Chapter 14 - Prom
Kendall had expected to attend prom with half the school watching her arrive.
That had been the old plan.
Designer dress.
Professional makeup.
Pictures at the Ross lake house.
The lake house was gone.
Her old friend group had fractured.
The boy she had expected to attend with began dating someone else during suspension.
By May, Kendall decided not to go.
Victoria found the unopened prom notice on her desk.
“You always wanted this.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Because of money?”
“No.”
Victoria looked at her.
“Because people will stare?”
Kendall said nothing.
Victoria sat.
“I can help with a dress.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“That was cruel.”
Kendall winced.
“Sorry.”
“Money is not contaminated because I misused some.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Kendall stared at the notice.
“I don’t want to walk into a room wondering who thinks I stole my ticket.”
Victoria’s face softened.
“So don’t go.”
Kendall looked surprised.
“What?”
“I spent years telling you every social event was important.”
“Yes.”
“I was wrong.”
Kendall laughed.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
Then Victoria added, “But if you want to go and fear is choosing for you, that’s different.”
Kendall groaned.
“Everyone talks like Counselor Lee now.”
“It may be contagious.”
Eventually Kendall bought a forty-dollar used dress from a consignment store.
She went with two girls from history class.
No dramatic date.
No entrance.
No lake-house photographs.
Caleb attended because Luke had somehow convinced him prom was “anthropologically significant.”
“You said there’d be food,” Caleb complained.
“There is.”
“These are crackers.”
“Formal crackers.”
Caleb wore a borrowed suit jacket from Adam’s brother—no, wrong story; need fix. There is no Adam. Let's instead say from Rachel's coworker's son. But in final text we should not introduce glitch. Need correct here. We must edit before final. Let's continue mentally then fix.
Caleb wore a suit jacket borrowed from the son of Rachel’s coworker.
Sophie had spent twenty minutes fixing his tie while insulting him.
At the dance Kendall and Caleb noticed each other across the gym.
The same building.
Different room.
Music replaced laughter.
Kendall approached.
“You look uncomfortable.”
“I paid thirty-five dollars to stand under balloons.”
“Technically your mother paid.”
“Don’t destroy the illusion.”
Kendall smiled.
Then glanced toward the lobby doors.
“You ever think about that day?”
“Sometimes.”
“Me too.”
Caleb waited.
“I’m not going to apologize again.”
“Good.”
“I think I was using apologies like a button.”
He frowned.
“What button?”
“Press until the awkward feeling goes away.”
“That seems accurate.”
They stood near the wall.
Kendall asked, “Do you hate me?”
Caleb considered.
“Less.”
She laughed.
“That is incredibly insulting.”
“You asked.”
“No, it’s fair.”
He looked toward Luke, who was attempting to dance terribly on purpose.
“I hated you a lot.”
“I know.”
“Then I hated that everybody expected me to either forgive you or keep hating you.”
Kendall nodded.
“So now?”
“Now I mostly have other things to do.”
She smiled.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
A slow song began.
Kendall looked toward the dance floor.
“Don’t worry. I’m not asking.”
“Thank God.”
They laughed.
Then Jasmine Porter approached Kendall.
The band student.
Kendall stiffened.
Jasmine wore a green dress and a silver marching-band pin.
“I got your letter,” Kendall said.
“I know.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t nice.”
“I know.”
Jasmine looked at Caleb.
“Can I borrow her?”
“Please.”
Kendall followed Jasmine toward the hallway.
Jasmine stopped near the trophy case.
“I’m graduating.”
“I know.”
“I got a music scholarship.”
Kendall smiled.
“That’s amazing.”
“My band director helped after the uniform-fee thing.”
“I’m glad.”
Jasmine’s expression remained serious.
“I wanted you to know something.”
“Okay.”
“I still don’t forgive you.”
Kendall nodded.
“But I also don’t want you spending the next ten years imagining I’m somewhere suffering because of you.”
Kendall stared.
Jasmine continued.
“My life kept going.”
The sentence hit harder than anger.
“You mattered in one bad part.”
Kendall’s eyes filled.
“You don’t get to matter in all the other parts unless I let you.”
Kendall nodded.
“I understand.”
“Good.”
Jasmine walked back into the dance.
Kendall remained alone for a moment.
Then she laughed softly.
All year she had imagined accountability as carrying every person she hurt forever.
Jasmine had just refused to be carried.
There was humility in realizing even your wrongdoing did not make you central forever.
Later, Luke dragged Caleb, Kendall, and half the history class into a group photograph.
“Everybody look successful.”
Caleb groaned.
Kendall froze for half a second at the word.
Luke saw it.
“Bad joke?”
“Terrible.”
“Sorry.”
Kendall smiled.
“Keep it.”
The camera flashed.
In the photograph, Caleb was laughing.
Kendall was too.
Not because everything between them had healed.
Because a dance could simply be a dance.
When Caleb got home, he removed the suit jacket and found five dollars in the pocket.
He stared.
Rachel’s coworker’s son must have left it there.
For one second the coincidence was almost absurd.
Caleb carried it to Rachel.
“What do I do?”
She looked at the bill.
“Return it?”
“Right.”
He laughed.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Long story.”
The next morning he returned the five dollars.
No audience.
No phones.
No meaning beyond belonging to somebody else.
May you like
Sometimes the healthiest ending for money was simply giving it back.
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