Prom Crashers Read online

  “Marshall.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “No reason. Isn’t your prom this weekend? Who are you taking?” Emily mentally crossed her fingers. This was a long shot, but she was suddenly realizing she may have an in at her very first prom.

  Neil blushed. “I … ah … I’m not going.” He looked sad and a little vulnerable.

  “Why not?” Emily feigned surprise. She moved in closer to Neil, groaning inwardly. Sacrifices, sacrifices, she thought.

  “Couldn’t find the right girl.”

  “That’s crazy!” Emily blurted out, feeling only slightly guilty. I am a terrible person. “Do you want to go?”

  Neil’s face brightened. He was beginning to catch on. “Hey! You should go with me.”

  “I don’t even go to your school,” Emily said, not caring in the least.

  “That’s perfect!” Neil exclaimed. Emily realized she would be arm candy—no one would know who she was, and it would make Neil look like he was some sort of stud outside school walls, since she could only imagine he wasn’t the coolest guy at Marshall. But you never know, she mused. Neil looked giddy. “I mean, it doesn’t matter if you don’t go to Marshall. It would be fun. Whaddaya say?”

  “Yeah, okay. Can I get your number?” This would be a perfect arrangement—she could give Neil girl credibility with his friends; he would be her in at prom number one.

  Neil grinned in a way that made Emily feel a little oozy. “Sure, babe.”

  “Neil.” Emily leaned over the counter. “Do not call me babe. We’re not there yet.”

  He flushed. “Got it.” Neil scribbled his number on a piece of Dress Yourself in Diamante stationery. “Should I pick you up at seven?”

  “Oh.” She didn’t want Neil to know where she lived, nor did she want her parents to find out about this. The image of Neil pulling up in her driveway and shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Bronson while Emily paraded down the stairs in her prom dress made her want to gag. She’d have to get ready at Charlie’s and make up some excuse for why she was going out. Prom pictures with Neil were not suitable for the family photo album. “Why don’t we just meet here?”

  “At the mall?”

  “Yeah.” Emily nodded. “I’ll meet you right here at seven. That’s enough time, right?”

  “There’s never enough time for Neil.”

  “Right.” Emily gritted her teeth, then smiled. “I’ll see you Saturday. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Later that night when Emily got home, she flipped on the computer in her family room. She had a paper due in Honors English the next day and had six scenes left to read in King Lear before she had any hope of pulling something legible together.

  But the last thing she felt like doing was reading the final pages. She would much rather catch up on Gawker Stalker scoop, and her NYU acceptance letter gave her the security of knowing she could coast for the next few weeks.

  As she surfed through the day’s celebri-gossip an IM popped up in the lower-left corner of her computer screen.

  M: Hey.

  Emily smiled. Max lived next door but always IMed. He was constantly online finding unusual story ideas. In addition to the grapefruit diet and cheese-rind-bear-carving stories, he was also developing a story about yurts—whatever yurts were.

  E: hey back.

  M: How was the rest of work?

  E: so exciting, how’s yr story?

  M: I’m learning how to make turducken.

  E: ??

  M: It’s a chicken that’s cooked in a duck that’s cooked in a turkey. Crazy!!

  E: i’m a better person for knowing that. tx.

  M: What r u up to?

  E: wasting time, u?

  M: Avoiding my Lear paper.

  E: clearly. *sigh*

  M: Movie?

  E: k. here or there?

  M: There in a sec.

  Emily smiled and flipped off the computer. She headed toward the kitchen to get a bag of chips. Emily and Max had had at least one movie night a week for as long as she could remember. Max was a freelance movie reviewer for a local online arts website. He was using the movie reviewing to get an in with the editors so that he could work on features and profiles. But he’d been writing reviews for a year and, despite a ton of pitches, had yet to land a feature—though he did get to screen some really bad films. Emily loved to join him and make fun of the worst ones.

