Page 12 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“Those are so pretty!” EmilyZ. adds.
Joaquin has been an unofficial member of the tech crew since I joined freshman year. From stopping by to paint whenever he doesn’t have baseball practice, to helping us on trips to Home Depot for plywood, if he can lend a hand, he will. His reserved seat in the front row of every show is both a thank-you and a time-honored tradition. One that his many admirers must have caught on to this year.
He gives the Emilys a “ ’sup” nod before turning his attention back to the roses.
“Went after last period to grab these before practice,” he pants, so out of breath he might as well have run a marathon. His forehead is dripping sweat, the roses pressed to his chest now damp and crumpled. “Tessa’s already turned down five promposals.” His phone pings, and he pauses to scan the text that just came in. “Shit, six.”
The devil works hard but Tessa Hernandez’s simps work harder.
“I figured something out,” he continues as he hands half ofthe bouquets to me. They’re piled so high I can barely see over the top of them. “But it’ll have to wait until before class tomorrow.”
I gesture for the Emilys to focus on painting the cobblestonewall while I help Joaquin with setting the roses down on the lip of the stage, the perfect excuse for me to avoid the confused looks Anna keeps sending my way. So much for keeping Joaquin’s plan under wraps.
“Think you could do me a favor?” he asks once the roses are out of harm’s way.
I’m starting to dread this question. “Y-yeah, sure.”
“I need to run to practice. Coach’ll kill me if I’m late, but would you mind holding on to these? Abuela’s allergies are a bitch this time of year, so I don’t want to upset her.”
“You didn’t think of that before buying all of these?” Anna snaps, wearing a frown that could pierce stone.
Joaquin is either immune or too good-natured to be fazed. “Gotta go big if you want a shot with Tessa Hernandez,” he says with a shrug.
There’s a collective sharp inhale from the Emilys as Joaquin wipes his face with the edge of his T-shirt, giving all of us a glimpse of his well-defined stomach muscles. My nose wrinkles—not at Joaquin, but the uneasy feeling in my gut. It’s not the first time someone has gawked at Joaquin in my presence, but knowing your best friend is one of the hottest guys in school hasn’t gotten any less weird over the past four years.
Now less sweaty, Joaquin taps his fist against my shoulder. “Thanks again, Ive. You’re the best.”
Before I can process how I’m going to get these back home in one piece, Joaquin’s taking off the way he came. As soon as the door closes behind him, Anna pounces.
“Are you seriously going to help him ask out Tessa?”
She makes it sound like I’m helping him rob a bank.
Behind her, the Emilys deflate—their Joaquin Romero dreams crushed.
“He’s not asking her out; he’s asking herto prom,” I correct, avoiding her gaze by moving the roses off the stage and into the wings where they’ll be safe from the drama club.
“Right, because people only want to ask Tessa to prom because she’s such delightful company.” Every word drips with sarcasm.
“She could be, I don’t know,” I reply, not taking her bait.
Anna hops off the stage and stands right in my path. The face she gives me is so intense it shakes me to my core.
“Fine, yes, he wants to ask her out. Whatever.”
“Did something happen between them?” she asks, her voice quieter. Likely to avoid spreading any gossip to the Emilys. “Like…did they hook up or something?”
“Not really.” I shrug. “They hung out over break and Joaquin thinks there’s something there. Nothing concrete.”
That seems to soothe Anna’s concerns. “You know he’s asking for public humiliation, right? And you’re helping him do it, Miss I Don’t Want Anything to Do with Prom.” She punctuates the statement by pointing her finger against my shoulder.
Sometimes I regret befriending someone as brilliant as Anna. At least Joaquin is too much of a himbo to ever call me out on my bullshit.
“This is different,” I insist, pushing her finger away and walking around her.
“Uh, no, it isnotdifferent.”
Groaning, I take a deep breath. “It’s like being in tech crew,” I say while gesturing to our still-in-progress set. “I stand in the back, make it look like the trees are swaying in the breeze, and let someone else be in the spotlight for two hours. Just because I helped make it happen doesn’t mean I want to be an actor.”
