Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress

Prom Goddess A heavenly floral scent surrounds me as the zipper of The Dress magically closes against my back. I gaze at myself in the mirror on the door--which isn't usually there, but whatever--and lose myself in the vision. I am totally feminine, elegant even, from the heart-shaped bodice to the nipped-in waistline to the bit of crinoline peeking out from under the hem. Not a volleyball-induced callus, bruise, or scab to be seen. I am Nicolette Antonovich, Prom Goddess. My mother is suddenly beside me, mouthing words about him being on the doorstep. Him. Rod "Rascal" Pasqual, the big blond football player who asked me to his junior prom. Who needed a date when his longtime girlfriend up and moved out of state. And who is so far out of my league that I suspect some of my bruises are from pinching myself. Mom and I float through the mirror, down the hall, through the living room, and to the front door. Which seems to be opening with a will of its own. Rascal's too-handsome face is right in front of me. His lips move, but his words are out of sync, something about me looking fantastic. I want to tell him it's all for him, but my own voice gets drowned out. By laughter. High-pitched screeches and cackles--like the Wicked Witch of the West has been cloned and is laughing her heart out on my front lawn. Then there are faces, everywhere. All around Rascal. And laughing. My teammates, my best friend, her evil brother. And inside the circle of Rascal's arms, I see someone. It's his perfect girlfriend, back where she belongs. And zapping me--and the world's most beautiful prom dress--back into our places, too. Namely, the bedroom. In front of the mirror. Alone. Just Say Yes My mouth was gaping when I woke up this morning, but I wasn't laughing. I wasn't screaming. I'm not even sure I was breathing. That dream--the nightmare--hit waaay too close to home. Although in real life, Rascal had given me the courtesy of a before-the-prom, private communication that Kylie had come back to town, the bottom line was still the same. My prom dress and I were left out in the cold and, real or imagined, I was left trying to lose the remnants of laughing faces. Rascal and his girlfriend. My coach and teammates. My best friend, Alison, and her seventeen-year-old brother. Especially her brother. Jared McCreary, who still treated me like I was twelve years old, when he bothered to treat me like anything at all. Yet despite that, I have been continuously forced to humble myself and ask for his help throughout my saga. As I was going to have to do again today--breaking our two-month unacknowledged and mutual silence. Which was only slightly more appealing than the nightmare I was still slowly shaking off. And an hour or so later, things were quickly going from bad to worse. Not only did I have to grovel this time, but it looked like I had to do it in front of Jared's buddies. Three idiots so invested in my present humiliation that they probably wouldn't notice if hundred-dollar bills fell from the AC vents. There I was, standing beside Hillside High School's Senior Bench and staring into the eyes of the one person I swore I'd never ask for anything again. I steeled my nerves, reminding myself of my desperate crusade: to prevent my mother from potentially losing our house. Our somewhat comfortable way of life. And our frigging minds. I would suck it up. Somehow. I knew the only way I stood a chance with Jared was by playing by his rules. Pretending that the loud, finger-pointing scene on the deck of his parents' Santa Barbara beach house eight weeks ago hadn't happened. After he'd basically pulled me out of the arms of a hunky high school Canadian and then lectured me on safety and judgment. Like I said--twelve years old. But for today's purposes, I was determined to give that memory--as wellFerraro, Tina is the author of 'Top Ten Uses for an Unworn Prom Dress' with ISBN 9780385733687 and ISBN 0385733682.