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"You what."
Flat toned and blunt, even for Walter, and it conveys both a request for repetition and outright denial. Cabe narrows his eyes as he stares the science teacher down, but Walter refuses to be cowed, glares back at his boss balefully with his arms crossed over his chest. This, his posture screams, is an entirely unjust punishment.
"You. Five. Are. Organising. Senior. Prom." Cabe repeats, short, sharp little pauses in between his words for emphasis. "And you will damn well do a great job. It will run smoothly, it will be the best night of Sara Lane's night, and it will erase any lingering memories of last Friday's incident out on the car park from Governor Lane's mind."
He looks around at the faces staring back at him, ranging from incredulous to downright horrified and everything in-between. The situation is so hilariously bizarre, Cabe can feel a bubble of laughter working it's way up, but he tamps down viciously on his mirth. This is serious god-dammit. For once, Walter seems at a total loss for words. He blinks, as if he is sure he must have misheard again.
"What."
-
"Principal Gallo's snowflakes are organising the prom!"
It's five minutes past eleven, and I'm sat in my usual seat for Mr Dodd's math class; two rows back from the front and three over from the door. It's just far enough that I don't look like I'm too desperate to leave class as soon as the bell rings (though I am) but close enough that I'm always almost a part of the first group out. Hey, it can get pretty vicious in the cafeteria on Taco Tuesdays is all I'm saying. Even the teachers aren't immune to the one good dish of the week. Uh, wait. What?
"What do you mean, his snowflakes are organising the prom?" I scoff, turning around. Everyone knows who you mean when you talk about Principal Gallo's snowflakes, of course. They're his favourite staff members, and though I didn't even think teachers had that sort of social pecking order, apparently some of them go way back. "Are you high? Did you not see what happened on Friday?" Marco behind me shrugs in reply and raises his hands in defence.
"I'm only relaying what I've heard on the grapevine, and what I've heard is that Miss Quinn, Mr Curtis, Mr Dodd, Miss Dineen and Mr O'Brien are in charge of it." He grins toothily at me. "Maybe it's like their punishment or something. Sorta fitting, don't you think?"
It is at that, I've got to admit. If it's in any way shape or form true at all, which I doubt.
By lunchtime, the rumour has made it all over the school (and even the cafeteria staff, dour-faced sour-pusses they are, are gossiping about it). By mid-afternoon, it is confirmed by the principal himself on the tannoy system - because he is (and I quote) "getting really tired of the streams of kids coming into my office to ask".
"Shit," Jack, my best friend groans, slumping over the English homework that they're trying desperately to get done before class starts. "They're gonna fuck this up beyond belief." I can't say I disagree. They stand a better chance of saving LA from a nuclear explosion than they do of pulling this off. I guarantee it.
-
"Sylvester, I don't think it's quite the crisis situation you're making it out to be. They'll dance, they'll kiss, they'll go home - end of story. Not much can go wrong."
Sylvester stares at Paige, incredulous that she can't see the pitfalls in this endeavour. They are at the Garage, their favourite watering hole to retreat to and unwind in after stressful days at school. Happy has her booted feet propped up on the bench, her back pressed up against Toby's side. They are both, wisely, choosing to keep out of this particular argument.
"I have statistics that would argue otherwise. The rate of teenage pregnancies, STI's, road accidents caused by drink-driving around prom time; there are a multitude of things that could happen to our charges on our watch, Paige, and that would pretty much be the end-all and be-all for many of them. Whatever life they have planned out in front them would be gone just like that from one stupid mistake."
Paige looks at him steadily over the top of her cocktail, a hint of cool disappointment touching her features. Beside her, Walter shakes his head fractionally, bad move Sly, and Toby slides his hat down over his face. Too late, Sylvester realises he has put his foot in it, and with whom. "Oh! Oh, Paige, y-you know I don't mean you," he assures her frantically, because he didn't, he doesn't mean it in that way. He can feel the panic in him start to swell, a tidal wave that threatens to engulf him, and he presses his palms against the table to steady himself. He's let that inside voice out again, hasn't he? "And it's not, it's not that I'm saying it'll ruin their lives; you obviously managed great. And... uh. I'm sorry, Paige. I... I spoke without thinking."
She sighs then, and pats his hand, wordlessly offering him her forgiveness. "It's okay, sweetie, I know you didn't mean it. What you mean is that you're just very concerned with the welfare of your pupils, right? That you want them to be safe," she says as Sylvester nods vigorously. "And that you want them to realise the potential in their lives. But you've got to let them make their own decisions, and that means letting them make their own mistakes sometimes. Who are we to judge what's a mistake in their lives or not anyway, right? We can show them a way in life - we can show them several different paths but none of us are going to be pushing them down any of them. Whatever they choose to do, it's all them, just as it should be."
