Prom (15 page)

When we left, Nat said he was hitting on me. I punched her and said that was sick, because he had to be, like, thirty years old.
Ew.

When I finally got home, there was laundry piled everywhere in the kitchen. My so-called prom dress, the one Ma scammed at the mall, was hanging off the kitchen door. She must have been showing it off again. Billy was drawing in his Spider-Man coloring book at the kitchen table. Nat’s grandmother was sitting next to him sewing something.

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

“I dunno.” Billy gave Spider-Man orange eyes.

“Who’s watching you?”

He pointed his crayon at Grandma. “She is.”

Grandma smiled at me. She hadn’t put her teeth in. She patted Billy’s head and gave him a kiss.

“Can you make her stop kissing me?”

“Probably not,” I said.

Ma came in holding her purse and the car keys. “There you are. I thought you were never coming home.”

“Do you think Grandma here has enough marbles to babysit?” I asked. “What if he decided to run with scissors or something?”

“She’s not babysitting Billy. I’m babysitting her. The people who were watching her took her home before lunch. She kept getting in the bathtub with her clothes on. She came here and I gave her some ravioli. Since then she’s just been sewing. It’s a shame they have to put her in a home. She’s not that bad when you get used to her.”

I opened a package of Pop-Tarts. “They found a home already?” I whispered.

“You can speak up. She doesn’t speak English, you know.”

Grandma babbled again and took Billy’s black crayon.

“That’s sad,” I said. “About the home, I mean.”

Ma took a Pop-Tart from the box. “I know. I’m starting to like the old lady. Must be my hormones or something.”

“Something.”

Grandma picked up a purple crayon and colored Spider-Man’s shoes. Billy giggled.

Ma bit her Pop-Tart. “If Nat’s back, why don’t you take her home. Then you can carry the laundry to the car for me.”

I had a choice—go to the Laundromat with Ma, or stay home and put the boys to bed. I stayed home. Then Dad gave me the choice of taping drywall in the basement or putting the boys to bed. Great choices, huh?

I played three hands of poker with Steven and Shawn. The first two hands we played for M&Ms and I let them each win once, leaving me with only one piece of candy, a brown one. Then I upped the stakes—if they won, they’d each get twenty bucks. If I won, they had to go to bed in three minutes, lights out in ten.

They fell for it.

Two jacks and a pair of sevens later, I was sending them up to brush their teeth.

Billy was harder because he would only play Go Fish and that takes forever. There was no way out of it.

“Okay, I’ll read a story. What do you want?”

“Nice try. Something shorter.”

“It’ll give you nightmares.”

“I like nightmares.”

“Last chance, kid, or I’m turning out the light.”

“Make up a story.”

“What?”

“Make up a story. Like Dad does.”

“I’m not good at making stuff up.”

“You promised.”

“What is it with everybody around here? Geez.”

We shoved the dog off his bed, and Billy snuggled in next to me. He tucked Binky Rabbit under his arm and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

“I do not see that thumb in your mouth, do I?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, just so we’re clear. Ma asks, I didn’t see a thing. Move over a little, I can’t breathe. All right. Once upon a time . . .”

The story started out like Beauty and the Beast, but I gave Beauty a personal assistant and a chauffeur. Beauty ran into Cinderella at the mall and told her that with her eyes, she’d look great in a sky-blue dress with silver jewelry. They went to a spa and got facials and massages, and Cinderella got the prince to invite Beauty and the Beast with them on a double date out to dinner at a French restaurant with a champagne fountain and lobster. The more I talked, the easier it got, until they ended the night in a hot air balloon that landed on Rodeo Drive.

“And they shopped happily ever after,” I said. “There. That didn’t totally suck, did it?”

Billy was sound asleep. I didn’t know if that meant that the story was so boring it knocked him out, or that it was so good it knocked him out. It didn’t really matter. The boys were all down for the night, and me and Mutt had the TV to ourselves.

School in May tended to be optional, especially if the sun was shining. That’s why I was confused on Tuesday. The halls were crowded like it was September. And people were talking.

Lauren and Nat took over Health by telling Ms. J-A about how Mr. Banks wouldn’t let us put condoms in the goodie bags for the prom. This made Ms. J-A turn seven different shades of mad, and we were in for another condom lecture, though I shouldn’t complain, because some kids in that class still didn’t get it. I loved it when we got to talk about sex in class and not get in trouble for it, even if all we could talk about was the negatives: you know, don’t get pregnant or your life is over, don’t get HIV or your life is over, don’t get an STD or your life is over and your crotch will stink and itch.

After the lecture, Ms. J-A forced me go to the Media Center to deal with the mystery overdue book fines. They had sent me four notices, and now they were threatening to send dogs after me.

They used to call it the library, but after they stuck in a bunch of computers and ripped out the card catalog, it was suddenly a Media Center. The librarians were magically—
poof!
—turned into Media Centerians.

It was still a boring, boring, boring, boring room, no matter what they called it.

The Media Centerian guy wouldn’t let me finish one single sentence. I gave him my student number and he printed out my account. He claimed I had borrowed five books
(five!!)
before Christmas, and I had to return them or pay for them.

I had never heard of the books or the authors. In fact, I was pretty sure I had never, ever borrowed anything, in my almost four years at Carceras. He checked his computer and said yes, the missing five were the first books I had ever borrowed. I tried whining and looking cute, but he acted like he didn’t care.

“Books are expensive,” he said.

“No shit,” I said.

“We don’t allow that language in here,” he said.

“What about that freedom of speech thing?” I asked.

