It should go without saying, but there is definitely a right and wrong way to dress for prom.
For girls: Dresses. Long, short, slinky, sophisticated . . . just make sure it covers all the essentials, please. And wear heels.
For boys: No jeans. No sneakers. No sweatpants.
Let’s all try to exceed expectations, shall we?
—from “Dressed to Impress,”
by Lisa Anne Montgomery
Published by The Smithsonian Online Edition
Logan looked like he’d been Tasered.
He was momentarily slack-jawed as he stared at Mackenzie, who for once didn’t trip over her own feet. “You look . . . um . . .”
Mackenzie grinned up at him cheekily and then adjusted the bodice of the dress, which really didn’t need any straightening. “That good, huh?”
Logan pulled her up against him. “Definitely.”
Whatever Mackenzie was going to say was cut off as Isobel emerged from the bedroom and locked eyes on Spencer. After the whole va-va-voom moment Mackenzie had had with Logan, I wasn’t sure what to expect. For half a second I was worried Spencer would ruin the whole night by saying something like, “Um . . . I can wait for you to change,” but then I realized his smile hadn’t wavered an inch.
“Hey, Belle.”
“Hey, hotshot. Nice corsage.”
Spencer glanced down at his wrist as if he had completely forgotten the flowers. “Well, since you did the inviting, I thought it was only fair that I get to keep the flowers.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Isobel took hold of his hand and began tugging him toward the exit. “Well, it’s been fun, everyone, but I think Spencer owes me a slice of pizza.”
“Extra anchovies, if anyone is interested.” Spencer dodged a playful mock punch. “No takers? Excellent. See you later.”
Pausing only for a brief wave good-bye, Isobel and Spencer raced toward his car and the last I heard was her chortling, “I beat you! I won fair and square, hotshot!” before they climbed inside and drove away.
“I guess the sneakers were a good call, then.” Melanie shook her head as if that would help her process what she had just witnessed. “Looks like you were right, Corey.”
“That shouldn’t come as a surprise,” I said haughtily, knowing that it would get a laugh out of Mackenzie.
“And on that note . . . we’re off too.”
“Hold up, Mackenzie.” Dylan pulled out a camera. “Mom’s working a late shift tonight, so she made me promise. Get into formation.”
“Why don’t we leave the photography to Scott? I’m sure he’ll be taking photos at prom. . . .”
“Not good enough. Say cheese, Mackenzie.”
She managed a pretty frozen-looking smile, but that changed when Logan gripped her waist and dipped her into a dramatic kiss.
Dylan snapped a few photos before he started to get uncomfortable. “Could you hold off on making out with my sister? Please. This is . . . just . . . no.”
Logan straightened, but still kept Mackenzie pressed flush against him. Dylan might have had a problem with it, but Mackenzie certainly didn’t. She was absolutely glowing, and it had nothing to do with her outfit.
“Okay, so now we’re leaving,” Logan said smoothly as he held open the door for Mackenzie. I wasn’t sure if she was weak-kneed from that kiss or if the heels just brought out her clumsy side, but she took one step and nearly fell on her face.
“See you at the dance, Corey,” she managed to say as if she had planned to trip all along.
And then it was just me—standing in the hallway of Mackenzie’s house—playing the role of third wheel for a couple who definitely wanted me gone.
“Good seeing you, Corey.” Dylan clapped me on the back as he escorted me to the porch. “Have a great night.”
Melanie’s eyes were lit with excitement and I couldn’t hide a smile of my own. “You too.”
Dylan shut the door in my face, but I could still hear Melanie protest, “Dylan! You can’t just throw him—”
The sudden silence left no question in my mind that they wouldn’t be discussing me for the rest of the night. They were so freaking cute together that I smiled as I climbed into my car, although the grin faded as I drove aimlessly around Forest Grove. The dance wouldn’t begin for another hour, but I couldn’t bring myself to go out to eat. I didn’t want to sit alone in my well-tailored suit and pretend that I enjoyed the isolation.
Table for one, please. Oh yes, I do have a date. He just can’t be seen in public with me at the event.
So I killed some time winding around the residential areas and glancing in the rearview mirror to check that I didn’t have anyone tailing the car. I assumed the press was too busy following Tim to spare much attention for me, but I had been wrong on that count before. Which was why I drove into Portland and passed the Leftbank Annex without even trying to find a parking space. Sure enough, there was a crowd of paparazzi staking out the entrance and they didn’t appear to be enjoying their conversation with the bouncer on duty. Or maybe it was Darryl, it was kind of hard for me to tell for sure.
One thing was clear, I’d be safe once I got inside—or at least as safe as I could be in a place where jerks like Alex Thompson planned on making an appearance. So I drove into the attached parking lot and braced myself for the inevitable.
“Over here, Corey!”
“Are you meeting Timothy Goff?”
“What designer are you wearing, Corey?”
I ducked my head and tried to push past them, but it was a whole lot harder to maneuver than it looks in magazines. Never again would I mock the whole maybe if I put my hand in front of my face you’ll just go away approach. Because I was seconds away from barreling straight ahead, and damn the consequences.
The security guard was swearing a blue streak, the paparazzi were muscling their way toward me, and just when I began to seriously consider making a hasty retreat—texting Tim to say, Hey, I think this is one high school ritual I’d rather sit out. Have fun for me!—I saw a flash of sparkly hot pink and a hand reached out of nowhere, grabbed onto my suit, and yanked me forward.
I blinked, desperately trying to adjust to the dim lighting despite the Technicolor circles that danced before me from the camera flashes.
It was Sam.