Sylvester feels his shoulders slump, knows she is right, but still can't help feeling that awful things might happen to his pupils on a night where recklessness and raging hormones take even more precedence than they usually do. He can't quite put into words how all he wants is for these kids, who look to them for guidance, to not know harm or hurt. That he doesn't want be the one who lets them down, in any way or form as adults sometimes do (and he should know). "Can we at least make sure that routine checks are in place for the punch to make sure it's not spiked?" There is a plaintive tone in his voice, a plea for even a little something that he might cling to.
"There will be pre-drinking, Sylvester, and post-prom parties. We can't stop them from drinking at all. But," Paige adds as she leans over to brush an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "I will look into having someone there to monitor our punchbowl, how about that?" It is, he concedes, a start.
-
Two weeks later, and the rumour is that the sum total that has been done about the prom is a big fat nothing. Apparently the cyclone (they're like a force of destructive nature okay, I've got friends who have witnessed first-hand many un-teacherly incidents to prove this) had a meeting about it last week, and it ended with Miss Quinn throwing a chair at Mr Curtis - though I heard that tidbit from Jonny in math and, quite frankly, I'd trust Jonny's word as far as I can throw him and his pretty face.
What I do know is that Mr Curtis looks pretty frazzled right about now, even though it's his Friday afternoon Psych class. He's normally pretty chill on Fridays, even lets us out a little early if we're finished with the work. Today though, he's hunched over his desk, worrying that hat he's always wearing between his fingers. I'm no body language expert but even I can tell the man is stressed out of his mind - I decide that I'll save my grilling for prom details for another teacher. Some of the girls at the front can't help themselves though, and one of them, Marian (the clueless love of my life), puts her hand up.
"Mr Curtis, me and my friends were wondering if you and the other teachers have figured anything out for the prom yet? It's just that last year, the seniors knew what the theme was by now," she adds, and I can imagine she's furrowed her brows at him (she's really cute like that). "So that the students could have enough time to plan outfits and stuff."
Mr Curtis legit flinches, like she's struck him or something. "Well it's not Vegas," he sighs, and his voice has a rote-like tone to it, like he's parroting information that's been repeated again and again. "Introducing near-adults to the concept of gambling would be bad. Youths of today are exposed to Bitcoin, pay-to-play apps, eBay and gambling advertisements all day and don't suddenly start selling their organs on the black market. Propose a safe, controlled environment with limits and rules and suddenly it's all "no, Toby they'll develop bad habits and become degenerates", "not every kid wants to end up owing twenty grand to a shark called Bug-Eyed Joe like you" and-" He pauses then, as if suddenly realising where he is. The look on his face very plainly tells us he realises he may have just word-vomited, and would very much like to stuff them all back down his throat.
"Uh, yeah. Class dismissed."
We leave, quietly, to the sound of Mr Curtis repeatedly knocking his forehead against the desk.
-
"The whole situation is a farce. I don't see how us organising a pointless event, that takes up funds and resources that could be better utilised elsewhere, will have any influence on whether Governor Lane is going to let us off the hook. One night can't be that important to teenagers."
Walter stares mutinously at the television in her apartment. It's almost cute, Paige decides, the pout that plays around his mouth. Almost, expect they've been circling the same few objections to this every time he's been over since Cabe told them about their punishment. By now, even Ralph can recite, word-for-word, Walter's list of pros (non-existent) and cons (let's not go there) right along with him over dinner and video games.
"Walter, we've been through this. It's a milestone event for young adults. It helps provide a concrete closure to a very important chapter in their lives, allows them to move on to their next one. And yes, you don't see the point and didn't participate in your own 'leaving do', but that's because you're special," she adds with a smile, because flattery will get you everywhere (and desperate times call for desperate measures). "Geniuses aren't exactly commonplace, you know? For normal people, this is as good as school gets."
Walter is pleased to hear that, she can tell (though if she asks him she bets he would tell her it was simply 'endorphins released from positive social feedback', or something). The tension in his body loosens a little, and the arm around her shoulder doesn't feel quite as taut. He presses a kiss into her hair, a wordless thanks and an apology all at once. He knows he's been a bit of a pain over the last few weeks and it's a silent promise that he'll make it up to her. However...
"You are aware that parents in America spend on average a thousand dollars on their children's prom night?"
Paige sighs, buries her face into her hands. She knew that was coming.
