Page 26 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
My hands are shaking so hard I don’t think I could type even if I wanted to. I’ve been constantly refreshing my inbox for days, and now that it’s here, I can’t bring myself to log in. Because at least right now I still have the luxury of hope. As soon as I check the portal, it could be over. My daydreams crushed.
“What if it’s a rejection?”
My voice is barely loud enough for me to hear over the din of the radio, but Joaquin still comes rushing to my side of the booth. He takes my shaking hands in his, waiting until I meet his eyes to speak.
“If it is, then screw them. They’re passing up on a future Tony Award–winning set designer.”
I snort at his optimism, and he tightens his grip on my hands, as if to emphasize his point. “Seriously, Ive. If they don’t know how incredible you are, then that’s their problem.”
The sincerity in his voice, and the way his eyes gaze so deep into mine make the nerves fade. Not entirely, but enough for me to find that flicker of hope again. I nod, keeping my left hand in his as I pick up my phone and sign into the Admissions portal.
Decades pass as the web page loads. Normally Marco’s shitty Wi-Fi is something I’m willing to put up with for the god-tier food, but every second that goes by feels like a blow to my chest. Joaquin’s grip on my hand tightens with anticipation, holding on to me so tightly I’d wince if I wasn’t so consumed by my own panic. Our breath hitches as the page loads, coming out as gasps when we take in the first word at the top of the page.
Congratulations!
“I got in!” I shout, my voice high-pitched enough to summon Nurse Oatmeal.
“You got in!” Joaquin echoes, slamming his fist on the table.He leaps out of his seat, pulling me up with him. “My best friend just got into her dream school!” he announces to the restaurant, getting the attention of everyone who wasn’t eyeing us already.
“Wepa!” Jenny exclaims, bustling over to us to pull me in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations, mija.” She leans in to whisper, “Lunch is on me today.”
One of the line cooks starts a round of applause, Joaquin encouraging the crowd to make some noise as he pulls me into a crushing hug. “You’re amazing,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. A shiver runs down my spine, but I’m too shocked by theOh my God I got inmoment to process it. With my heart lodged in my throat from the best combo of excitement and nerves, all I can wish for is to hold on to this feeling—this person—forever.
When I meet Joaquin’s eyes again, something new unlocks insideme.
Suddenly, I’m back at the optometrist’s office when I was seven, putting on my first pair of glasses and blinking in utter awe because I never knew the world could be such a vibrant place. Because that’s the thing—you don’t realize what you’re missing until you finally see things in focus.
And now I see him in focus.
The way my body leans into his, like a well-loved sweater. The smell of him—sofrito, sweat, and sunscreen—that feels more like home than any place in this town ever has. The urge to vomit whenever Joaquin and Chelsea sucked face in the cafeteria. That nameless feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever he brings up Tessa or prom or promposals.
I’m not afraid of Tessa taking my place at prom, or getting her own mix CD, or taking up so much room in his heart that there’ll never be enough space left for me. I’m afraid ofhim.Of his smile. Of his touch. Of the way he says my name like it’s something worth savoring.
I’m afraid of Joaquin Romero because I’m in love with him.
Chapter Nine
“Does this feel dangerousto anyone else?” I ask as someone wearing a full beekeeping suit steps into the cafeteria, carefully contained beehive in hand.
Anna stiffens uncomfortably. “If that thing even comes close to opening, I’m out of here.” We make note of the exits on either side of us before keeping a watchful eye on the beekeeper’s movements while Joaquin focuses on the stack of Post-its in front of him.
The beekeeper taps a girl from my AP Lit class on the shoulder. She lets out a stifled gasp when she turns around to find a cluster of a hundred angry-ass bees in a glass container. Her suitor sets the hive on the ground, flipping it around to reveal a message written in a font designed to look like dripping honey.
Before the beekeeper’s target can make her decision, murmurs break out across the cafeteria as someone in a Shrek costume enters the lunchroom, carrying a poster board reading:
SOMEBODY ONCE TOLD ME YOU NEEDED A DATE TO PROM.
“Dear God,” Anna mumbles as the ogre gets down on one knee in front of Tessa.
Tessa beholds her latest suitor with a sigh. The cafeteria falls silent, hanging in suspense as she gives him her usual pitying smile. “Somebody lied.”
Tessa’s turned down enough promposals by now that no one loses their mind when she shuts them down, but Shrek is still met with his fair share of supportive cheers when he slumps away. It’s only after everyone’s turned their attention away that Shrek removes his foam head, revealing a devastated Hank Azario.
“Gotta give them props for creativity,” I say as Shrek/Hank tosses his poster board in the trash and the beekeeper storms out of the cafeteria, bees in tow.
“Slow day,” Anna says once this afternoon’s main characters have exited the room.
Most days we’re lucky if we can get ten minutes of peace without a promposal interlude. The cafeteria has essentially become Prom Central. When we’re not being bombarded by promposals, it’s a prom court nominee passing out buttons with their face on it, asking for votes like they’re running for president of the United States. I’ve gotten six YOU KNOW YOU WANT YESENIA buttons since the pep rally. Wear the wrong promcourt button and you might get blocked from using the good vending machines. The madness doesn’t stop at the race for prom court, either. Last week, a few people started selling some viral mascara that’s impossible to get in stores or online anymore at twice the retail price.
