Prom Queen of Disaster (19 page)

“Char?” I called out.

“Oh, Zo,” she said, turning her head slightly. “I’ve got to see Mr. June. Talk later.”

I waved her off. “Weird.”

“She’s probably going to plead her final case, god knows she still believes it was Mila who spiked the punch,” he laughed, putting away books into his locker. “For all we know, it might not have even been a student here.”

Ava locked her arm in mine. “Why’s Char being weird?” she asked. “She hasn’t texted all night, have you seen her?”

“Yeah, she just went to see Mr. June,” I said. “You know how she is, she’s probably too busy putting in her application for scholarships after the win.”

“Uh, you’re so right, Zo,” Ava said. “Gotta love ya and leave ya.”

It was midday when we were called to the auditorium. I shuffled in to sit beside Dylan and Ava. Char was still off preoccupied somewhere. Nobody had seen her all day. Officer Gerrard and Officer Renner stood on stage, clearing their throats.

“We have good news,” Officer Gerrard announced. “We’ve had a person come forward to claim responsibility for the event.”

“Char?” I mumbled, looking around. “Where’s Char?” I asked Ava.

“What?” she gasped. “Was it her?”

“Guys, sorry I’m late,” Char said, sitting on the end of the aisle. I finally had my breath back. I would’ve punched her in the arm if she hadn’t been so far away. “Ugh, I’ll explain later.”

“A student you may know already, Jackson Catlett. A student, already suspended from school for indecent behaviour,” Officer Renner continued. “As for the witch hunt you’d all created, you can stop.”

I knew it wasn’t, but I still couldn’t say anything. The more I thought about it, the more doubt I had it could’ve been anyone, I’d been spiked. And so far, all confrontations with Kaleb went nowhere fast.

Dylan collected my hand from the seats below. He squeezed and pulled me from thought. “At least they’ve found them.”

“He was in my art class,” I said.

I couldn’t put a face to his name. He was rarely ever at school, from what I did know, a stoner, probably skipping most of his classes. Although I did remember him being expelled for spray painting nude pictures of Principal Sanders on the wall outside the art department last semester of Junior year.

Principals Sanders took to the stage. He coughed down the microphone. “Okay,” he began. “As much as I know you all wanted justice, there’s nothing we can do in this matter, we have to keep this in the hands of the law now. Jackson Catlett is
now
no longer a student here with immediate effect.”

“Again,” Officer Gerrard spoke. “We must advise you that underage drinking is illegal, and it can get you into serious trouble.”

“Oops,” Ava laughed.

“Glad Mr. June doesn’t believe that,” I said.

“I think anywhere but here, Mr. June would be happy with,” Ava said.

Dylan laughed. “You think?”

“More or less told us,” I said. “Who’d want to teach high school cheer and gym for the rest of their life?”

The comments Char would say went through my mind; her remarks were usually catty, something about seeing Mrs. Jennings would’ve come up, that was a definite, mainly because we didn’t know if she was married or not, or she if she dressed like
that
on purpose. “What was on the sweater she wore today?” I laughed.

“It was definitely some personal tribute to cats with celebrity lookalikes.”

She was
quirky
like that, probably had Mrs. Galloway design them for her. She had the same terrible fashion sense. “To think, that’s an actual business.”

Char moved to the row above us. “Ugh, I hate being so far away,” she said. “Have you seen the hideous sweater Mrs. Jennings had on today? Talk about two sea lions fighting inside a sack.”

And there it was. Almost like she was holding gas in, she finally let it out. Left relieved with a smile.

The following day, after carb loading and pigging out, we were set to perform the winning routine. Class had let out 15 minutes early as the school piled into the seating around the gym hall. Principal Sanders personally congratulated us on the win, although we were in no physical state to perform at our peak.

Sara told us she was staying, mainly after winning the cash prize, and the idea of a cheer retreat was enticing. Char would’ve admitted it sooner or later, but having Sara continue as a flyer on the team was an asset.

The routine for the school was the last thing we had to do for the rest of the week. It went well, not as good as the winning performance, but they clapped for us anyway.

Finally, the end of our half week for Thanksgiving. I was thankful they’d given us that, I knew some schools in the district didn’t let out until the day before.

“My stomach is killing,” Char said. “Glad it’s over with.”

“Need some Midol?” I asked.

“No I don’t need a Midol,” she snapped. “Probably stress. You know Thanksgiving is a hard time for me.” She rolled her eyes.

Did I know it was a hard time for her?
I took a step back as Char opened a compact and patted at the foundation on her face.

“What’s up with her?” Ava said, rushing to Char’s side.

“Something about Thanksgiving,” I said, still thinking back to anything traumatic in Char’s life, other than being forced into ball gowns and hair extensions from a young age. “Probably something about her dad,” I mumbled to myself.

Dylan hugged me with both arms. “I have a lot to give thanks for,” he chuckled.