Walter does like the last word after all, no matter what.
-
A few weeks after Mr Curtis's outburst, I'm walking by the general notice board where Miss Dineen is pinning a poster, a bundle of rolled up prints nestled awkwardly in the crook of her arm. I like Miss Dineen - she's not a 'don't-you-wanna-talk-about-your-feelings-why-not-you-psychopath' counsellor like some of the other counsellors used to be. If you want a space to go to and sit in and unwind, she'll offer you a drink or a snack and leave you be. She doesn't push you, she just waits for you to be ready to talk (if you even want to talk at all) - like counsellors are supposed to be.
"Need any help there, Miss Dineen?" I'm helpful like that. And yeah okay, I'm nosy as shit like that too.
"Oh, thank you." She beams at me, and hands me the rolled up prints. "Here, can you hold onto these whilst I put them up in the corridors?"
So for once, I'm the source of the gossip. The prom committee had, over the weekend, finally managed to hold semi-civil talks and had eventually settled on a spy theme for the night. It... isn't exactly ground-breaking stuff, and I don't understand why it's taken so long for them to decide, but I can see the tension in Miss Dineen's eyes as she recounts the story, like even thinking about it is giving her a headache, so I decide not to ask any further.
I glance down at the poster I've unfurled. Nice. Minimalist. There's a giant Martini glass filled with dozens of tiny scorpions, and some pretty neat typography underneath declares that prom will be SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED. Each individual scorpion is wearing a little yellow and black neckerchief, just like our mascot does at football games. Unlike our mascot, these little guys are also toting golden guns. Well I guess poker chips were out of the question, right? What with Mr Curtis and loan sharks called Bug-Eyed Joe - who is now totally a reddit meme by the way.
It's a pretty cool looking poster, and I'm surprised when she informs me that her son made them, because he's like, ten or something. He's kind of a genius, she tells me with a fond smile, and he loves the school mascot. Loves the school, really, at which point I must be pulling a face at her because she laughs and amends her statement.
"Well all right, he loves learning. And Walter - that is, Mr O'Brien," she corrects herself self-consciously, and I pretend not to notice her slip (though really who are they kidding). "Mr O'Brien lets Ralph come to his after-school science club he holds here every Monday and Thursday. He adores science, but the teachers at his school won't let him try anything advanced without supervision, and they won't do anything that they think is unsuitable for a ten-year-old. Anyway, the Super Fun Guy comics he reads have the hero going undercover as a spy at the moment, so on Thursday Ralph mentioned that he thought it would be a cool theme. It was cute."
I think it's even cuter that Mr O'Brien took this little kid's advice on board and takes him seriously enough that he's using it, but I know better than to say that out loud.
-
"You've got to be kidding me."
Paige holds her hands up in front of her. Hey, don't shoot the messenger. "It's a spy theme, Happy, like James Bond. We're going to stick out if we turn up in our work outfits, and as the ones who planned this whole event as an apology to Governor Lane we're supposed to look the part as well." Happy is inclined to argue otherwise. She is this close to threatening to turn up in grease-stained overalls and to hell with Governor Lane, but Paige widens her eyes at her beseechingly and ploughs on before she can open her mouth to make a retort. "Come on, we can go shopping this weekend, just us girls. We can make a day of it with Megan, go try on some dresses, maybe hit a bar in the evening?"
Happy purses her lips, turning the idea over in her head. They haven't had a girls night out in a while, it's true. And if she's really, truly honest, it isn't that she's adverse to wearing a dress. More like... she's scared that she'll look an idiot, or foolish. That she'll be judged - and God knows, she hates being judged. Paige knows this, of course, and Happy knows that Paige is perfectly willing to help her - more than willing, in fact. Throw in a cocktail hour (or two) and the company of two girlfriends that Happy had never expected to have in life...
"Fine," she finally agrees, but holds up a finger in warning. "But I don't want to end up in a cell again like the last time we all went out together." Paige blinks at her innocently. Who, me? Happy smirks at her in return and raises her eyebrows in a you don't fool me fashion.
Who knew Paige has such a mean right hook?
-
Jack is totally panicking as we walk into Miss Quinn's shop class. They've been panicking since nine this morning - pretty much since Liam asked them to go to the prom with him, and while I understand why, I'm tired of having to supply the same platitudes over and over again. Even more so as they ask me - for the ninth time - what they should wear as I'm trying to figure out if the break rotor in my engine needs swapping out or not.