  She had been thinking a lot lately about what she was going to do next year without their regular movie nights to look forward to. They’d hung out almost every day since third grade. Even when both Emily and Max had been grounded for setting up a bug dissection lab in Max’s kitchen—using Max’s mom’s good silver and china as tools—they had still “chatted” through their secret flashlight communication system. (Both hid flashlights under their mattresses and devised an illogical Morse code to communicate, just in case aliens had taken over their neighborhood.)

  Now that college was drawing nearer, Emily wasn’t sure what she was going to do when Max was in Appleton, Wisconsin, and she was all the way out in New York. Max poked his head around the corner and peered into the family room. “There you are. Your sister said you weren’t home.”

  “As far as she’s concerned, I’m not.” Emily’s little sister, Abby, was an eight-year-old “accident” who was now just a pain in her butt. Emily often came home from work and quietly tiptoed into the house without greeting anyone. She needed a few minutes of peace before the questions (from her sister) and advice (from her mom) started.

  Lately her mom had been on a nonstop prom kick. She hadn’t yet accepted the fact that her little girl might not be going. So she left magazines on the coffee table with dog-eared pages showcasing dresses she thought would look good on Emily. Emily didn’t know what her mom would do when she found out that she had (a) selected a dress without her mom’s guidance (that, PS, she didn’t even buy) and (b) decided to go to every prom in the city except her own. She hoped to keep her crashing scheme a secret from her family as long as possible.

  “I brought Never Been Kissed.” Max beamed.

  Emily smiled. “Perfect.” As she nestled into the couch next to her best friend, giggling at the opening scene of the movie, she couldn’t keep Sid’s question from niggling in the back of her mind. That’s crazy, she thought, dismissing the idea of her and Max together. This is perfect.

  Four

  The next afternoon, Emily waited for Max at her locker after school. Earlier that day he had stuck a note written on a chewing gum wrapper through her locker door, asking her to wait for him after chemistry class. She had the afternoon off work and knew Max would offer up some distraction to kill the time, so she happily obliged. Max appeared at her locker a few minutes after the last bell with two pairs of roller skates tucked under his arm.

  “Uh-oh.” Emily nodded toward the roller skates. “What’s up?”

  Max grinned mischievously. “I need your help.”

  “I figured as much. What’s the plan?”

  “New story idea,” Max declared. “I’m going to write a piece on the benefits of roller skates. I think they’re about to make a comeback. I want to figure out how easy it is to get around on eight wheels.”

  Emily looked at him, her face blank. “You’re serious? What happened to the cheese rind story? And the grapefruit diet stuff? And the turduck—thing?”

  “I’m on to new pastures,” Max said happily. “Those stories were going nowhere. This”—he held a pair of the skates out to Emily—“is going to be a good one.”

  She grabbed the skates and slammed her locker closed. “You’ll drive, right? I was going to take the bus home.”

  Max nodded. “I’ll drive as far as downtown. But then we can only go places we can get to on foot-wheels.”

  “Okay,” Emily agreed. “I’ll go on one condition.” She twisted her hair into a knot and fastened it with a pencil from her backpack. “As long as we’re going downtown …”

  She paused and Max
broke in. “Don’t pretend to be difficult. I know you’re going to go with me—you always do, and that’s why I like you. And you know I’m going to agree to your condition, so what’s the use of pretending to play hard to get, Emily B.?”

  Emily laughed. “All true.” She linked arms with Max as they strode out to the parking lot. “Here’s my condition: I want to stop by that little vintage-type shop. You know, the one by the ice cream place? I told Ethan he should check it out, and I want to see if he’s been there yet. Maybe we can find out his last name.”

  “Em, I will agree to your condition”—Max unlocked the car—“provided we can get there on skates.”

  She grinned. “I feel confident the shop is eight-wheel accessible.” They hopped in Max’s car, chatting about their day and their upcoming plans for their first prom crash. When they got downtown, Max parked his car at a meter and they fastened their skates. Emily rolled away from the car. “I haven’t done this since I was about eight years old.”

  “Exactly!” Max cried. “But it’s a very respectable form of transportation. I think our afternoon will be much more fun on skates.”

