Do Over (4 page)

“School fundraising money should be used for the school.” Ms. Herrington’s kind eyes paused on each girl, meeting the gaze of everyone but me. She braced her palms flat on the conference table, and her nails made one final click. “Prom money was used to purchase the class gift, your senior class gift.”

I tightened my grip on the lectern until the wood cut into my sweaty palms. “What did they buy?” The words came out garbled against my dry throat.

Chapter Four

“A Jumbotron for the end zone of the football field.”

Amy flinched. Carla crumpled a page in her fist.

I froze then spewed my outrage. “
Those Neanderthals
. Our committee worked for months so all the seniors would have a beautiful prom. And those barbarians usurped our money to set up a giant screen in the end zone? To show off their giant-sized egos?”

Ms. Herrington held a palm up to stifle me. “Now, now. They left money to hold prom. Simply scale back.”

“How much?” Carla asked, demand in her tone and her dark eyes. “Out of fifty thousand?”

Ms. Herrington lowered her own gaze for a moment then peeked at the exit. “About a thousand.”

Amy paled and dropped her gaze. Carla’s pencil thumped to the table. Angry murmurs filled the air. Lauren snapped the dry erase marker back into its holder and folded her arms across her chest. “Prom is ruined. Ruined.” Her voice hit a note high enough to reach Pluto.

The gavel slipped and it hit the floor with a dull thud. I swallowed again and pushed the words out, “A budget ball?”

Ms. Herrington edged toward the exit. “Why don’t you allow some time and reconvene with fresh ideas next week?”

Fists clenched, shoulders tense, I beat her out the door. I knew who did this. I would find him, and he would pay.

Marching over to the bench, I waited, fuming. When Trey neared the sidelines, I rounded. “Thought we could buy something cool with the prom money? Did you?”

“What?” Trey asked. His hair was mussed and he wore more grass stains than uniform. He wiped his flushed face with the hem of his jersey, glanced at me, and then back out to the field.

I stepped closer and got in his face, close enough to smell his Brazil Nut massage lotion and draw his attention back to me.

Before I could proceed with the takedown, Aster ran a critical gaze over me. “You should wear heavier makeup, with a different base color. Blue tones will hide the red in your cheeks.” After giving the advice, she offered a lime Gatorade to Trey.

I didn’t respond, and Trey shook his head, refusing the drink. His sweaty, brown hair tousled in the breeze. “I’m fine.”

I eyed his filthy uniform. “Did you get in another fight? I’m not surprised.” Acid filled my voice.

Aster passed me the sport’s drink, and I shoved the bottle at Trey.

He took it this time. “Thanks. What are you so pissed about?”

All the jumbled words ran through my head: ruined prom, ruined reconciliation. I didn’t know where to begin and couldn’t explain with Aster standing there. The heat in my face deepened as he continued to stare back at me. His dark green eyes admitted nothing.

“Pretend you don’t know. I don’t want to talk to you anyway.” I stomped from the field, back to Dad’s office with every muscle tense.

All the volunteers had gone, leaving the room quiet. My happy decorations seemed pathetic now. “Best prom ever.” I snorted and took down the Sparkle banner, pacing across the linoleum. The motion didn’t help, but I couldn’t stop. I must have walked until the game’s end and the post-game changing because I was in mid-stride when Trey and John came into Dad’s office. Their hair shone wet from their showers, and they wore street clothes: shorts and T-shirts.

John yanked off his shirt and moved over to the massage table. He lay flat out with a groan.

“Looking for a massage?” Anger filled my voice.

“I’ll wait for Star,” John said and sank his face into the hole.

“Yeah,”
I said.
“You will.”

Trey sat on the other massage table, dabbing a bloody gash on his knee with the end of a towel.

I got the first aid kit and added a second towel so the liquid wouldn’t drip on the memory foam. Next, I removed a can of antibacterial medicine from the kit and shook it, relishing the swooshing sound.

Trey sat straighter, the muscles in his arms tensed and his hands gripped the edge. The antiseptic hissed from the can, and I coated his wound without warning. The antiseptic competed with Trey’s fresh-showered scent. He’d smell great, if he got injured less.

“Hold this.” I handed him the rolled stretch bandage.