She was wearing an enormous poofy ballgown that stopped abruptly around her calf, highlighting a seriously kickass pair of combat boots and a sash with lettering I couldn’t quite read. Sam’s eyelids were coated with so much glittering gold eye shadow that for a second I wasn’t entirely sure if my eyes were still playing tricks on me or if her lips were really stained a dark vermillion hue.
Nobody else at Smith High School could ever have pulled off that look.
“CHARGE!” Sam hollered, probably fulfilling a lifelong dream of hers in the process as the two of us forced our way to the door. The bouncer opened the doors and practically shoved us inside.
Not that I could blame him. There was no way he was being paid enough to make up for the inconvenience of keeping a horde of paparazzi at bay. And to the best of my knowledge, the screaming ReadySet fans had yet to make an appearance. They were hard to ignore, screeching at decibels that made everyone within a fifty-foot radius—dogs included—want to turn tail and run.
My knees locked up of their own accord about five feet from the door and I leaned against the wall while I tried to reclaim my sense of equilibrium. The dancing spots were still messing up my vision, and as they cleared I realized that my entrance hadn’t gone unobserved.
All the upperclassman at Smith High School were staring at me in disbelief.
Yeah, when I pictured making a splash at my first prom, it was never as the kid who couldn’t stop shaking, sweating, or gasping for air after a ten-minute altercation with some celebrity gossip hunters.
Although having Sam standing right next to me definitely helped. Half of the people who snickered as they glanced at me shut the hell up when they looked at her.
I made a quick mental note never to underestimate the power of combat boots.
“Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate your—” I interrupted myself when I caught a good look at her sash. “Does that say Condom Queen?”
“ ‘Condom Fairy Godmother’ wouldn’t fit,” Sam told me by way of explanation. When she didn’t see even the smallest spark of understanding in my eyes, she pulled out a wand and waved it at me. “Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo! Safe, consensual sex for you!”
She opened the clasp on a rather large handbag and flourished a long string of condoms. With one easy motion, she ripped two of them off and tucked them into my suit pocket.
“You’re welcome.”
“Um . . . are you for real with this?”
“As real as an unplanned pregnancy.” Sam’s face twisted. “Okay, so that’s not something you need to worry about. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t STDs and—”
“Oh, will you look at that.” I took a hurried step back and glanced around at the students milling around. “People. Other people who are not discussing this. I think I should go say hello to them.”
“Real as . . . oh, hello, Principal Taylor. Good to see you. I assume you didn’t storm over here just to admire my sash.”
Had it been anyone else, I would’ve doubled back to provide some moral support. But there was no doubt in my mind that Principal Taylor would be the one walking away with a killer headache.
“Your sash violates the school dress code, Samantha.”
“Interesting. You know who else is in violation? Ashley McGrady and Steffani Larson. They are definitely showing more cleavage than the school dress code allows. So I will stand here and wait while you discuss it with them.”
Shaking my head with a mixture of disbelief and pure admiration, I moved past the photobooth and the ridiculously long line of eager-looking couples and headed straight for my boyfriend. I couldn’t see him, but I knew exactly where he was standing.
Tim was never all that difficult to locate; I simply had to look for the biggest, loudest . . . shrillest group of girls in the room.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!”
“I love you, Tim!”
“I listened to your song, “To Get Her/Together” about a thousand times when I was breaking up with my boyfriend. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without you.”
“Can you sign my back?”
I pushed my way through the flock of his female admirers until there was nothing between us. Well, nothing except the full attention of a room full of high school students and faculty members . . . not to mention the fact that we were one Instagram photo away from the eyes of the nation.
“Hey, handsome.” Tim’s eyes gleamed and for one moment everything was absolutely perfect. All those hours I had spent agonizing over our relationship now seemed unbelievably stupid—downright pathetic, even—because Tim? Yeah, he was amazing.
“Hey, yourself.” I couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here. You sure you wouldn’t rather crash a rapper’s party or something?”
“Yeah . . . I debated with myself for a while. It was either this or a poker night with Jay-Z, but he’s busy with Blue Ivy so . . . no dice.”
I laughed. “I’m glad you chose me.”
Tim didn’t so much as blink. “Always.”
“Well, if it isn’t our second favorite Oregonian,” ReadySet drummer, Dominic Wyatt, called out. “It’s been too long, Corey. Hey, have you seen Mackenzie?”
“Not since she left for the dance. Why?”
Nick’s smile looked more than a little devilish. “We were thinking she could—”
“Say hello,” Tim finished for him. “Chris mentioned something about getting girl advice.”
That was the first I’d heard of their bass guitarist needing any kind of help with girls. The guy had way too many interested fans trying to catch his eye already. Unless there was something else going on that I hadn’t heard about yet . . .
“I love you, Chris!”
I spun around, curious to see if I could recognize his not-secret admirer or if she would be lost in a sea of dresses. It was a game I sometimes played. I would imagine what kind of girl—or guy, on occasion—would do the I love you screech. But either my Spidey senses had gone offline or the universe was having way too much fun playing a joke on me because the last person I expected to find wheedling attention from a rock star was Lisa Anne Montgomery.
That didn’t seem to fit with her Ivy League aspirations and her disdainful articles for The Smithsonian.
But just because she was capable of geeking out around a celebrity didn’t mean I had to like her now.
“Well, later for you, Corey. We’ve got a crowd to appease.” Chris tapped the mic and grinned when even that little gesture was met with a shriek from four dozen girls. “Hey, Portland! It’s good to see you again. I know this is a very special night, so we thought we’d start you off with this little number.”
As they launched into one of their first chart-topping hits . . . Tim never took his eyes off me.
Which suited me just fine.