Page 8 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
I bite my tongue the second the words slip free. Tessa is a…delicatesubject. Something we skirt around or avoid because the wound still feels fresh four years later. Obviously, I was way more pissed at Danny than I was at her, but I’m sure she knew that we were together. It was front-page news that someone on the illustrious baseball team—one of the better players at that—had decided to grace a nobody like me with his presence. According to Danny, the hookup had been Tessa’s suggestion. Granted, he’s a piece of hot garbage and I take his word with a grain of salt, but now just the thought of Tessa makes me feel uncomfortable. Like one wrong step could make me snap.
And I’m very close to snapping.
“Ive…” That’s the only thing Joaquin can think to say. My name. But he says it with those stupid expressive eyes and his stupid pouty face and even though I’m pissed, I can feel the ice around my heart begin to thaw.
“Sorry.” Uncrossing my arms is the first step. Followed by unclenching my jaw. The final piece, making it seem like I’m not about to explode, is too much to tackle yet. “So…yousaid”—you fell for the Wicked Witch of the West—“you guys ran into each other?”
The question is tense, my voice unsteady, but Joaquin lowers his guard. There’s a strange boyishness to him as he tugs at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, the color in his cheeks fading from Flamin’ Hot Cheeto to bubblegum pink.
“Umm, yeah. On the first day. I was at the boardwalk and saw her just standing there. At first, I didn’t think it was her, since…well. She’s never by herself.”
It’s true. Tessa’s flanked by a minimum of two of her adoring fans around the clock. Her henchwomen probably take shifts guarding her while she sleeps.
“I thought she was lost, so I went over to ask if she needed help, and it was…freaky. She had makeup streaming down her face, and a bunch of tissues in her hands. At first I thought maybe someone had like…just died or something, so I started backing up before things could get awkward. But then she told me to stay…so I did.”
“And now you two are gonna run off to elope in Vegas like my mom and Dave?”
“Ha ha,” he replies with an eyeroll. “We’re saving that for the second date.”
“How chaste,” I grumble. “If you two are a thing now, does that mean she has to ride with us to school in the morning? Because she might break up with you as soon as she sees your back seat.”
“We’re not athing.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Yet, I mean.”
“Did you kiss her?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
He shrugs sheepishly. “No.”
“Did youtryto kiss her?”
“No!” he replies while throwing his hands in the air. “I was respecting boundaries!”
Further proof that he’s an anomaly among our peers. A teen boy who thinks with his heart and not with his dick.
“I want to ask her to prom,” he says, sitting up straighter, his voice more confident. Like a general prepared to address his troops.
Except he’s asking for the impossible.
“You want to ask Tessa Hernandez to prom?”
It’s hard not to scoff. Prom season at Cordero High is sacred. The month after spring break is like a cotton candy sugar rush. Promposals in every hallway and empty classroom and rumors about who’s wearing what dress and how much they spent on it. Not to mention the school pep rally, which is less of an assembly and more of a school-wide rave, and senior skip day, then senior lock-in, two opportunities for us to get discreetly wasted on school grounds. But prom is the main event. Needless to say, it’s exhausting.
And with Tessa now officially on the market, she’s sure to be at the center of it.
“It can be romantic!” Joaquin says with genuine enthusiasm.
“Promposals? Romantic?” I reply skeptically. Promposals at Cordero High are lots of things. Over-the-top. Cringe-worthy. Capitalism in its purest form, as Anna would argue. But definitely not romantic.
“I know things usually get out of hand, but I have an idea!” Joaquin pauses to pull out his phone, opening the Notes app and scrolling through a list of items ranging fromWrite her name in the skytoHire a flash mob.“Well, lots of ideas.”
Being a good friend means being supportive. And sometimes being supportive is saving your best friend from going bankrupt at eighteen over something that has a 90percent failure rate.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask warily. Promposal season is cutthroat, high stakes. Stepping into the ring for Tessa’s hand in promtrimony means making enemies and an ass out of yourself.
“I do.” His voice is sincere, honest, and that’s even more terrifying. “When we were together at the beach, it waselectric,Ive. Sparks, chemistry, all that stuff they talk about in those telenovelas you always made me watch.”
He mademewatch them, but I don’t protest.
“But I can’t do this alone,” he continues. “Or, I could, but it would probably suck. But if I had help from the master of making magic happen behind the scenes…”
