Leah on the Offbeat
Page 17

Bram smiles.
“Like, how did you even find that?”
“It was a team effort,” Bram says.
“I hate all of you so much.”
Abby appears beside me, out of nowhere. “That was so epic,” she murmurs.
“I can’t even handle it.”
She smiles faintly. “I know.”
And then my mouth disconnects from my brain. It’s the only explanation. Because I’m saying it. I’m just going for it. “So you’ve probably made other plans or whatever, but . . .” It dies in my throat. Why the hell is this so hard?
“Are you asking me to prom, Leah Burke?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “We’re literally standing five feet away from your boyfriend, and I’m asking you to prom.”
She raises her eyebrows, like she can’t decide if I’m kidding. So that’s a twelve out of ten on the awkward scale. Do I really have to clarify that I’m not asking Abby to prom?
“I’m not asking you to prom, Abby.”
“Oh well.”
My cheeks flush. For a minute, neither of us speaks.
“Okay, but seriously,” I say finally. “This road trip thing . . .”
Abby gasps. “Are you saying you want to road trip to Athens?”
I shrug. “I mean, if you’re still up for it.”
“AM I UP FOR IT?” she yells, flinging her arms around me. And I feel it in my stomach, like a tiny buzzing cell phone.
12
SO, PROM FEVER IS A thing.
Literally all Simon wants to do now is watch the promposal video, over and over. He even texted it to his mom. And Nick and Abby are back to their obnoxiously happy normal, holding hands in English class and discussing corsages over lunch. It’s like a looming apocalypse, but with formal wear.
And then there’s Garrett, who keeps watching me with this weird, twinkly expression. I catch Bram at his locker on Thursday and make him tell it to me straight. “Is Garrett going to prompose to me?”
“Um,” says Bram.
“Please tell me he’s not planning something public.”
God, I’ll die. I just can’t. It’s not like I have issues with Garrett. Honestly, I wouldn’t even mind going to prom with him. But public promposals are my actual worst nightmare. This stuff is awkward enough without the audience. “Seriously, I need to know.”
“Well . . .” Bram bites his lip.
“Got it.” I grimace. “So, like . . . when is this happening?”
“Lunch,” he says. “Um. Do you want me to . . .”
I pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”
I mean, yeah. I’ll go to prom with Garrett. I don’t care. We’ll go as friends. As buds. As bros. It will be fun. We’ll take some god-awful staircase pictures, and hopefully I won’t stab him with a corsage pin. Accidentally, probably.
I find him camped out in the library. “Hey, can we talk?”
He peers up at me in surprise. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Privately.” He follows me over to the magazine racks, and I don’t even hesitate. “Okay, here’s the thing. I know what you’re planning.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“Listen. I’ll go to prom with you, okay?”
His jaw drops.
I blush. “If you want. I mean. We don’t—”
“Yeah—Burke. Yeah, I want to,” he says slowly. “Let’s—but, uh, you’re kind of stealing my thunder here.”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “That’s kind of the point.”
“You don’t want my thunder?”
“Literally not even a little bit.”
“But.” He rubs his forehead, face breaking into a smile. “You’ll go to prom with me? For real?”
“Sure.”
“Dude.” He beams. Then he wraps me in a bear hug, and it’s actually sort of sweet. This kid. This blue-eyed boy who calls me by my last name and never shuts up. My prom date. That actually happened. I just asked a boy out. Or he asked me. I guess we asked each other.
Anyway, it’s done, and I did it, and I guess I’m going to prom. With a date. I’m an actual high school cliché. A part of me feels like I should announce this. In fact, people do announce this shit on the creeksecrets Tumblr. There’s even a list of prom couples, kept up to date in the notes section. I guess it’s to save people from those excruciating Harry-asking-Cho-to-the-Yule-Ball situations. Though, let’s be real: if Katie Leung sweetly rejecting Daniel Radcliffe in a Scottish accent wasn’t your sexual awakening, I don’t even want to know you.
I just wish I knew how to feel about Garrett. This shouldn’t be so complicated. It has to be easier for people with penises. Does this person get you hard? Yes? Done. I used to think boners literally pointed in the direction of the person you’re attracted to, like a compass. That would be helpful. Mortifying as fuck, but at least it would clarify things.
I’m home before Mom—there’s a note on the fridge that says to call her at work when I get there. And out of nowhere, I remember a thing Abby told me right after she moved here. Her dad was still in DC at the time, and I guess he thought Shady Creek was some drug-fueled bacchanalia fuckland, because he didn’t want Abby to go anywhere after dark. He used to call her on the house phone to make sure she was really there. Foolproof dad-maneuver, except for the part where Abby forwarded all her landline calls to her cell. Not that I’m randomly thinking of Abby Suso again.
I sink onto the couch and dial Mom’s office number. She picks up on the first ring.
“How come you didn’t tell me there was a promposal video?”
I grin. “Who told you?”
“Alice Spier shared it from Simon’s Facebook.”
God, you have to love how my mom isn’t friends with my friends’ parents. She’s friends with their siblings.
“I need details,” Mom says.
So, I tell her everything. Or I try to. I’m not sure it’s possible to put into words what it looks like when Garrett dances.
And—okay. I guess I should tell her about Garrett asking me to prom. I’m almost scared of how happy it will make her. She has a thing about school dances. She went to all of them, even as a freshman—even junior prom, when she was four and a half months pregnant. She has this theory that every teen movie should end in a prom scene.
“I think every teen movie does end in a prom scene,” I’d told her.
She thinks it’s romantic. She explained it to me once. “It’s this night where all the usual drama gets suspended. Everyone looks different. And everyone’s a little more generous with each other.” I remember she paused after she said that, and for one horrible moment, I thought that might be a euphemism. But then Mom added softly, “I remember the feeling like it was okay to care. To not be so blasé. There’s something really earnest about school dances.”
I’ve never known how to respond to that. Cool, Mom. Glad that worked out for you. I don’t know. Maybe some of us like being blasé.
I squeeze my eyes shut, already dreading this. “So I asked Garrett to prom.”
My mom gasps. “Leah.”
“And it’s not a big deal, okay? It’s just Garrett. It’s not a thing. We’re just going as friends.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. I can actually hear her smiling.
“Mom.”
“I’m just wondering. Does Garrett know you’re going as friends?”
“Mom. Yes.”
Except—shit. I don’t know. I mean, I think we’re going as friends. No one said it was a romantic thing. But maybe prom is romantic by default. Is this a thing I have to specify? Can ambiguous social situations kindly go fuck themselves?
Of course, as soon as I hang up, there’s a text waiting for me from Garrett. So I’ll talk to Greenfeld and we can figure out limo and dinner and everything! Prom’s going to be so baller this year, I can’t wait
Garrett saying baller. Now my mind can’t un-hear it.