hand on my waist. There are a thousand things to love about kissing him, but this is one of my favorites. The way he takes so much care in every touch, letting us set the pace together. Never too much, or too fast. And, somehow, never enough.
While I’d be very happy with kissing the most handsome boy I know until my lip gloss is smeared and my body is too numb to stand, we’re not dressed up for nothing.
Our attentive audience makes sure to gasp and ooh and aah when we come out to the living room as if they didn’t see us five minutes ago. The loudest cheer comes from Joaquin’s phone, Mami holding it up and around so we can see Mrs.Romero. Meanwhile, from my laptop, Isabella gives us a vigorous round of applause.
“Daaaaaaaaamn, bro!” Isabella shouts as Joaquin steps toward the cameras and does a proper spin for her. “You actually look halfway decent.”
“Please, you wish you could look this good in a suit,” he says with a wink.
Isabella rolls her eyes. “See, now why did you have to go and ruin the moment?”
Mrs.Romero hushes her daughter before leaning in so close to her camera, we can see up her nose. “You look beautiful, Ivelisse.”
My already rosy cheeks go red as apples when Joaquin’s hand slides around my waist and gives me a squeeze, as if to back up his mom’s compliment.
“Thank you, Mrs.Romero,” I reply, praying, based on how grainy the image of her nostril is, that she can’t see how hard I’m blushing.
“All right, picture time!” Mami announces, handing Mrs. Romero to Doña Carmen before rushing to grab her own phone off the dining table.
Since we have about a dozen dances under our belts, Joaquin and I assume our usual positions. We start at the base of the stairs, as always. Joaquin’s hand shifts to my low back as we make our way over. The camera shutter goes off before we’re even settled, Mami making sure to document every moment of us walking to the stairs, then stopping at the stairs, then getting into position.
While the pose is as cliché as all the dances before, there’s something easier about it this year. And in the way I lean back against Joaquin’s chest and rest my hands on top of his where they’re clasped at the base of my stomach. For once, I don’t dread the thought of Mami sending these to every tía and tío in the family WhatsApp thread or having to scroll through the hundreds of photos to find one where I don’t look like I’m in pain.
When Mami’s satisfied with her two-hundred-plus options, we head over to our next and final pose spot in front of the decorative fireplace in the living room.
“Ten cuidado,” Doña Carmen warns as she hands me the boutonniere and Joaquin the corsage. Both made of light pink peonies.
I get the honors of going first, doing my best to avoid jabbing it into his chest.
“Ow!” he shouts as I adjust the pin to straighten it out.
“Shit. Are you okay?! Where does it hurt?” I scramble to pull the boutonniere off and check for blood, but his shaking shoulders give him away. “You dick!” Once I whack him on the shoulder, he gives up on trying to hold in his laugh.
“Sorry, had to.” He backs away with his hands raised in surrender. “Your reaction was adorable, though.”
I pout, mumbling under my breath as I finish pinning his boutonniere without any fanfare. “Yeah, well, giving me a premature heart attack isn’t very adorable.”