I kissed him. “Let’s go.”

My body was in the routine of waking up early. It was Thursday, November 24
th
. I almost climbed out of the warmth of my bed, my leg stretching outside the comforter. Instead, I stayed lying down to read notes from my copy of
Romeo and Juliet
, all dog-eared on my bedside table.

There was a knock, followed by my mom’s head as she poked it inside my room to see me in bed shrouded by paper. “I’m picking your dad up and doing a little bit of shopping,” she said. “Want to come?”

I smiled, nudging the papers. “Need to make a start,” I said. “Have you asked Kaleb?”

“I told him about the photos in the attic, so he’s up there finding some of his family. I mean, it’s Thanksgiving, it’s about giving thanks and family,” she said. “That’s okay, sweetie, Maddie’s coming along.”

“How long you gonna be?”

“A few hours,” she said, throwing her hands. “The turkey and the bison are in the oven, keeping with the whole
Native
American theme.”

“Anything you need me to do?”

She shook her head. “Don’t touch the oven, it’s on the perfect heat,” she laughed. “If you have free time, you can always set the table.”

“Gotcha!”

I’d planned through the first couple sections of the essay before I heard a bang coming from the ceiling, straight from the attic. The first time it happened, I ignored it, knowing Kaleb was incredibly clumsy with his one arm, but I was curious about him.

“Guess he needs to be watched twenty-four seven,” I said to myself, kicking the comforter off my feet and getting out of bed.

I put my hot pink sweatpants and a tank top on before leaving my room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror from the open bathroom; my face was pale and patchy and my hair was hurled into a bun on the top of my head.

“Kaleb?” I called up the stairs, dangling from the ceiling.

The attic was full of boxes and dust, even some boxes of dust. There were three orange lights in the attic, neither of them bright, candles were brighter.

“Yeah? Do you know where they are?” he asked, poking his head up behind some boxes. He held a black binder, flicking through pages of photographs.

My parents were keen to document every moment of their life. I knew if I went into my parent’s room, I’d find my mom’s bedside stand with a stick of glue and a scrapbook, I guess teaching kindergarten for so long helped in the long run.

“Which year are you looking through?”

“What?”

I waded through the boxes, parting them in an effort to get to Kaleb. “Guess we’re looking for late 90’s?” I didn’t know if it went that far back, but they kept everything since she’d met my dad in college; movie ticket stubs, take-out menus, old photo booth pictures.

“2000?”

“Well, we were both,
what
? Two?”

We found boxes, three of them, full of cute baby pictures and scrapbooks of drawings made. I found a box of holiday photos, at a beach, I didn’t recognize who we were with, but as Kaleb looked at them, his face quivered away from the light.

“Is this?”

“Where is that?” he asked.

“They’re your parents?”

He nodded as I handed him the book.

The picture was of two older boys and a baby with their parents. “Did my mom go see your brothers?” I asked.

He ignored the question. “Everything was good then,” he said.

We were babies then, nothing to worry about, no cares at all. Everything was perfect, the only thing we needed was feeding, and the occasional cuddle. I wasn’t sure how much he’d seen of his parents or if he had any family albums. I tried not to look, but I noticed him rub a finger across the picture.

“I’ll leave you to look through the pictures,” I said. “Just remember which boxes are which.”

“Okay.”

“I better go back down, Dylan should be here any minute.”

“Do you think your mom would mind if I—”

“Yeah, bring them down,” I said, cutting him off. “My mom would like that.” As much as I never understood or took any particular liking to him, in the moment as he sat in silence, I wanted to reach out. I didn’t.

Dylan had texted twice already, and continued buzzing my bedside table. The girls stopped texting after the competition, it had taken the energy out of us; we were too drained to tolerate each other.

I opened the door to Dylan. He stood with a bag of gifts. It wasn’t tradition to give gifts at thanksgiving in this house, my mom believed as long as we had our health and something to be thankful for, Thanksgiving was a success. Every year, Dylan would buy small gifts, he said he wasn’t good with words.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said, kissing me. “Smells delicious.”

“You too!” I grabbed the overnight bag on his arm. “Whoa, how long did you pack for?”

He grinned. “My dad’s not home now until the weekend.”

“You’re stuck with me.”

“And anywhere you are is perfect.”

His words made me blush, the compliments tingled up the sides of my neck. I kissed him before moving to let him through. “Put your bags in my room, then help me set the table up,” I said.

He walked through to the empty kitchen-dining area. “Where’s your mom?”

“Gone to pick my dad up,” I said.

My mom already pulled out the table decorations, ready to set them up. I cleared the table and topped it with the red cloth, pre-ironed by my mom. Dylan joined me in the kitchen and glared through the glass oven door.

“How’s it looking?”

“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever,” he said. Probably true. I didn’t ask about it, that never ended well. “What do you need me to do?” He stood to attention at my side.

