Chapter Five
Catherine
Six and a half weeks until prom
Papers tumble from my locker as I pull out my binder for the second prom planning meeting. The first one ended up being a complete waste of time. I was sure Owen would sign us up for something, but he just sat there. Joining the committee was his idea, so I kind of left the extent of our involvement up to him. He’s just as busy as I am between school, his part-time job, and baseball, so I didn’t want to commit him to something he doesn’t have time for. But signing up for nothing pretty much defeats the purpose of joining the prom committee in the first place.
Squatting down, I grab the papers off the floor and stuff them back in my locker before slamming the door shut. A corner of one paper peeks out of the bottom. My reputation around school is as this total neat freak, that everything in my life is as pulled together as my outfits. What hardly anyone knows is that on my best days, I’m a complete mess. It takes a lot of effort to constantly keep up the facade, but it’s expected. I’m a Reed, after all, and Reeds are not slobs. “Sit up straight, Catherine. Tuck in your shirt, Catherine. Iron your dress, Catherine.”
Sometimes I get a little bit exhausted just being me.
While I’m surprised Owen didn’t volunteer us for something on Saturday, I was honest when I said I have too much on my plate already. Not to mention that taking on some sort of backwards-prom planning responsibility is basically an invitation for Riley to screw me over, turn me into the butt of a backwards Prom Queen joke. Or maybe Owen got the story wrong, because everything about prom being canceled in the first place sounds off. I mean, who cancels prom for lack of interest? And the fact that the one girl in school who hates me most is planning an alternate dance can’t be a coincidence.
The last bell rang twenty minutes ago, and the heels of my boots click on the tile floor as I rush down the empty hall, overshooting the door to the cafeteria. I pause to smooth down my hair and make sure my skirt is straight before flinging open the door.
All eyes turn to stare. I hate when I’m the center of attention for the wrong reason. Being on stage to recite my lines? Sure. Standing in front of the student body and belting out a cheer? Fine. Arriving late to a meeting, disorganized and flustered? Definitely not. I square my shoulders and enter the cafeteria, projecting fake confidence as I join the other members of the committee gathered around a table.
“Sorry I’m late.” I let out an exaggerated sigh as I slip into the chair Owen pulled out for me. “I had to go back and grab my notebook.” I hold the spine and wiggle it back and forth to punctuate my statement.
“No problem, Catherine,” Riley says, shooting me a wide smile that makes me internally flinch because I can’t remember the last time Riley smiled at me. “We were just getting started.”
I stare at my notes, my pen poised above it while they talk, but the words blur as my eyes lose focus and my mind drifts elsewhere. My life is already overflowing with a thousand other obligations that I need to figure out how to get done before offering to take on anything new.
Owen leans over, his lips close to my ear. “So, what do you think?”
I blink and glance up at him. “Um…”
“I know a rustic barn isn’t your scene, but it could work.”
I let out an unfeminine snort. A barn? He thinks I care about where it’s held? I only need the crown; the atmosphere is the least of my worries. With the budget slashed, I wonder if they’re canceling the prize pack the Prom King and Queen typically receive. That swag includes a session with a professional photographer. I need that for my headshots, because there is no way Mom will give me the money for something so “foolish.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” Jessa asks. “A barn?”
Owen reaches over and covers my hand with his, rubbing his thumb along mine in a soothing gesture. “Once we clean it up, it could be really charming.”
I paste on my best smile and turn toward him. “It sounds great, Owen. Really. Like the barn Brittany and Santana got married in on Glee.”
Hunter leans in and whispers, “Or the barn where April dumped Matthew at the altar on Grey’s so she could run off with Jackson.”
I stifle a sigh. Jackson is the dream. April made the right choice, although she could have handled it a lot better.
Owen relaxes beside me, obviously relieved, and says something to Riley that sounds a lot like he’s volunteering us to clean up the barn. My mouth opens to tell him that I can’t do it, that I have no more time to give, but it snaps shut when Riley shifts her focus to me, as if she’s daring me to say no.
A barn. This is probably her idea. She’s going to crown me queen of the farm and dump pig blood on me in classic Carrie style.
“Wait, are we going to vote on this?” Jessa asks. “I mean, there has to be a better place. Anywhere is better.”
“Based on my latest budget numbers, our only other option is the Elk Lodge,” Riley says.
Bryan wrinkles his nose. “That’s a big nope from me.”
“Everyone in favor of the barn, raise your hand,” Owen says.
Every hand but Jessa’s goes up.
“The Elk Lodge.”
No hands go up.
Jessa raises her hand. “An alternative site?”
Jessa’s hand is the only one that remains high. She drops it to her lap with a scowl and mumbles something under her breath.
Owen reaches over to squeeze my hand, and I turn to find him grinning. He’s so excited about this, I can’t disappoint him. We don’t have any other options except an old building with zero charm and severed animal heads on the walls. As bad as a barn is, the Elk Lodge has to be worse. No matter how many streamers you hang on antlers, in the end it’s still a big rectangular room with stained walls and bad acoustics.
