Nothing on prom to report, but the party of the year is in the works, and that’s D-day. I will have a date and/ or a boyfriend. His name is, and has always been, Chase Doogle.
Claire is still preening from her newfound fame of going viral and actually asks me to go with her to youth group. It’s a miracle, I tell you, and it takes her mind off her parents’ drama, so I’m more than happy to comply. And let’s face it, Chase will be there, so she didn’t exactly have to twist my arm.
We approach the church gym. The lights are on, the low murmur of excited voices is bursting within, and echoes bounce off the shiny wood floor. Claire turns back from the gym, her usual vigor gone. “Nothing changes here. Youth group is just another venue for taunting.”
“Stop it, you’re not being taunted anymore. Remember? ‘If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.’” I do a little dance.
“Don’t do that. It’s disturbing.”
“Come on, what are you waiting for? You’re the one who wanted to come.”
“I changed my mind,” Claire says.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I just don’t feel like it all of a sudden.”
I think of Chase behind the two sets of doors. “Too bad,” I say without a whole lot of compassion. “We’re here.”
Claire withers in a way that isn’t like her at all. She’s dressed like a girl. In a simple sundress. Her hair is now a soft, light auburn with professional blonde streaks, and she’s wearing mascara. Mascara! Suddenly everything has changed.
“You’ve got a crush on someone!”
“A what? Oh, get real.”
“You’re wearing mascara!” I point at her.
“They’re fake lashes.”
“You’re totally crushin’ then. Who is it?”
“I’m not crushing. My mother bought fake eyelashes that came with rhinestones at the end, and I used the extra ones in the package.”
“You sound so reasonable when you say that.”
“Can we go now?” Claire is backing away.
My smile wanes. “You’re serious?” Truthfully, I’m glad Claire’s here. I’m worried about her, and I think having a bit of prayer will do her good. I want her to tell the truth about her parents so she can get some support. She’s keeping their secret, though, and I’m worried it’s taking a toll on the lighthearted person she is. “Maybe you’ll have some kind of epiphany here and God will speak to you in a way he never has before.”
“Or flying monkeys could appear. God’s hardly interested in me.”
“He listens to me, and he knows I have nothing important to say. Just give it a try tonight. For me? I’m risking everything for your harebrained party idea.” I push her gently into the church’s gymnasium and she doesn’t fight me. If it’s the size of the fight in the dog, I’d be the loser for certain—Claire has more fight in her little finger alone.
“You’re bringing your backpack inside?” Claire asks me. “No one believes you’re going to do any homework. Just leave it in the car. It’s like your security blanket.”
“If you get cold, I have a sweater. If you have dry lips, I’ve got gloss. If you shake hands with someone who has a cold, I have antibacterial. I am totally prepared with my backpack.”
“Great, if there’s a nuclear war tonight, my best friend has a diaper bag for me.”
As we enter the gym, the squeak of basketball shoes echoes off the barren walls and the stench of dirty socks fills my nostrils. Guys huddle in the center of the court with a ball, fighting over it like it’s the last round object on earth. Secretly they’re hoping the girls are drooling over their fancy moves, and every once in a while I catch one of them looking our way to see if we’ve noticed. I scan the crowd of guys, wondering who might have caught Claire’s attention. Granted, I’ve had hints it could be Greg, but I can’t go there since he’s on my list of prom backups and we’ve never liked the same sorts of guys in the past.
Claire has had a boyfriend before. Sean Kendrick. She met him at the country club, and the one thing I remember about him most vividly is that he wore a trench coat 24/7—which of course made me think
flasher
. They broke up when her Christian values got in the way, but she never seemed to care whether he was at her side or he wasn’t.
Claire flips her bobbed hair. “Why are girls always relegated to being cheerleaders? Maybe I want to play ball too. Do they ever think of that?” Claire thins her eyes. “Besides, I don’t like cheerleaders very much. They’re too happy for me.”
“There’s always an athletic girl out there. Go ahead if you want to play,” I tell her, wondering what on earth she’s really trying to say. “What is up with you? Is it a guy? Your parents? What?”