“I need plates,” I said. “The
special
plates in the cupboard.”

He laughed. “I love those plates.”

They were white china plates with tiny cartoon turkey’s around the rim, alongside
peace, love,
and
thanks
. For as long as I could remember, those were our Thanksgiving plates, they were probably bought when we were children, as a child, the appeal of cartoon turkeys was there. “As long as I can remember.”

There was a further thud from the ceiling on the attic floor. It was muffled between floors, but loud enough. Dylan stood still. “What was that?” He placed the plates on the table slowly.

“Kaleb’s up there,” I said, “in the attic.” I explained the reason why as we laid the table completely.

We took seats on the sofa in the living room, my legs over him, flicking through the mix of holiday TV, football, and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“Don’t you wanna know what I got you?” He stroked my arm.

“You’re giving it to me later, anyway,” I said.

His smile beamed. “Might not.”

“I’ll just get it.” I moved my legs slightly before he grabbed them.

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “Buy me anything?”

“You know how my mom feels about buying gifts for Thanksgiving,” I said. “She won’t even let us shop on Black Friday.”

“Aggressive shopping,” he laughed.

My dad called out from the front door. “I’m home!” I jumped up from Dylan’s lap and rushed to the door. “Zoey,” he said, and wrapped me in his arms. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Better with you home,” I said.

Dylan came up behind. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Jensen.”

“Dylan,” my dad said, smiling. “You know better, call me Mike, unless you’re taking my daughter out, then it’s Mr. Jensen.”

“Like when my baby becomes prom queen,” my mom said, carrying bags through. She nudged my dad at the side. “Help bring the groceries in.”

Dylan went out to help as Maddie walked in, stumbling through to the kitchen with the heaviest brown bags in her arms.

“Where’s Kaleb?” my mom asked.

I pointed to the ceiling. “Found the pictures,” I said.

“What about my prom pictures?” she asked, clenching her teeth in excitement. “You’ve seen the prom queen pictures, right?”

Vaguely
. Some pictures of my mom in a blue dress with tiara from the crowning. She was her year’s prom queen. It was every girl’s dream at the dance, to have everyone watch you with your king.

For certain, Char had prom queen in the bag. Like with everything else she did, it was the only reason she was seeing Benny, to scoop get their victory. The pulse in my neck twitched to think Char got everything she wanted

My mom got Kaleb down from the attic, letting him bring down a photo album he was looking through. He showed us all images as we waited at the table while my mom put the finishing touches to the turkey.

“She was a beauty,” my dad said. “Your father always spoke about her. Kept a picture in his wallet.”

“He did?” Kaleb asked, wide-eyed.

My dad nodded. “Wouldn’t fly without it.”

The turkey was finally served up as the center piece of the table. My dad, as the
man
of the house, stood to carve it. He stepped to the mark with his carving knife, to cut thick slices from the glazed turkey. He plated it and we helped ourselves to veggies and potatoes, plenty of gravy and extras of everything.

“Before we eat,” my mom began. “Let’s say what we’re thankful for. I’ll begin.” She sucked in a deep breath and smiled. “I’m thankful for
you
my loving family, to have a rewarding job, and a husband whose living his dream,” she said, taking a seat.

I was beside my mom, and in turn, I stood and smiled. “I’m thankful for my family, my friends, my
amazing
boyfriend, winning the cheerleading competition, but most importantly, I’m thankful for this meal we’re about to eat, because it looks delicious.”

I sat back in my seat. Dylan was next. It went around, full circle until reaching Kaleb, who sat opposite me.

“I’m thankful for everyone here, I’m thankful my parents had amazing friends, who would now take me in. I’m glad I can see through you what they were like. Thank you,” he said.

It was a total 360 of the Kaleb I thought I knew. As much as I hated to admit it, he was growing on me, it wasn’t in the way you’d see bangs growing, but in the way of a tumor, a slow growth, you’d hate it at first, but it was something you could live with.

We all dove into the food at the table. I was halfway through when my mom reminded me she’d made fresh apple and pumpkin pies. She’d prepared it the night before and let it sit in the freezer; her secret to locking in the taste before she put it in the oven to warm.

Dessert came quickly enough, we didn’t eat straight away, we waited for Dylan as he went to get presents.

“I know this isn’t something you do, Mrs. Jensen,” he said, “but you’ve been fantastic to me.” He opened up the bag and handed out gifts, leaving me out, waiting until everyone had opened theirs.

He kept a small box growing restless in his hands.

“Is that mine?” I asked.

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“So?” I bit my lip. “Is it?”

The box was wrapped in red paper with a thick purple bow. “Open it,” he said.

Tearing the paper up, my heart skipped a beat. I pulled out the box inside, the fabric was strange in my clammy fingers. His voice, telling me to
open it
was repeated softly in my ear. Inside was a small silver ring. I gulped, raising my eyes to his. All their eyes stared.