Marjorie gets caught with alcohol at the prom. |
The cafeteria looked completely different from the large room where they served us slop disguised as food every day at 11:15. The beige walls glowed against the pink, purple, and blue gossamer sheets that veiled them. An enormous disco ball rotated in the center of the room and complemented the dj’s multi-colored lights. You would think they could have afforded a decent band, though, instead of a mediocre disk jockey that was currently playing an ancient Nelly song. Where did all of my father’s money go? “Wow! The juniors did a great job on this place,” Claire said. She gazed in wonder around the cafeteria. I knew she was attempting to commit everything to memory. She’d done that since we were five. “Yeah, it almost looks classy,” I said, “I just hope they swept.” I gathered the bottom of my dress and surveyed the floor beneath it. I didn’t buy a pink silk chiffon gown just to leave with stains along the hem because some thug forgot to clean the floors. “Marjorie, don’t be silly. I’m sure they cleaned,” Claire rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Yeah, Marjorie, forget about the dirt and lets have some fun,” my date, Christopher Ellison, said. He thought he was funny with that suggestive tone in his voice. He wasn’t. “What I think my friend here means is let’s get the dancing started,” Claire’s date, Taylor Cambridge, said. He offered Claire his arm and she eagerly looped hers through it. She giggled a little as they headed toward the dance floor. Christopher turned to me and offered his arm to me as well. “Pictures first,” I said, I don’t want my hair to look terrible when we take our pictures. These things stick around forever.” “You could never look terrible,” Christopher said. He flashed me one of his Prince Charming smiles. It was one of his many features that drove other girls crazy and made them hate me. They tried for years to get him but I just sashayed in and had him right after I “transferred” from my private school. Some of them stared at us as the photographer posed us. Even I had to admit, he looked handsome in his custom tailored, black and white tux; his blond hair brushed and gelled while his shamrock eyes sparkled with unaccomplished trouble, as usual. I just knew our pictures were going to be the best in the entire prom. “Beautiful! Beautiful!” the photographer said each time he snapped the pictures. I didn’t need to be told that, though. I felt beautiful ever since I stepped into my gorgeous gown. (No one else had one like it. Thank goodness for Mother’s account at the boutique.) The whole day was composed of pampering for me; a massage, pedicure, manicure, and a visit from Mother’s stylist, Pierre, topped off my day. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results. Pierre was the only person I allowed to touch my precious, golden locks. There had to be at least a dozen eyes on us as we danced to the music beside Claire and Taylor. “Hey, Taylor, maybe you should give Christopher some dance lessons,” I said. I had to get close to him in order for him to hear me. Christopher gave me an exaggerated hurt look. “Are you implying that I can’t dance?” “Dude, you are in desperate need of help but I am way too expensive for you,” Taylor said. He spun Claire around and dipped her for dramatic effect. Christopher puffed out his chest. “I can do that too,” he said. Before I realized it, he spun me around and dipped me. It would have been okay but he lost his footing. We both fell toward the floor but Taylor reached out and caught me before I crashed on top of Christopher. “My hero!” I said, throwing my arms around Taylor. “See, I told you that you need me,” Taylor said. He laughed and helped Christopher up. “I don’t think so. Let’s get something to drink,” I said when Christopher started to take me in his arms for another shot at dancing. “Fine by me.” He followed me to the table that held the punch bowl. Claire and Taylor weren’t far behind. I poured myself half a cup of punch and Christopher produced his infamous flask. It, of course, contained the best vodka from his father’s alcohol stash. “You read my mind. Fill me up,” I said with a smile. “Oh my God! What are you doing?” Claire asked when she saw Christopher pouring the contents of his flask into my cup. “Give me that,” I said and snatched the flask from him. “Marjorie, put that away. You’re going to get us in trouble!” Claire’s brown eyes were frantic. I knew she was scouring the room for any chaperones that could see the silver flask trading hands. “If you stop causing a scene, no one will even know,” Christopher said, “It’s not like we are going to get trashed.” I finished filling my cup and handed the flask back to Christopher just as Ms. Clarke, the principal, decided to join us. When I glanced over at Claire, she looked like she was going to cry and I noticed a scared look in Taylor’s eyes as well. Christopher, on the other hand, showed no fear. In fact, he looked confident. I knew I could count on him. I smiled my most charming smile at Principal Clarke but I could tell already that it was lost on her. She was the hardest woman in the entire school, although I wasn’t really convinced that she actually was a woman. She had the strong jaw of a man and a husky build. She probably played softball for years because she had the stance of a pitcher attempting to intimidate the opposing team. Her eyes were cold, black spheres and I couldn’t recall a time when she smiled even the slightest bit. “Good evening, Principal Clarke. The juniors did a beautiful job with the decorations, didn’t they?” I said. “Of course, they worked very hard,” she said. Still no smile and those coal spots she called eyes were fixed on the pocket Christopher had slipped the flask into only moments before. “Are you enjoying yourself? I think you should be allowed to let your hair down and have some fun here too.” I said. Claire was clutching Taylor’s hand so hard by that time that the pain was starting to register on his face and Claire’s knuckles were solid white. I thought she was going to faint right then and there. It would have been a nice distraction. “Not as much fun as you are having apparently. What is in the cup Miss Ashford?” “Some of this amazing punch,” I said, “Would you like some?” I turned around as if I were going to pour another glass of the punch. “Don’t even think about it Miss Ashford. You are in deep enough already. I wouldn’t advise adding to it by spiking the rest of the punch,” Principal Clarke said, “The flask, Mr. Ellison.” Christopher rolled his eyes and produced his precious flask. If there were a dozen eyes on us earlier, there were hundreds of them on us as Principal Clarke escorted us from the cafeteria to her office. |