Trey had to unclench his hand to hold it. He kept quiet, but he watched my every move. I ripped open a square packet of gauze and waved the white mesh in the air. “I thought about white for a prom dress, but I’ll save that for my wedding. Good thing, now, huh?” I patted the wound with a sterile cloth then placed the gauze above his knee. I ripped white strips of tape off the roll to attach the gauze to his leg. “Okay, give it to me.” Trey handed me the bandage and braced his palm flat.

I nudged his knee until he raised his leg. “So, other than white or black, I’m completely open to color.” I wound the bandage around his thigh while we spoke. “Of course, some would argue those aren’t colors. Not me, though. I’ve been planning this for a while.” I said the last bit through clenched teeth.

His bewildered expression annoyed me. As if Trey could ever carry off an innocent look. I patted the stretchy dressing flat, and sighed. “Hold this.” I pressed his hand against the stretchy dressing and then snagged a pair of scissors off Dad’s desk.

Trey reached for the scissors, and I pulled them out of his reach.

Leaning against his good leg, I raised the loose strip.
Snip.
I patted the remainder into place, then took my glitter pen and drew a tiny bow on the seam. “That’s what the bow on top of my prom shoes looks like. I know you shouldn’t buy the shoes first. But wait until you see them.” Trey stared at the bow with a frown.

I tossed the pen at his chest. “Thief,” I said angrily and made my exit.

***

In English class, Lauren turned to John. “Did you hear about our ruined prom?”

“Jumbotrons can cost millions. We were lucky.” John glanced at Trey and bit his top lip.

Lauren narrowed her eyes and her voice rose. “Lucky?”

“When one came up on eBay at a great discount, I knew we had to make our move,” John said. “I called Coach. With football booster money and the prom money, we had enough.”

“No, you didn’t.” Carla, our treasurer, swiveled around in her desk. “We had enough for prom.”

“Prom.” John rolled his eyes. “We left money for the prom.”

“No one can throw a prom on a thousand dollars.” Carla shook the almost blank budget spreadsheet at him.

“Please. A thousand dollars is a ton of money. I could throw a party on that easy.”

I tensed and stared at his clueless blond head, but couldn’t say anything. Trey didn’t take the money. John did. I felt my face flush and my stomach hurt, as I put the pieces together. John had taken the money with Dad’s approval. Dad knew, and Trey was innocent. I turned to Trey, trying to catch his eye to apologize. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

Ms. Herrington glanced up from her desk. “Fine. John, you think it’s so easy? You’re now in charge of prom planning.”

My head snapped to the front. Ms. Herrington sniffed at the eraser on her pencil and pointed from me to John. “Work on a plan and report back to the committee chairperson. Embrace your creativity.”

John paled lighter than the watered down milk in the cafeteria.

I couldn’t stifle a protest. “John? John’s in charge of prom?”

I’d been a member of Sparkle for over a year, ever since my parents’ split. I’d walked into school that Monday, upset, in need a distraction and saw a flyer for Sparkle. The sheet bore the image of a couple in formal wear. One set of parents stood in the background snapping their photo. The other had their arms around each other, looking teary but proud. I volunteered immediately. We had put together last year’s spectacular prom and planned to make this year’s even better. Now, John the Neanderthal was in charge. My breath quickened and I tried not to panic.

John recovered quickly and shrugged his big shoulder. “What? I can do it.”

Trey snickered.

Carla shoved her spreadsheet into a folder and shook her head, her mouth making a moue of disgust.

I wanted to vomit.

I owed a jock an apology.

***

“Wait up,” I called down the hallway.

Trey, chatting up a group of cheerleaders, ignored me.

Ergh. I jogged until I was near enough to reach the red sleeve of his patch-covered letter jacket and grabbed hold. “Wait up.”

His head turned, and he raised his eyebrows. Two cheerleaders hung back to listen.

I rubbed my left temple, eyed the girls, and then circled my gaze back to Trey. “About the, um--” My apology petered out as I saw the attention we were drawing. “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s going on?” One of the cheerleaders asked.

“Could you?” I looked at Trey with wide eyes and jerked my head toward the lockers. My head throbbed at the motion and I rubbed my temple harder.

Zoe bopped into our group, giggling, making the circle three cheerleaders, Trey, and me.