  Emily laughed. Max was a total goofball, and when they were together, he always came up with the weirdest things for them to do. But his ideas only took him so far—Max didn…t always have the nerve to go through with his crazy ideas if Emily wasn’t around. He needed her nearby to give him the courage to go for it. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  They skated down the sidewalk, ignoring the looks they were getting from the businesspeople walking past. Emily stumbled a few times, but Max helped keep her upright. He grabbed her arm as they rolled past a local modern art museum and pulled her into the doorway.

  “Should we go in?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Quick pit stop?”

  “Why not?” Emily shrugged, slightly relieved to get away from the obvious stares of the people on the street. “Will it help your story?” Since she was dragging him to the vintage shop, she figured she owed him a few minutes.

  Max nodded seriously. “Most definitely. This is a great example of one of the cool places your wheels can take you. So many people think museums, galleries, what have you, take too long to fully enjoy.” He lifted a leg, balancing on one skate. “With roller skates, you can get through the whole museum in, like, ten minutes.”

  They smiled politely at the guy manning the front desk, who barely even noticed their skates. Student admission was free, so they both flashed their high school IDs and rolled into the first room in the gallery. Emily wheeled sideways behind Max, forming her legs into an awkward plié. She stuck her arms out to her sides to balance and took in all the art passing by in front of her.

  After they wheeled through the whole gallery—which had in fact taken less than ten minutes—Max led her back outside. “Where now?”

  “Vintage shop,” Emily declared. “As agreed.”

  Max followed as Emily skated down the sidewalk. “What are the odds I’ll sell a story someday?” he asked suddenly. “Fifty-fifty? Eighty-twenty?”

  “One hundred-zero. Or the other way around—whichever means the odds are for you. You’re a great writer. You maybe just need to find your audience. Your stories are a little more niche than editors are accustomed to. For example, how relevant is roller skating in an art gallery?” She wasn’t telling Max something he didn’t already know. He was aware that his story ideas were out there, but continued to go after the subjects that made him laugh.

  “Yeah, okay.” Max nodded. “Is this the place?” He gestured to a wooden door set back from the sidewalk.

  Emily pulled the door open and started down a narrow set of stairs on her skates. “This is it. Are you coming?” She turned back to Max, who stood at the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah,” he said slowly, eyeing the steep stairs. “I think I’ll just hang out here. Keep an eye on things.”

  She laughed. “Uh-huh.” He really was a chicken. All talk, no do. “I’ll be right back.” Downstairs, the little shop smelled like a combination of cinnamon and closet. There was a stick of incense burning on the counter, obviously there to mask the smell of old, musty clothes. “Hi,” she greeted the clerk, who was a middle-aged guy wearing a fedora.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Emily rolled gingerly through the packed racks of clothing, approaching the counter. “Strange question,” she started.

  The guy cut her off. “I doubt it. Try me.”

  “So I met this guy …” She told an abbreviated version of how she’d met Ethan, lost his number, and how she was now trying to find him again. “Anyway, he was looking for a tux for prom, and it was sort of a rare style, so I suggested he check here.”

  The clerk whistled. “Thanks for the referral. I can give you an extra punch on your loyalty card if you want.”

  “Oh, you know what, that’s okay.” Emily looked at him curiously. He thought she had told that story for praise? Yikes. “I was actually wondering if you remember a guy coming in and asking about a tux? I’m sort of hoping you might remember his last name.”

  “Yeah.” The clerk nodded.

  “Yeah?” Emily asked hopefully.

  “There was some guy in here yesterday afternoon—about this time, maybe. He asked about a tux. Pretty hot, right?” Ewwww, Emily thought. The clerk was old enough to be Ethan’s dad.

  Emily ignored the question. “So he was here? Yesterday?” Her heart sank. Had she come one day earlier, she might have caught him. Talk about meant-to-be.

  “Yeah, yesterday. But I didn’t get his name. We didn’t have the tux, so he left.” The clerk extracted a new stick of incense from a small bag under the counter. “Swoosh—off like the wind.”

  “Oh.” Emily’s disappointment was obvious. “Well, thanks anyway.” She started back to the stairs.