My relationship with Owen may be on life support, but this is our big high school swan song. We’ve known each other forever. Our parents are close friends and enrolled us in the same private preschool when we were three, although there are pictures of us together even younger.
His mom and my mom arranged for us to attend Homecoming our freshman year, making a choice without asking us first. We were just expected to pair up…although it wasn’t like I had anyone else I wanted to go with. Plus, it was Owen. They don’t make guys any safer than him. He’s always been there for me, and I owe it to him to try to make our senior prom happen.
“Catherine? Do you know anyone who can help us?”
I glance up to find Riley staring at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just… I have a lot on my mind. What did you say?”
She stares at me, her eyes zeroing in on my hand in Owen’s. She clears her throat and glances back to my face. “I was wondering if you could help with sponsors. You have a lot of connections through cheer.”
I do, but they’re pretty much tapped out, since I just hit them up for sponsoring our cheer competition in Las Vegas in February. “I can try. How much do we need?”
“As much as you can get. We can put their names on a banner at the dance, and they can set up a booth if they want. Especially if we have it at the barn. If any of them are restaurants, they could sell snacks or drinks to recoup their investment. Oh, we can start a social media campaign with #SaveOurProm or something like that.”
I find myself nodding. That’s actually a good idea. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see what I can do.”
Riley looks like she’s ready to break out into a triumphant dance. “Awesome! Okay, I think that’s it for today. Let’s meet again on Friday.”
I raise my hand. “One more thing.”
“Sure.”
“I was wondering about the prize pack for the Prom Queen and King. Is that still happening?”
Riley lets out a long, slow breath. “Maybe you can work on that, too?”
That’s not the answer I was looking for, but it’s easier to get products from sponsors than cash. “I’ll do my best.” I close my binder, shove it into my messenger bag, and stand.
“Be right back,” Owen says before wandering up to Riley.
“Hey, are you okay?” Hunter asks.
I turn to my best friend, noticing her dark curly hair is cut even closer to her head than it was yesterday. “Yeah. Just…scattered.” Hunter’s one of only a handful of people who know the full extent of my disarray, and she loves me anyway. She doesn’t expect me to be perfect all the time. “Did you cut your hair?”
She runs a hand across it. “Yeah. I went to my aunt’s salon yesterday. I almost had her shave a pattern into it but changed my mind at the last minute. I was afraid it would scare off Simone.”
“I don’t think your hair is the biggest obstacle there.”
“Yeah, I know. But…” She grabs my sleeve and pulls me closer. “I swear she was flirting with me in Spanish this morning.”
“And I swear she was flirting with Brent Sykes in Econ this afternoon.”
Her grin only grows, revealing two prominent dimples. “Sounds exactly like my kinda girl.”
I’d love for Hunter to find someone like Simone, but the truth is, I’m worried she’s going to get hurt. She plays the tough-girl role pretty well, but underneath that hard outer shell beats the heart of a true romantic.
“Well, I love it. I think it suits you.”
Her dimples reappear, accompanied by brilliant white teeth. Hunter has an infectious smile. “Thanks.”
“What do you think about the barn thing?”
She shrugs. “Could be cool. I just don’t want it to turn into some countrified hoedown thing. I am not going to wear cowboy boots.”
“Last year you wore a tux to prom.”
“Last year, I didn’t have a date. This year I’m getting all dressed up in my pretties.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have pretties?”
“I can get some.”
“If you decide to do dress shopping, let me know. We can go together. That would be fun.”
“First I need to get a date. I’m not going to dress up for just anyone.”
“Are you gonna straight-up ask her or do some big romantic production?”
She blows out a slow breath. “I don’t know. If she says no, it’ll be humiliating if I do the whole grand gesture thing. Maybe I’ll slip her a note or something.”
“With a check box? One for yes and two for no? This isn’t sixth grade. You need to up your game.”
“You don’t know what it’s like. Have you ever worried some guy would turn you down?”
“Okay, first, that was mean, and second, I’ve been with Owen forever, so no.”
“Sorry.” She hooks her arm through mine. “Speaking of Owen, has he asked you yet?”
I look at her out of the side of my eye. “For real? He knows we’re going together. The only thing he’ll ask me is what color my dress is so he can get a tie to match.” I glance over at Owen and Riley, their heads together as they stare at Riley’s notebook, deep in conversation. This is taking longer than I expected, and I have a ton to do tonight. “I need to go. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“’Kay. I’ll text you.”
I sidle up next to Owen and glance at the list. Owen’s name is next to at least a half-dozen tasks. “Owen…” I say before stopping myself. We don’t need to have this conversation in front of witnesses, least of all Riley Hart.
“We were just finishing up,” he says, then turns to Riley. “I’ll talk to you later. We have a lot to do.”
