Leah on the Offbeat
Page 18
By Friday, Creekwood High School’s collective prom fever has morphed into college fever. I swear to God, there’s nothing more toxic than a suburban high school in March. The halls look like a screenshot from college Jeopardy!—humblebrag T-shirts hitting you from every direction. It’s like the entire school turned into Taylor overnight.
Anna got into Duke. Morgan got into Georgia Southern. Simon and Nick both got into Wesleyan and Haverford, and both got rejected from the University of Virginia. Abby had looked at them incredulously when she heard that. “Are you literally the same person?”
“They just know we’re a package deal,” Simon said.
“That’s super weird,” said Abby.
Also, our lunch table is a war zone—but it’s the silent kind of war zone. Morgan and I stake out opposite ends of the table, communicating only in glares. But it’s not just us. Abby and Nick are lowkey fighting again, too. And then there’s Simon in the middle, glancing back and forth like we’re a street he has to cross. I don’t think I’ve ever met a person so nervously attuned to conflict.
Garrett, on the other hand, is perfectly oblivious. He sinks into the chair across from me, next to Abby, and grins. “Okay, ladies, I need your help.” He gestures around the table. “I’m in charge of making the dinner reservation for all of these beautiful people on prom night. So now I’m taking requests.”
“Maybe something near the venue?” Abby says distantly.
“Something cheap,” I add.
Garrett beams at me. “Well, that is not something for you to worry about, Burke. I believe your meal is covered.”
“Okay.” I blush. “Thanks.”
Abby turns to face me, suddenly. “Wait, are you guys going to prom together?”
“Yup,” Garrett says. I nod, looking down.
“Are you serious? How did I not know this?”
Garrett pretends to gasp. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, she didn’t,” Abby says. She’s still looking at me.
I mean, was I supposed to call her? Did I somehow miss the moment when that became an expectation? I don’t get her. I don’t. Everyone thinks Abby’s so fun and sweet and bubbly, but she’s actually the most confusing girl in the universe.
I glance up at her, and she looks right in my eyes. I can’t read her expression. “Anyway,” she says, “we should figure out spring break.”
“What’s happening over spring break?” Garrett asks.
Abby’s eyes flick sideways. “Oh, nothing. Only the greatest road trip in the history of road trips.” It’s weird. Her voice is perfectly calm. But something sparks in her eyes like she’s issuing a challenge.
To Garrett. Or me. I have no earthly idea.
“I’m pretty flexible,” I say slowly.
“Good, me too. God, I’m so ready for this. I’m so ready for college.”
“Oh, you guys are visiting UGA?” asks Garrett.
“Yup,” Abby says, sliding her hand across the table, palm up, like she wants me to high-five it. So I do.
And she threads our fingers together.
Right here at the lunch table. I don’t even know what’s happening.
“You know what they say,” Abby murmurs, glancing sideways at Garrett. “What happens in Athens stays in Athens.”
Garrett raises his eyebrows, grinning. “Say no more.”
And suddenly, I’m pissed. No, actually, I’m furious. I tug my hand away from Abby’s and scoot my chair out abruptly.
“Wait, what just happened?” Simon asks.
When I’m mad, I escape. It’s what I do. I stalk out of rooms and storm down hallways and disappear into bathroom stalls. Because if I stay, I’ll lose my shit at someone. I will. I swear to God. I don’t even know who I’m more pissed at. Abby, for teasing me. Garrett, for making it about him every fucking time. Because that’s why bi girls exist, Garrett. For your masturbatory fantasies. I want to scream in his face. Dude, if you like me—if you actually like me—then be jealous. Be worried. Be something. If this were Nick flirting with me, Garrett would think whoa: competition. But because it’s Abby, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s like it doesn’t count.
Not that Abby was flirting with me. She probably wasn’t.
Definitely wasn’t. And I definitely don’t care.
13
I feel like you’re mad at me, Garrett texts me after school. About the Abby thing. I’m sorry Burke, I was honestly joking, but I’ll stop for real. I’m sorry.
I stare at the screen. I don’t know where to begin. I mean, how do I call him out if he doesn’t even know I’m bi?
I sink into the couch, feeling suddenly exhausted. It’s fine. Just promise me you’ll stop being a dick, okay?
I promise! he responds immediately, smiley face and all. So, we’re cool?
We’re cool.
Except I’m the opposite of cool. All weekend, I’m uneasy. Because Garrett actually apologized, but Abby didn’t. Not that she would. I just don’t get her. I don’t get what she’s doing. And it’s not even the what happens in Athens comment. That could mean anything. It could mean frat boys and keg stands and hetero trash for days.