“It doesn’t apply in high school. You don’t have a choice, Miss Hannigan. You have to pay.”

The lunch line was buzzing. The kids waiting for pizza gossiped about who was asking who to the prom or waiting to be asked to the prom. The guys waiting for cheeseburgers were talking about the best place to go to dinner—restaurants that were cheap, classy, and would serve underaged teens, or not bitch if you brought your own bottle of Jack. Three girls at the salad bar were giggling about some dude in front of the candy machine, trying to get the nerve to ask him.

I bought a plate of french fries and a cup of ketchup. Lauren and Monica were sitting behind the cash box. Next to them was a handmade sign:

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know what happened,” Monica said. “Yesterday we couldn’t give these things away. Today we can’t sell them fast enough.”

I sat next to Lauren and pushed my plate of fries where we could all reach them. “Did we make our quota?”

Lauren pointed at the list of ticket buyers with a fry. “We made it and then some. Right now we’ve got a third of the senior class coming, and a whole bunch more reserved tickets that they promised to buy by the end of school tomorrow.”

Monica dipped her pinkie finger in the ketchup and sucked it off. “Ketchup is a vegetable, you know. Hardly any calories. Guess who was first in line today?”

I was pretty sure I knew, but I shrugged my shoulders.

“Persia Faulkner! Can you believe it? I can’t believe it. Persia Faulkner.”

“That’s why we’ve had this run,” Lauren said. “Where Persia leads, the masses follow. And by the way, Mon, ketchup has corn syrup in it. That means massive calories.”

Monica pushed the ketchup away from her and pouted.

“What did Nat say?” I asked.

Lauren dropped out of the conversation to sell a pair of tickets to a couple of goths. Monica tilted her head to one side.

“I haven’t seen Nat all day. Didn’t you drive in with her?”

“Yeah, she was in Health. She hasn’t stopped by here?”

The goths slid away from the table. Lauren put their money in the box, grinning. “If all those freaks come, that’s another dozen tickets. They move in a pack, you know.”

“You seen Nat?” I asked.

“She had a meeting with the English teachers about PDAs. Last I saw she was hanging on the lockers trying to get down the hall in those damn shoes.”

I dunked a couple fries in ketchup and ate them. “Maybe she went home to check on her grandma. My mom had to work, and there was nobody who could babysit her.”

“Maybe she’ll bring Granny’s walker to help her with those shoes,” Lauren said.

“Maybe I’ll just stop eating totally,” Monica said with a sigh.

I got called into Mr. Banks’s office after lunch. At first, I thought I was getting nailed for my attitude in the Media Center, but then I realized it could be worse. Did he know about my detention scam? That was more of a Gilroy thing, not a Banks thing. Was he still mad about the condoms?

The secretary pointed me to Banks’s office. When I stepped through the door, Banks was typing on a keyboard and staring at his computer screen.

“Ashley. Have a seat, please. ”

I sat.

He pushed his keyboard away. “We have a couple of crucial decisions that must be made immediately.”

“Huh?”

“The commemorative glasses, for one. My secretary called around. Given your budget restrictions, we can’t go as big as a milk or juice glass. I am concerned about the message sent by the smaller glasses, but if we call them commemoratives, we shouldn’t hear too many complaints from the community.”

He flipped a piece of paper on his desk. “And I still haven’t received your complete security plan. We need to coordinate a meeting with Mr. Gilroy, our head of security, and the township police department. Who knows, we might also consider notifying the sheriff ’s office, just in case. You can never be too secure, can you?”

I put my hand up. “Um, Mr. Banks?”

“Yes?”

“With all respect, what the heck are you talking about?”

He scribbled a note on the paper and looked up. “Why, the prom, of course.”

“Oh.” I scratched an itch on my nose. “So why are you talking to me about it?”

“Because no one can seem to locate our Miss Shulmensky.”

“Oh.”

“Now Mr. Gilroy says he has time available tomorrow at lunch if we can get the police chief in. If not, it’ll have to be a phone conference.”

I raised my hand again. It felt dumb, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“Um, Mr. Banks?”

“What is it now?”

“Why aren’t you talking to Monica or Lauren? They’ve been on the prom committee all year. I’m just kind of like Nat’s assistant, you know, got her back and everything. But I can’t make decisions. I don’t know nothing.”

“Anything. You don’t know anything. But I beg to differ. Natalia told me personally that you were number two in this operation and that if she were tied up, I could consult with you.”

“Okay, that’s nuts. How about we find Nat. She’s way better at all this stuff.”

He sighed. “She seems to be, ahh, we can’t find her.”

“Did you call her house?”

“Several times. And her father’s emergency contact number. Do you know where she is?”

“I think so.” I explained about her grandmother, how her brain was crumbling and all. “Maybe something happened. Maybe she . . . ”

“Aaah. Possibly. I had no idea.” He wrote another note on his pad. “Thank you for telling me.”

I pushed the chair back.

“Hold on,” he said. “What about the glasses? And security?”

“Order the glasses. Call them what you want. And make Mr. Gilroy call the police chief himself. You’re the boss, aren’t you? He pushes you around too much. Can I go now?”

He blinked slowly. “One more thing. A personal comment, if I may. I was worried we were going to lose you this year. You’d be amazed at how many kids drop out in the months and weeks before they graduate.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Yes, well, you’re still on thin ice, what with your grades and spotty attendance. We have to adhere to our standards, you know, regardless of enthusiastic extracurricular effort.”

“The tassel is worth the hassle, Mr. Banks.”

“Truer words were never spoken. Thank you for your assistance in these matters. And please keep me informed about Miss Shulmensky’s family situation.”