“It’s simple. Do you want to know why there are no girls out there? Guys don’t fall for girls who can slam them on the court. No guy wants to be schooled by a girl in front of his friends. No guy. I could school most any of these losers, and most of the girls are smart enough to know this, so they choose not to play. They choose to sit here on the sidelines and cheer.” She walks toward the open door.
I step away from the basketball court. “Claire!”
She zips away from the door and walks to the girls on the “A” team—and I’m not talking grades here.
“This side of the gym seems more dangerous.” I nod toward the circle of popular girls, with their long legs, full figures, and lengthy tresses with salon highlights. Truthfully, Claire could be one of them if she wanted to, and I’m left to wonder if that’s what’s happening. Is she tired of having me stuck to the bottom of her shoe? Am I bringing her down?
The popular girls are preening in a competition all their own, and it’s rougher than what we’re seeing on the basketball court. Sure, it resembles a Miss America pageant and not an aerobic sport, but it’s far more cutthroat. Don’t let the frilly peasant blouses, skinny jeans, and heels fool you.
We’re split into several cliques courtside. In fact, we could be numbered by rank: (1) tall, buxom, and gorgeous; (2) buxom and attractive; (3) buxom; (4) skinny and us.
Sometimes I think India’s caste system is alive and well in youth groups across America and Sarika has an advantage over all of us. Since she doesn’t go to First Union, I can’t make this assessment with her, but I bet she wouldn’t argue with me.
Claire and I sit on a threadbare sofa pushed up into the corner, and we’re able to watch as though invisible—which I guess we are in many ways. I usually have too much homework to come to youth group, but I want to finish a conversation with Chase. I need closure.
“You know, it’s been a year since I’ve come, and not a thing has changed,” Claire says as she scans the room with me. “Amber, Britney, and Rachel will try to make my life miserable in overtime. It’s like giving them a free gift with purchase. I have to endure these people all day. Why would I want to spend my free time with them?”
“Maybe we should try something different with them. Kill them with kindness,” I suggest.
“Or just kill them,” Claire says. She brushes her russet-colored bob out of her face. “A tiger doesn’t change its stripes with a change of venue. When I’m an actor, they’ll be nothing more than a speck on my historical timeline.” She says this with all the flair of a Shakespearian lead. Claire’s always most comfortable in a role that is not her.
“A night at youth group isn’t going to kill you. If you hope to infiltrate Hollywood, it will do you good to play dress-up and pretend. What is high school but one giant rehearsal?”
“Hollywood,” she spits. “I’m going to New York. The stage! Why would I waste my talent on the masses? Genuine theater isn’t like
High School Musical
. Hollywood is nothing more than a continuation of this popularity contest, but to be on stage . . .” She waves her hand in the distance. “Either in the West End or on Broadway, that is the pinnacle of success. That’s where the real thespians stand apart from their peers.”
“Whatever. If you end up doing kids’ parties like my dad, I will hurt you.”
“Max seems to think we’re much more sophisticated than the other girls at school. Don’t you love that word?
Sophisticated
.” She pats her finger on her bottom lip. “We’re school nerds, but on the world stage, maybe we’re too sophisticated for this one-horse town.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say. “I thought you didn’t like Max.”
“I never said I didn’t like him, I said I thought he was a player. But if he’s international and he sees us as more sophisticated than, say, Amber Richardson, shouldn’t we take that to heart? He would know better than us. All I’m sayin’.”
“I thought maybe you decided to come because Greg is here.”
She settles deeper into the sofa and stares me down. “Greg! This is about Chase, right?”
Even his name causes my stomach to flutter. “Not entirely. I could use a little group Bible study.”
Claire’s got that look of pity on her face.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Just leave Chase alone, Daisy. He’ll be gone to the Air Force Academy and out of your life anyway. He’s a poseur.”
“Really? That’s how you’re going to support me? First, when Max says something nice to me, he’s a player, and now Chase is a poseur? Is there someone not ending in ‘er’ who I might date according to your rigorous standards?”
“Chase needs to stay on the straight and narrow. Greg told me the standards at the academy are really high; that’s why he took all the heat that day for starting the fire in wood shop.”
“He did start the fire!”
She rolls her eyes. “Let’s not discuss it. There’s an entire school full of guys. If something was going to happen with you and Chase, don’t you think it would have happened by now?”