"Look Jack, Liam asked you, he's clearly not gonna care if you go in a dress or in a suit," I sigh, as Jack taps their fingers fretfully on my workbench. "He just wants you to be there. With him. Just go in whatever you feel comfortable in - go in a sack, and I guarantee you he'll just sigh like a sap and tell you that you look amazing." We are suddenly aware of a looming presence behind us.
"Listen to good advice when it's given, Jack," agrees Miss Quinn from over my shoulder. "If Liam hasn't cared before, he won't care now. Whatever you wear will knock his socks off. And you're not gonna get that engine up and running any quicker standing over here talking instead of working." Jack slips back over to their workstation, abashed and flustered (she kinda has that sort of effect on everyone, not just Mr Curtis), and Miss Quinn gives my half-finished engine a cursory glance, before pointing out at least three mistakes I've made.
(This is progress. I mean, last time she took it apart and made me start again.)
-
They're in the cafeteria, and Happy is (rather harshly, in his opinion), vetoing his music choices for prom. Too old, she snickers, and not popular dance choices, grandpa.
"Grandpa? I'm thirty-two," he exclaims, and Happy rolls her eyes at him, snags a fry off his plate. She resumes scrolling through her tablet, bringing up a tab to search for local bands and singers. Toby leans back and watches as she absently reaches for another fry, her lips pursing as she gets one that is over-salted.
"You eat too much crap, doc," she says with a frown after she chases the sodium-heavy tang with a mouthful of coffee. "Only green I'm seeing on your plate are the dodgy bits of potatoes."
"Like you're any better," he shoots back, gesturing at her own plate - she, the victor of the last of today's tacos. Man is mighty, but the woman is mightier; a truth by T.M. Curtis. He shifts a little now and is, suddenly, unable to look quite at her. "Though I mean, I guess you'd be able to better complain about my vitamin intake during meals if we were to have them together all the time. If you were to, say, move in with me maybe." He chances a glance at her face after a moment, and her startled gaze skitters away almost immediately. Too soon, he thinks, and wilts a little.
"Toby..."
"No, forget I said anything, Hap. I promised I wouldn't push you, and I won't. It'll always be your decision." He gives her a lopsided grin, a little disappointed but accepting. Even if this, what they have now, is all he gets, he'd die a (hah) happy man. They eat in silence for a little longer, knees companionably bumping into one another, before getting up to leave for their respective classes. Toby is reaching for his jacket when Happy touches his arm lightly, and he turns to look at her.
"Don't give up on me," she says, statement and question all at once, and his heart stutters at the vulnerability in her voice. Heedless of where they are, he raises her hand to his lips, lightly ghosting a kiss over the backs of her fingers.
"Never."
-
With a week to go, people are totally losing their shit over asking someone to prom before it's too late. For some people, this seems to involve trying to publicly one-up the last public prom proposal, which is frankly ridiculous. I mean, the a capella quartet? That was pretty cool (and it's a total YouTube hit right now), but the film studies guy who decided to hijack the tannoy system to ask out that Will Shakespeare fanatic was all kinds of embarrassing. I mean sure, she said yes but I think that might have had more to do with his iambic pentameter than anything else. Though who knows? I mean, look at Zack and Lacey - they're definitely no two peas in a pod, what with him being one of the jocks and her an art student who's a bit of a loner. Still madly in love with one another though, all the same.
Me, I'm more of a fan of the internal panic. And yeah okay, so I'm losing my shit just as much, but I'm doing my freaking out quietly. Because it's been days since I asked Marian if she would like to go to prom with me and she hasn't got back to me yet. She'd just of blinked up at me with those long lashes of hers, fluttery cute in her surprise and asked me for a few days to think about it. Maybe she's just not interested right?
Then again, look at Mr Curtis and Miss Quinn. They're hot and cold all the freaking time, and everyone knows that Miss Quinn likes Mr Curtis, it's just that she's all private and stuff, and Mr Curtis makes her feel all naked because he sees her (and I'm not even being poetical, adults think they're so subtle but they aren't). I know because that's how Marian makes me feel.
My phone lights up, silently notifying me of a text. Swiping it off my desk, I check the screen furtively, and I nearly drop the damn thing on the floor in surprise (yeah, Mr O'Brien would not appreciate that little interruption to his class).
I'd love to go to prom with you. M xx
Oh. Oh.
-
They are laying out the last of the buffet food when Megan arrives and whisks the girls away to change. She grabs a slice of apple pie before they disappear, and gives Toby a thumbs-up in approval. Cabe raises his eyebrows at him questioningly, and Toby shrugs, a little embarrassed.