I switched my gaze to Zoe. “Can you give us a sec?”

John shoved his oversized body into the group too, draping his arm around Zoe. “What’s up?” He looked between Zoe and me. “Is Pez giving you some fundraising tips?”

Zoe crossed her arms under her chest and made a huffy sound.

John licked his index finger and made a tick mark in the air. “’Cause Pez skunked your football boosters.”

Zoe rolled her eyes and shrugged, but her mouth tightened. When she’d first joined Sparkle, she’d bragged about being in charge of all the sports boosters. After a few pointed questions from Carla, she’d shut up, because they hadn’t raised much money, ever.

I rubbed a hand over my face and gave up on talking to Trey in private. I eased away. “Never mind.”

My cell phone let out a jingle, playing one of the songs I was considering for prom. Now the tune definitely wouldn’t make the cut because I’d always associate it with the crapfest that was becoming my day.

Text message from Lauren:
What’s our new prom theme? Dollar King and Dairy Queen?

I was still too raw to laugh. We’d spent a year raising that much money. Now, prom was less than three months away.

***

I turned onto Dad’s street, going five miles below the speed limit, and shifted my cell phone under my ear. “I don’t want to go to Dad’s. You won’t believe what he did.” I let all the fury come out in my voice. “He let them use Sparkle committee’s prom money to buy a Jumbotron for the football field.”

“Wow. A Jumbotron? A real one? That’ll be an impressive addition to your dad’s legacy when he switches jobs in the fall.”

“He used the
prom
money.” I spoke a little slower and louder so mom would hear me.

“It’s nice of you to do that for your father.”

“I didn’t do anything.” My voice tightened and I used my shoulder to hold the phone so I could turn off the car’s heater. “They
took
the money.”

“Still, it’s great for the team, and you’re a part of it.”

“Dad won’t even be coaching here next year.” I turned into the drive and punched the button on my garage door opener. One of the double doors lifted with its usual metallic grind.

“Like I said, it’s part of his legacy.”

Aster’s neon green mini Cooper sat in my spot. Dad’s side was empty. I slammed on the brakes and parked behind her. I hit the remote again, lowering the garage door. “Gotta go.”

“Are you at your Dad’s? Is that Aster there?”

Now, Mom’s voice sounded concerned. “I’m here. Gotta go. Bye, Mom.” I clicked off, slammed the CRV’s door, and stomped toward the house. I slapped at the pokey branch of the sago palm on my way in and went straight up to my room.

Concentrating on math wasn’t possible. It reminded me of the $50,000. I grabbed a novel. After reading the same page twice, I threw the book aside. Clicking on the TV didn’t help either, small screen, big screen? Who cared?
It wasn’t the football team’s money.

What would John do with a thousand dollars when we had over six hundred seniors attending? If we lived in a third world country and held the event in the town square, we might bring the cost under a thousand. Did third world countries even have proms? What did they serve? What kind of budget theme could they come up with for a thousand dollars? Could we order stuff from a third world country? I reached for my laptop.

A whirring metallic clank sounded from outside. The garage again.

I ran to the staircase. Dad came in and I stopped halfway down. I gripped the oak handrail with a tight clasp. “How could you?”

Dad set his gym tote on the tile and lifted a stack of mail from the end table. “You heard, huh? I knew you’d be upset.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

Dad shuffled the envelopes. “Things happened too fast and online auction deals fall through sometimes. We weren’t sure the buy would happen.” A grin emerged on his face. Even under my fierce glare, he couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his eyes. “A Jumbotron for the high school.” He shook his head. “Who else has that? Not Tomball. Not Magnolia...”

“It’s not fair. That was the prom money.”

“Life’s not fair.” Dad returned his gaze to the mail and continued talking as he walked out of the foyer. “You’ll get ‘em next time.”

I followed him, so put out the steps seemed four feet high. When I reached the bottom, I was surprised I hadn’t fallen.

“When adversity rises, it’s an opportunity for you to make things happen. Show ‘em what you’re made of. Don’t whine about fairness.” Dad shook his head. “What’s your Plan B?”

Aster interrupted his question by coming in through the French doors. She wore a thigh-length mesh cover-up over her bikini and carried a beach towel.