“Greg’s here,” I say, feeling betrayed. “I’m just your henchman, is that it? You haven’t come here for a year, after all.”
Then I see her catch Greg’s eye, and neither one of them looks away for what feels like an eternity. He’s in her drama class, and they share a love of ye olde English and New York University. But I’m concerned about Greg’s love of drama and firearms combined.
“You never thought Chase was out of my league before.”
“Greg and I are both trying for the lead in this year’s musical. It’s
The Phantom of the Opera
, did I tell you?” She doesn’t take her eyes off Greg. “Wouldn’t he make an amazing phantom?”
“I guess.” I don’t know what’s more disturbing—acerbic, hopeless Claire, or cloudy Claire with a possible chance of a boyfriend.
She bats her eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”
I clamp my teeth together. “Claire, why do you think prom is so stupid? Why are you past high school already? We’re not out of it yet.”
She stops and I can see her breathe. “I guess I’m just past it. I’m ready to move on. It feels like the same life day in and day out. I’m ready for a change.” Her expression changes to worry, and her forehead crinkles in ways that Renee Zellweger would covet. “Don’t tell anyone about Greg Connolly, all right? He’s got a lot going on right now, and the last thing he needs to worry about is us.”
“What would I tell them? You haven’t admitted a thing, other than the fact that you do in fact own an iron for that crisp J.Crew collar. If he’s your boyfriend, he should own it.”
She sighs. That’s the thing about Claire. Once you think you know her, she’ll surprise you with some new aspect about her. The only consistency is her ability to be inconsistent.
For the most part, Claire and I haven’t shared on guys. Mostly because there’s nothing to report and it’s too humiliating to admit. But seeing the frown on her face, I unzip my backpack and pull out my frilly pink prom journal. She might be above it all, but I’m not, and I’m done pretending. It says “Prom Journal” right on it, so my goal is out here in the open. At least in front of Claire.
“I want to go to the prom,” I state. “I’ve spent my entire high school career being the smart girl, and for one night I’m going to be the girl who everyone envies. Including Amber.”
“Why?” Claire asks in her wry tone.
“I can’t explain it, other than it’s like a fingerprint. Proof that I was here. Proof that Chase and I shared something, even if it was unspoken for twelve years. That picture will speak volumes.” I shove the journal back into the darkness of my backpack. “Prom produces a photograph and a memory.”
“I can make you a picture. I’ll get Chase’s off his Facebook page. You can pick out your dress online, and I’ll cut and paste your head in. Heck, I can even make your boobs bigger.” She stares at my chest, which I instinctively cover.
“Forget it. I knew I couldn’t come to you about this.” I stand up and throw my backpack over my shoulder. “You get a boyfriend and suddenly you’ve forgotten all about your best friend.”
“It has nothing to do with that. You know I couldn’t care less about a dance and hanging out with these people. Do I think it’s weird your anal-retentive issues have come out in the form of a prom journal? I’m not going to lie to you, Daisy.”
“You’re not going to help me either.”
She blinks innocently. “Meaning?”
“You think Chase is out of my league.”
“I don’t! I think
you’re
out of
his
league.”
At that moment, Chase walks in the door and his eyes come straight to mine, but he instantly looks away and seems slightly angry, as though allergic to my gaze. Just by the quickness of his move, I question Gil’s advice.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say to Claire.
“Chase just got here.”
“You said yourself if he were interested, I’d know by now.”
“I was just ticked off. I didn’t mean that. Look, I’m going to be honest. I’ve never gotten your thing for Chase. He seems all pomp and circumstance without anything real behind him.” She stands up. “Come on.” She pulls me through the gym, toward the buff jock types that Chase just joined. “If you want him, go get him.”
Chase is turned away from us, and I draw in a deep breath as I reach to tap his shoulder, but I’m blinded before I touch him, and the next thing I know, my head is pounding and there’s a circle of faces above me.
Chase is standing over me. He doesn’t try to help me up. It’s as if he believes I’m on the floor by choice. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m on the floor.
“You did that on purpose!” I hear Claire yell. I look up as she wings a basketball toward Britney, Amber’s best friend, who’s wearing full makeup and stilettos to youth group.