21 Proms Read Free

shrouded, metaphorically speaking, from the world at large. It keeps life simpler.
    â€œI know you’re scared,” Adam says. “I know you walk around wearing your protective shell, pretending you don’t care what anyone thinks, because deep down you think they won’t like what they see.”
    My heart starts beating fast. I go to take a sip of my Fresca and discover the can is empty. I look at my feet, and then back at Adam. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
    I’ve been seen.
    Adam picks up on my verbal paralysis and takes his cue. “I also know that if you’d open up and let people know you, they’d be in for a treat,” he continues. “Despite all your hard work to convince me and everyone else that you’re an abyss of negativity, I’m not buying it.”
    â€œYou’re wrong,” I respond finally. “About all of it.”
    Adam stares at me, into the abyss of negativity. He seems to be weighing something. “I’m going to leave now.” His tone is pleasant, as if he’s delivering a fair-weather report. “You ever wanna tell me the real reason you asked me to be your date, I’d really like to hear it.”
    I don’t protest. I simply watch him walk away, relieved. For me, prom is almost over. All I have to do is find Emilie and tell her I’m leaving. I can still get home in time to watch Saturday Night Live .
    Heading toward the dance floor, where I see Emilie’s head moving above the other girls, I tell myself that I’m glad to be rid of Adam and his analytical dismantling of my personality. I want to be alone. I love being alone. At the edge of the dance floor, I position myself to get Emilie’s attention. I assume she revived Gavin, who’s most likely resumed his intake of punch.
    And then I see her. She’s not dancing with Gavin. She’s dancing with Trevor. And they’re not just dancing, they’re talking. He smiles, she laughs. It doesn’t look like drunken, prom laughter. It looks like the real deal. Emilie guaranteed the next time I saw her she’d be in Trevor’s arms, and she was right.
    I think of all the times I told her to forget about Trevor. I think of how she’d just shake her head and say I didn’t know what I was talking about.
    She was right all along. I was wrong.
    What if she’d listened? Where would she be now? But I know the answer. She’d be right next to me, holed up in my bedroom with a pizza and sixty hours of TiVo to watch. Emilie wouldn’t be living. She’d be hiding.
    Just like me.
    My feet start to move. Even in the heels, I make good time as I head toward the gymnasium door, toward the huge painted sign that says thank you for coming to mardi gras. In my peripheral vision, I notice Principal Maughn standing by the exit, at the ready with more beads and a watchful eye for intoxicated students. I blow by him, pushing open the heavy door and bursting into the warm May night.
    The parking lot is a sea of cars and rented limos. I know he won’t be here, but I keep moving anyway. I have to. Even outside, I can hear the band.
    â€œAyla?” Adam’s voice comes from behind an SUV with a go raiders bumper sticker. He steps out, and under the parking lot light his skin is pale, almost like he’s an apparition.
    â€œYou were right,” I admit. “About all of it.” He grins. I think he’s not surprised to see me, although I can’t be sure. “I’m ready to tell you … the reason … about why I asked you.”
    I don’t usually speak like this, with hesitation. But what I’m about to say is the truth, and it doesn’t roll easily off my tongue. He nods, encouraging.
    â€œIt’s because you said you don’t dance,” I explain. “I hate dancing.” But that’s a lie. I stop, force myself to rewind and tell the truth. “Actually, I’m scared