But the look on Abby’s face when I said I was going to prom with Garrett. How surprised she seemed that I hadn’t told her. But why would I tell her? She has a boyfriend. So what if they’re fighting? She. Has. A. Boyfriend. Therefore, none of this matters, and prom can go fuck itself.
Of course, my mom is totally high on prom hype. She takes two hours of leave time on Wednesday to pick me up right after school. “Hop in. We’re going dress shopping.”
I look at her. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, ma’am. Because you’re going to pro-om.” She gives it a solid two syllables. “I’m so excited right now.”
It’s like we’re from two different planets. Every once in a while, it hits me: if I knew my mom in high school, I don’t think we’d have been friends. It’s not like she was an asshole in high school. She was kind of like Abby. In every play, at every party, perfect grades. She always had a boyfriend—usually a soccer player with really defined abs. But sometimes she dated nerdy guys, or musicians, like my dad, who apparently used to smoke a lot of pot. I guess it didn’t lower his sperm count.
“You know, the last time we went prom dress shopping together, you were on the inside.”
“Haha.”
“My little prom fetus.”
“Gross.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” She pulls into the mall parking deck and finds a spot near the elevator. My mom has charmed luck with parking spaces. It’s essentially her superpower. “And you have a date!”
“Yeah, with Garrett.”
“Garrett’s so adorable, though.” She pauses to grin at me. “Okay, so here we are. Where’s formal wear?”
Department stores are like diners. No focus. Too many options. I feel overwhelmed just being here. Mom pauses by an escalator, examining the store map.
“Aha. Upstairs.” I follow her onto the escalator. “So, what’s typical these days? When I was in high school, everyone wore floor length, but I hear that’s not a thing anymore.”
“It’s not?” I swallow.
“Or maybe I’m thinking of homecoming. I don’t know. Oh, here we go.”
Racks and racks of dresses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much satin in my life. They’re all electric-bright and strapless and loaded with sparkles. I don’t own anything like this. I have nothing close to prom-appropriate. I’ve skipped every single dance since we grew out of bar mitzvahs. Which was clearly the right decision, because these dresses are trash, and prom is stupid anyway.
Except it doesn’t feel stupid.
It makes me cringe to admit this, but I want the whole prom thing. The dress, the limo, all of it. It actually hurts, imagining prom happening without me. Me, alone in my pajamas, spending the whole night trolling Instagram and Snapchat. Watching everything unfold virtually. Seeing once and for all how little I’m missed.
Anna got into Duke. Morgan got into Georgia Southern. Simon and Nick both got into Wesleyan and Haverford, and both got rejected from the University of Virginia. Abby had looked at them incredulously when she heard that. “Are you literally the same person?”
“They just know we’re a package deal,” Simon said.
“That’s super weird,” said Abby.
Also, our lunch table is a war zone—but it’s the silent kind of war zone. Morgan and I stake out opposite ends of the table, communicating only in glares. But it’s not just us. Abby and Nick are lowkey fighting again, too. And then there’s Simon in the middle, glancing back and forth like we’re a street he has to cross. I don’t think I’ve ever met a person so nervously attuned to conflict.
Garrett, on the other hand, is perfectly oblivious. He sinks into the chair across from me, next to Abby, and grins. “Okay, ladies, I need your help.” He gestures around the table. “I’m in charge of making the dinner reservation for all of these beautiful people on prom night. So now I’m taking requests.”
“Maybe something near the venue?” Abby says distantly.
“Something cheap,” I add.
Garrett beams at me. “Well, that is not something for you to worry about, Burke. I believe your meal is covered.”
“Okay.” I blush. “Thanks.”
Abby turns to face me, suddenly. “Wait, are you guys going to prom together?”
“Yup,” Garrett says. I nod, looking down.
“Are you serious? How did I not know this?”
Garrett pretends to gasp. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No, she didn’t,” Abby says. She’s still looking at me.
I mean, was I supposed to call her? Did I somehow miss the moment when that became an expectation? I don’t get her. I don’t. Everyone thinks Abby’s so fun and sweet and bubbly, but she’s actually the most confusing girl in the universe.
I glance up at her, and she looks right in my eyes. I can’t read her expression. “Anyway,” she says, “we should figure out spring break.”
“What’s happening over spring break?” Garrett asks.
Abby’s eyes flick sideways. “Oh, nothing. Only the greatest road trip in the history of road trips.” It’s weird. Her voice is perfectly calm. But something sparks in her eyes like she’s issuing a challenge.
To Garrett. Or me. I have no earthly idea.
“I’m pretty flexible,” I say slowly.
