You Should See Me in a Crown(72)
We stand together to pose, with Robbie taking over as official prom photographer now that Grandad is all tuckered out and the disposable camera is out of film. And at one point, right before we walk out the door, I swear the kid wipes away a tear.
I don’t say anything about that though. I kiss him once on the cheek and do the same for both my grandparents before walking outside. Amanda links our fingers together and just looks at me once we reach the car. Neither of us reaches for the door handle. We just kind of watch each other.
We’re supposed to be headed to meet Britt, Stone, and Gabi for our dinner reservation at Rick’s Café Boatyard, but I can’t bring myself to rush.
“Hey,” I say, tucking one of her strands of hair behind her ear with my free hand. “Whatever happens tonight, there’s no one else I would rather be doing this with.” I’m so happy I could burst.
“You’re not the only lucky one.”
I’ve always thought downtown Indianapolis was sort of magical, which, I know, is a ridiculously Midwestern thing of me to say. But it’s true. It’s only a few miles away, but it’s worlds different from Campbell. And that’s always made it feel like something special to me.
But the Arts Garden is magical tonight by anyone’s standards.
The sun has just barely set by the time we walk inside, and you can see every bit of the pinkish-purple light of the early evening sky once you step through the doors. The Arts Garden is one of the coolest things the city has to offer, and I’m not surprised Campbell makes it a point to host prom here every year. The entire space is made of glass, steel beams crossing back and forth above our heads and keeping us firmly seven stories above the rest of the city. It’s like we’re on display for everyone to see but somehow tucked away in a world of our own making up here.
Like I said, it’s very Campbell.
We’re still reeling from the yearbook-paparazzi camera flashes on the Cougar-red carpet just moments before when Amanda stops suddenly. “Whoa, this is …”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Just wait until they start the fireworks later.”
The theme is Midnight in Paris, and even I have to admit that the prom committee went above and beyond with this one. The entire room is glowing in blues and golds, and they’ve even managed a massive, very impressive Eiffel Tower replica that people keep stopping to gawk at. There’s a six-foot-tall ice sculpture of the Louvre Pyramid, with sparkling cider spouting from a fountain at its peak, near the stage. In the back of the room is an elaborate photography setup, with full lights, a huge backdrop, and Anabella San Junipero—the photographer who shot the Vanity Fair young Hollywood cover a few years back—carefully positioning a couple of juniors in front of her lens.
I suddenly get what all the hype is about. This is enough to turn any cynic into a believer.
It’s weird, being raised in a small town. There’s not much to do there except drive into the city, and not much to look forward to but getting out one day. But prom is the thing that binds the whole place together. It’s the one event of the year where everyone participates, parents forget who said what at that one PTA meeting, and we get to become the stars of the fairy tales we’ve been reading since we were kids. Maybe it has to do with the performance of it all, how elaborate and ornate it can be—about feeling like royalty in the midst of a place surrounded by cornfields.
Prom is a lot of things to a lot of people, and I’m not sure I’ll ever understand some of them. But that part I sort of get: Feeling special in a town that doesn’t feel special at all is worth all sorts of madness.
Mr. K is the chaperone on duty for check-in when we arrive, and I’m so happy to see him.
“Look at you!” He beams when we approach the table to check in— Gabi, Stone, and Britt in front of me and Amanda beside me. We’re not holding hands, but her knuckles keep brushing against mine, and it’s a very near thing. “You guys look like a million bucks! Let me just find your names here.”
Our tickets had to be bought separately, but Mr. K checks off my name and then Amanda’s. When he hands us our goodie bags—each of them filled with a pair of AirPods, some gift cards to local restaurants, and a commemorative mug—he holds on to mine for a second longer than everyone else’s, and I tell the rest of the group to go on without me.
“I have good news,” he says, his smile wide.
The last time I saw him look this hopeful was before my audition. I smile back on instinct.
“Is this about—” I start, but he jumps in before I can finish.
“I sent your newest arrangement to my old advisor at Pennington! He loved it, and they agreed to give you another audition in a few weeks, if you want to give them another chance.”
I scream. I can’t help it. I put my hands on my knees and happy-screech at the floor. When I look back up, Mr. K is laughing so hard his eyes are watering.
He wipes at them quickly, and I start to thank him for this audition, for everything.
“Mr. K, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you so much—”
He waves his hands in front of his face and beams.
“Don’t even think about it. You deserve this. We’ll talk more about it on Monday. But for now”—he points over to where Amanda is standing with my best friends. She’s talking to Britt, waving her hands around as she tries to prove a point—“it looks like you have a date to get back to.”