He takes my hand and leads me outside to his Jeep.
“Owen,” I start as soon as he clicks his seat belt. “What are you doing volunteering for all of that? You’re stretched too thin as it is.”
He throws me a grin. “If we want this prom to happen, someone has to do the work. I know you’re overloaded, and Riley can’t do it all.”
“Thank you.” And I mean it, because no matter what happens, I know Owen won’t let anyone down.
After dinner, I climb onto my bed, dragging my messenger bag with me. Sitting cross-legged in the middle, I manage to work through my calc homework while periodically stretching to avoid getting a kink in my neck and keep myself limber. Multitasking is an art form I’ve become a master at.
When I finally finish my homework, I pull out my binder and dig through my notes from this afternoon’s prom planning meeting. Sponsors. Right. I need to figure out who I can approach to ask for money or other donations. Again.
The notebook I used to organize the cheer fund-raiser for February’s national championships sits on my desk. Reaching over, I snag it and peel back the elastic band that keeps it closed. Pieces of paper flutter out, landing on my comforter. I pick up one and stare at the cartoon character Natalie drew during one of our cheer fund-raiser meetings and laugh. It’s of me and Owen as Prom King and Queen, our features overly exaggerated, and Jessa scowling in the background. Yeah, Jessa wasn’t as amused by this as I was. She gave Nat the cold shoulder for a week before Natalie sufficiently groveled her way back into Jessa’s inner circle. Part of that involved making me promise to destroy the cartoon, but Natalie so perfectly captures the essence of me and Owen, I can’t bear to part with it. Sighing, I tuck it back into the notebook and flip a few more pages to the list of local businesses that have been friendly to Hamilton High in the past.
I scan the names, but most of them are cheer specific—local bow makers, gymnastic centers, ballet and hip-hop studios—not places that would have much to gain from having their names on a banner at prom, although a few may be willing to donate something to the prize pack.
My phone dings with a text, and I shove my notebook aside to find my phone buried under my prom binder.
I send her an eye-rolling emoji.
She adds a handful of hearts and kissy emojis before her texts stop coming. I fall back onto my pillow, tucking my phone beneath it. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes, not knowing who I’m going to prom with. On the other hand, the excitement of asking someone or being asked, the thrill of that chase, I’ve never had that. Since our first date was arranged, which also happened to be my first high school dance, there wasn’t any fear of having to ask someone or the chance of being turned down.
I’ve never experienced the anxiety of wondering if someone I really liked was into me, too. But I’ve also never had that rush, either, the avalanche of emotion you read about in romance novels when the guy you’re crushing on finally makes it clear he likes you.
Imagine Dragons blasts “Radioactive,” jarring me out of a disturbing dream in which Owen forced me go to the Wicked audition, but he wouldn’t let me get dressed first. I fumble around for my phone and find it on the floor beside my bed.
Shutting it off, I roll out of bed, still in yesterday’s clothes, stumbling over my books and binders on the floor where I must have kicked them off last night. I toss my messenger bag onto the bed and begin stuffing everything back in before heading to the bathroom for a shower.
When I’m ready, I grab my bag off my bed and head downstairs, where the low rumbling of male voices comes from the kitchen. I drop my bag by the front door, noticing Owen’s backpack is sitting on the floor. Dad is laughing at something Owen said when I join them at the breakfast bar.
“You’re early,” I say, glancing at the clock to make sure I’m not actually late.
“Woke up early this morning.” He rubs his hands together. “Figured we could talk about Morp.”
I glance between Owen and my dad. “Okay.”
“What’s this mor-thing?” Dad asks, setting a plate of toasted bagels in front of us beside a tub of cream cheese.
“Morp. It’s prom spelled backwards. We’re planning an alternative prom for our senior year.” Owen slathers a thick layer of cream cheese on a bagel, smashes the top into the gooey mess, and shoves it in his mouth. Guess he doesn’t have his mother harping on him about gaining weight or a team of cheerleaders reminding him that flyers need to be small.
Dad grins. “Well, you kids have fun. I need to get to school and prepare for this morning’s pop quiz.” He drops a kiss on my head before walking out of the kitchen.
I grab the bottom half of a bagel, add a very thin layer of cream cheese, and find some smoked salmon in the fridge to go with it.
“What’d you find out about sponsors?” Owen asks around his breakfast.
Swallowing first, I set my food down and wipe my mouth. “I found out we need a new list of businesses. I don’t know how many of my contacts really care about sponsoring a prom.”
“We’re really counting on you to come through for us.”
I press my lips together to keep from jumping on him. He knows the last thing I need is more added pressure in my life. After taking a sip of coffee, I force my voice to remain light. “Yeah, I know. I’m not giving up. Just letting you know it could take longer than I originally thought.”
He reaches over and places his hand on top of mine, giving me that sweet grin of his, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know, Cat. Sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
I give him a small smile in return. Guess I’m not the only one under too much stress at the moment.