"I'm not a bad baker," he offers as he stacks the napkins in an alternating pattern at the end of the food table. "Used to make apple pie for family gatherings all the time right through high school. Everyone loved it, except for one of my cousins. But Finch is a bit of a motherfucker, so no-one listens to what he thinks anyway."
Walter huffs in silent amusement as he turns away to direct the band backstage. They are a relatively new local band, but a straw poll on his classes in the last few weeks have indicated that Wonderbread are something of a rising star. Ralph had approved as well, which was all Walter had needed to get in touch with the band.
They finish setting up the rest of the food and dinner settings, and the girls emerge with minutes to spare before the earliest of early birds start arriving. Paige is... resplendent in a deep blue-black gown that reveals the creamy expanse of her back, and Walter feels a sudden urge to cover her up, to ensure that no-one gets to see Paige like this apart from him. It is a primitive, possessive line of thought though, and he instantly discards it. Happy as well is dressed to kill in red, and Toby doesn't seem to be able to take his eyes off her. He bounds over to her, and tells her she looks stunning, and though she nudges him hard in the ribs and tells him to back off doc, it's a school night and I'm packing, her tone is teasing.
Megan's delighted laugh distracts them all, and they look over as Sylvester, beaming with boyish pride and adoration, ties a corsage around her wrist; deep violet to match her dress. It's infectious and promising, and Walter takes it (though somewhat irrationally) as a sign that this night might turn out all right after all.
-
Is there a word for it? Is there a word for when you feel like the world has punched you in the gut, leaving you totally fucking breathless because the love of your life is gazing up at you like you're her absolute everything? Because I'm feeling it right now, standing in the doorway of her Republican family's house, watching her watch me watch her.
"You," I start, but my voice sounds super weird, and I cough. Wow, let's try that again. "You look amazing." And she does. Her hair is pinned up into a fancy little braid around her head, and she's woven fake flowers in, white and pink scattered here and there. Her dress is green and soft and floats about her, and I want to say she looks like a meadow, but even in my head that sounds odd and stupid. But it's true. She looks like spring. Like a fairy. I mean, wow. I am totally butt crazy in love with her. And she just smiles at me, like she's been the one that's been waiting for me to notice her all along.
"So do you." With that, she slips her hand into mine, and leans up to kiss me, right there with her family watching from the living room. Just like that. This night can't get any better.
(I'm wrong. It does.)
-
It's gone past midnight, and the last of the stragglers have finally left. Sylvester is asleep, slumped over in a corner with Cabe and Walter's jackets gently draped over him to ward off the cold. Cabe himself is nowhere to be seen; he is taking Megan back to the hospital before he goes home to bed himself ("getting too old" was his excuse, though Toby had muttered very quietly that Cabe Gallo does not sleep; he merely waits).
Happy stands up from her seat, rolling her shoulders back as she attempts to loosen her muscles. She takes in the pure amount of mess the seniors have left the hall in, and knows they have to get started on the clean-up soon. "We're gonna have to start tidying this crap up," she warns Toby, who theatrically groans. "But before we do, I think I'm gonna need... a little 'help' taking this dress off." Happy manages to suppress the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, but can't quite hide the sparkle in her eyes as Toby perks up and stands very quickly, delight and adoration in his face. Happy lets him take her hand and she tilts her head in the direction of her office. They make a very speedy exit, stage left.
Paige giggles as she watches their hasty retreat from her perch on the edge of the stage, and turns her head to look at the science teacher beside her.
"So, how was your very first American prom, Walter?" She can't help but needle him a little. After all, in the end he has (they all have) done far more than what was expected. She has watched as every single one of them focused on making this night perfect, squabbling over music choices and tableware and things that they had declared as pointless and idiotic not so long ago.
Walter offers her a reluctant grin. She knows he has enjoyed himself, even if he won't actually admit it out loud. "I wouldn't know. I think you have to dance at least once to qualify as having attended one." With that, he hops off the stage and holds out a hand for Paige. "May I have this dance?"
"Walter," Paige laughs, delighting in his sudden whimsy. "I thought you'd never ask."
-
From: [email protected]
Subject: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
Governor Lane would like to extend his thanks and forgiveness to the team that managed to give his daughter a prom night to remember. She loved it.
I don't suppose you guys would like to do it all again next year...?
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
No.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
Don't make me quit on you, pops!
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
Please Cabe, no!
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
NO.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
I think what they're trying to say is "thank you very much, Governor Lane" and "it has been a wonderful challenge but we want to leave it in the very capable hands of the seniors next year".
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: a repeat performance?
To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
No we aren't.
fin