Caleb turned on the radio and put his arm on my seat. I sighed and leaned back against the headrest, my purse settled in my lap. I couldn't stop thinking about prom committee, but Paige was doing after-school tutoring today and couldn't see me. Caleb ran a hand through my hair and shot a glance at me as we pulled up to a red light. "Something wrong, babe?" I smiled at him and shook my head, "No, not at all. I was just thinking about my nail appointment with the girls this afternoon. I was going to stop home, change my clothes and take my mom's car, but I don't know if I'll make it." I squeezed his shoulder, "Would you mind dropping me at the salon, babe?"
"'Course," he agreed, and turned right when the light changed.
I didn't really have a nail appointment, but I did need some solid proof of why I should be on prom committee, so I thought I'd do some early shopping.
To be inconspicuous, I stopped in Victoria's Secret first and asked for a bag, handing the woman behind the counter a five when she looked at me skeptically. Then I went to the party store and bought the first and most simple items that were crucial for prom decorating: streamers, enough paper plates to put meals for a small country on, and four huge bottles of glitter. At Winston, we had an incredibly attractive population, and parents whose wallets are overflowing, but for whatever reason, they were never willing to shovel out much for prom, and so it always took place in the gym. Because of this tragic but unchanging rule, the prom committee had to go all-out on prom planning and decorating: we started plans nine months in advance; enough time for an entire pregnancy. Sophomores and under weren't allowed on prom committee, so this was my first year of eligibility, and if I missed this opportunity because of a stupid math grade, I swore I'd jump off a bridge.
Winston had a tradition of decorating the gym floor in glitter, completely coating the entire wood surface so that it looked like you were walking on the stars, into Neverland. Hence the glitter.
I stored my decorations in my Victoria's Secret bag and pulled my cell phone out of my miniscule purse, dialing Penny's number by heart. "Hey, sweet thang," I said when she picked up, though Penny was far from sweet. "How you doin', trouble maker," she replied coolly. "I'm at the mall, by the food court entrance."
"Oh, yuck, the reek of fried foods. Gag me."
"Tell me about it. Want to come rescue me?"
"Oh my gosh, I better hurry, before your pores start screaming and making a scene." I laughed, and Penny hung up. She could be heartless; she was a vicious gossip, but it was hard not to love Penny when she was happy with you.
A minute later, as I was dabbing my face in front of my compact mirror, Penny sped down the street in front of the mall parking lot, hanging a frightening U-ey before pulling into the lot and coming to an abrupt halt in front of me, the whole car moving forward and then backwards, like a child losing their balance. I shook my head and climbed into the passenger seat. "You are so lucky I got here so fast, I swear, if I'd come two minutes later, the frying fumes would have suffocated you." She put a hand over her chest, the car veering to the left as she did so, and I grabbed my door for support, "I would have one less friend right now." She shook her head and looked over at me again, and I prayed for her to turn her eyes back to the road, "You owe me your life." I laughed; something I wouldn't have managed a few months before, when Penny first got her license and took me for a spin in her new jeep. She glanced at my bag as we pulled back onto the road and asked, "Ooh, what'd you get?" I blushed slightly and shrugged, "Nothing special, just a couple new thongs. I don't know why they always put tiny purchases in these huge bags." Penny nodded in agreement and then turned on the radio, turning the volume nob as far as it would go and belting the last notes of a terrible pop song with a rapper who didn't have a clue what he was doing.
© 2012
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