  “If it helps,” the clerk called after her, “he was wearing a sweatshirt with an M on it.”

  “M?” Emily perked up. “Like, M for Marshall or Memorial?”—two of the schools’ proms they were planning to crash.

  “Maybe.” He looked strained, as though the process of digging into his memory was a full day’s workout. “I do know it said Minnesota on the back.”

  She sunk again. “So probably more like M for Minnesota? Like, University of Minnesota?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it was.”

  “Not helpful,” Emily muttered, and climbed slowly back up the stairs to meet Max.

  “Where have you been, Emily? Why do you have roller skates, Emily?” Emily had walked in to her house less than ten seconds earlier, and her sister had already managed to squeeze in approximately eight hundred questions. “Do I look pretty, Emily?”

  Emily ignored all of her sister’s questions, choosing instead to ask one of her own. “Where did you get that dress, Abby?” Her little sister was drowning in a sea-foam green lace gown with puffy, pleated sleeves. The dress fell past her ankles and had slid off one of her shoulders. Her hair was combed into two small ponytails over each of her ears. Emily grinned, despite her annoyance at the question barrage. Abby looked really cute.

  “Do you like it?” Abby twirled. “Do I look like mom?” She hopped in place, making the dress slip farther off her shoulder. She tripped on the bottom of the dress and fell to the floor in a fit of giggles.

  “Oh, Emily, you’re home.” Emily’s mom came into the front hall from the kitchen. She helped Abby up off the floor and slipped the dress back onto her younger daughter’s shoulder. “I found my old prom dress! I thought maybe you girls could try it on, just for a laugh. Doesn’t Abby look cute?”

  Emily groaned. The next four weeks were going to be really long. “Mom,” she warned. “You promised to stop nagging me about prom.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic,” her mom chided. “It’s just for fun.”

  “No, Mom, it’s not just for fun. You’re trying to get me in a prom state of mind so that you can do all your voodoo prom magic on me and try to get
me to sit down and look through catalogs with you. I still don’t have a date … which means I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to shop for a dress.”

  Abby stared up at Emily, then slipped her mom’s dress up and over her head. Under the dress, she was wearing a T-shirt and It’s Happy Bunny boxer shorts that said “You’d be cooler if you were me.” “Want to try it on, Emily?” she offered. “Don’t you think you’d be pretty in Mom’s dress? Don’t you just love prom?”

  “Argh!” Emily kicked off her shoes and walked toward the family room. “I haven’t even been home for five minutes, and I’m getting attacked by Mother Prom and her little Promling. Can you guys please, please, just give me a few minutes of peace?” She sighed dramatically. “Besides, that is the ugliest dress on the face of the Earth.”

  Her mom laughed in the hallway. “We love you, Emily. Don’t worry about the dress—sea-foam green really isn’t your color anyway. We’ll find you the perfect prom dress. Maybe navy?” Emily ignored her and shut the door to the family room. The computer was on, and she logged onto IM, hoping Max was around. He was online, as always.

  E: my mom’s making me nuts.

  M: Candied walnuts?? I like candied walnuts.

  E: ha. she’s giving me massive prom pressure.

  M: Did u tell her about the crashing?

  E: um. no.

  M: Should I suggest she go 2 the mall on Sat night 2 snap some pics of u and Neil?

  E: !!!!!! u better not!

  M: R u ok?

  E: yeah, a little annoyed, but i know she’s just really into prom.

  M: So r u.

  E: which is why i don’t want her 2 remind me every 4 secs that i don’t have a date.

  M: U will have a date. Soon enough.

  E: i hope so. ready 4 sat?

  M: Yup. My tux is pressed, my hair’s been washed. I’m good 2 go.

  E: great, clean hair’s a plus.

  M: Agreed. … r u gonna be ok?

  E: yeah, have a good night, k, max?

  M: U 2. Prom #1 here we come!

  Five

  Emily clutched the bottom of her dress in her fist, fabric pulled taut over the back of her thighs. She knew that when she released the ball of shimmery pink satin, it would be wrinkled and sweaty. She didn’t care.