“Good, me too. God, I’m so ready for this. I’m so ready for college.”
“Oh, you guys are visiting UGA?” asks Garrett.
“Yup,” Abby says, sliding her hand across the table, palm up, like she wants me to high-five it. So I do.
And she threads our fingers together.
Right here at the lunch table. I don’t even know what’s happening.
“You know what they say,” Abby murmurs, glancing sideways at Garrett. “What happens in Athens stays in Athens.”
Garrett raises his eyebrows, grinning. “Say no more.”
And suddenly, I’m pissed. No, actually, I’m furious. I tug my hand away from Abby’s and scoot my chair out abruptly.
“Wait, what just happened?” Simon asks.
When I’m mad, I escape. It’s what I do. I stalk out of rooms and storm down hallways and disappear into bathroom stalls. Because if I stay, I’ll lose my shit at someone. I will. I swear to God. I don’t even know who I’m more pissed at. Abby, for teasing me. Garrett, for making it about him every fucking time. Because that’s why bi girls exist, Garrett. For your masturbatory fantasies. I want to scream in his face. Dude, if you like me—if you actually like me—then be jealous. Be worried. Be something. If this were Nick flirting with me, Garrett would think whoa: competition. But because it’s Abby, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s like it doesn’t count.
Not that Abby was flirting with me. She probably wasn’t.
Definitely wasn’t. And I definitely don’t care.
13
I feel like you’re mad at me, Garrett texts me after school. About the Abby thing. I’m sorry Burke, I was honestly joking, but I’ll stop for real. I’m sorry.
I stare at the screen. I don’t know where to begin. I mean, how do I call him out if he doesn’t even know I’m bi?
I sink into the couch, feeling suddenly exhausted. It’s fine. Just promise me you’ll stop being a dick, okay?
I promise! he responds immediately, smiley face and all. So, we’re cool?
We’re cool.
Except I’m the opposite of cool. All weekend, I’m uneasy. Because Garrett actually apologized, but Abby didn’t. Not that she would. I just don’t get her. I don’t get what she’s doing. And it’s not even the what happens in Athens comment. That could mean anything. It could mean frat boys and keg stands and hetero trash for days.
But the look on Abby’s face when I said I was going to prom with Garrett. How surprised she seemed that I hadn’t told her. But why would I tell her? She has a boyfriend. So what if they’re fighting? She. Has. A. Boyfriend. Therefore, none of this matters, and prom can go fuck itself.
Of course, my mom is totally high on prom hype. She takes two hours of leave time on Wednesday to pick me up right after school. “Hop in. We’re going dress shopping.”
I look at her. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, ma’am. Because you’re going to pro-om.” She gives it a solid two syllables. “I’m so excited right now.”
It’s like we’re from two different planets. Every once in a while, it hits me: if I knew my mom in high school, I don’t think we’d have been friends. It’s not like she was an asshole in high school. She was kind of like Abby. In every play, at every party, perfect grades. She always had a boyfriend—usually a soccer player with really defined abs. But sometimes she dated nerdy guys, or musicians, like my dad, who apparently used to smoke a lot of pot. I guess it didn’t lower his sperm count.
“You know, the last time we went prom dress shopping together, you were on the inside.”
“Haha.”
“My little prom fetus.”
“Gross.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” She pulls into the mall parking deck and finds a spot near the elevator. My mom has charmed luck with parking spaces. It’s essentially her superpower. “And you have a date!”
“Yeah, with Garrett.”
“Garrett’s so adorable, though.” She pauses to grin at me. “Okay, so here we are. Where’s formal wear?”
Department stores are like diners. No focus. Too many options. I feel overwhelmed just being here. Mom pauses by an escalator, examining the store map.
“Aha. Upstairs.” I follow her onto the escalator. “So, what’s typical these days? When I was in high school, everyone wore floor length, but I hear that’s not a thing anymore.”
“It’s not?” I swallow.
“Or maybe I’m thinking of homecoming. I don’t know. Oh, here we go.”
Racks and racks of dresses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much satin in my life. They’re all electric-bright and strapless and loaded with sparkles. I don’t own anything like this. I have nothing close to prom-appropriate. I’ve skipped every single dance since we grew out of bar mitzvahs. Which was clearly the right decision, because these dresses are trash, and prom is stupid anyway.
Except it doesn’t feel stupid.
It makes me cringe to admit this, but I want the whole prom thing. The dress, the limo, all of it. It actually hurts, imagining prom happening without me. Me, alone in my pajamas, spending the whole night trolling Instagram and Snapchat. Watching everything unfold virtually. Seeing once and for all how little I’m missed.
