The Anti-Prom

The library is almost deserted now, and even the security guard just waves me in with a yawn, barely moving from his seat by the front entrance. The building is eerily still: fluorescent lights bright overhead, and not even the usual hushed murmurs to be heard among the tall stacks. I try not to shiver. Quiet is good, especially when you’re about to “obtain” official identification cards, but I can’t help wishing for more than a few sleeping bodies slumped over their books for company. Although . . .

Slipping silently past the empty tables, I creep up behind one of the students — facedown in a large textbook, unmoving. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I carefully scope his desk: highlighters, note cards, and — yes! — the pale edge of his student ID card, peeking out from under his right elbow. I hover there for a moment, just to be sure, but he lets out a snuffle and then settles again, his breathing steady and slow. Perfect.

Leaning in, I reach for the card, easing it out from under him with the very tips of my fingers. Slowly, slowly . . . I hold my breath, tugging it closer until —

“Meg!”

I startle at the noise, knocking into the sleeping boy. He jerks awake under me, making a grunt of confusion. I leap back.

“Hey, I thought it was you!”

I whirl around. The boy from before, Scott, is hurrying down the stairs toward me. He looks tired but happy, his T-shirt wrinkled and his sandy hair all messed up. He comes to a stop in front of me, breathless. “You switched outfits again; I nearly didn’t recognize you. What are you?” He grins. “Some kind of secret agent?”

I gulp, glancing back at my target. He’s frowning, still sleepy, but beginning to register the noise.

“Whas goin’ on?” The boy yawns, looking around. I panic.

“Nothing!” I squeak, backing away. Scott opens his mouth, so I pull him after me, dashing into the library stacks until we’re out of sight, surrounded by tall rows of books and abandoned stepladders.

I catch my breath, leaning against a section of ancient philosophy. “Sorry,” I manage to say. “I was, umm, in the middle of something.”

“Should I even ask, or is this top secret too?” Scott raises his eyebrows. He peers around a shelf and scans the floor, hand above his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. He ducks back. “All clear. He’s napping again.”

“Thanks.” I relax. Then I think of the last time I saw him — and my less than polite exit. “Did it go all right, with those sorority girls?” I bite my lip, remembering their wrath. “Sorry I had to bail like that, but . . .”

“But they were pretty mad,” he agrees. “It’s OK. I threw down gossip magazines to distract them, and eventually they went looking for easier prey.”

I blink, but then the edge of his lip tugs in a grin, and I realize that he’s joking.

“Oh.” I laugh. “Good move. Although, maybe you should keep a spare US Weekly on you, just in case they come back. Or some diet snack bars.”

“Not that, you know, we’re making shallow assumptions about those fine members of the college community,” he adds, mock-serious.

“Of course not.” I grin.

There’s a pause. Scott tilts his head to look at me. I shift slightly under his gaze, but I’m surprised to find I don’t feel self-conscious in this dress anymore. I stand a little straighter. “There was this party,” I say, waving my hand vaguely. “I was . . . trying to impress someone.”

He nods. “So, what’s this latest mission you’re on?”

“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to tell you. . . .” I reply, but my voice comes out more teasing than I meant.

He laughs. “Well, if you need any help, I just finished up here for the night.”

“This late? Ouch.”

“Finals,” he agrees, looking briefly woeful. “So if you can give me any distraction at all . . .”

“Well.” I pause, but it doesn’t just seem like an empty offer; Scott hoists up his book bag and waits expectantly. “I need to borrow an ID to break into Westville dorm.” I tell him matter-of-factly. “In the next ten minutes or so.”

He stops. “Wait, you’re serious?” He laughs. “You really are a little criminal, aren’t you?”

I give a private smile, well aware of the irony. “That’s me,” I quip lightly. “Woman of mystery. So”— I stick my hands in my hoodie pockets and give him a cautious look —“can you help?”

“Sure,” he says immediately. “Use mine.”

“Great.” I let out a breath, relieved at the plan — and the fact that he doesn’t seem outraged by my proposal of minor fraud and deception. “You’re the best.”

“Can you put that on a sticker, maybe? Or a cap.” He grins, eyes crinkling behind those square, retro glasses. “Or just keep repeating it for the rest of my life.”

Oh.

I glance away, thrown by the sudden twist in my stomach and the bright look in his eyes. But that’s ridiculous; he’s a college student. He can’t . . .

I peek back. He’s lounged against the book case, and even with mussed-up hair and a faded old T-shirt, he’s still older and cute and a hundred times cooler than I’ll ever be.

That’s enough of that.

This time, it’s my own voice drowning out those insecurities, stern enough to make me giggle.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I tell him, trying not to blush. “So, let’s see this ID of yours.”

Once I explain everything, Scott insists on coming with me, even though I could just take the ID and return it later. “It’s fine,” he promises, strolling beside me. “I was planning to have some coffee and study straight through. Besides”— he gives me a look —“I kind of want to see if you pull this off.”

“We’d better.” I walk quicker. “That diary is too dangerous to leave laying around.”

“And then what, you’ll destroy it?”

“Somehow. Although, we used up all the lighter fluid already. . . .” I giggle.

“Uh-oh.” Scott elbows me lightly, just a nudge. “You’re going to be trouble; I can tell.”

The idea that I, Meg Rose Zuckerman, could ever be trouble — let alone a woman of mystery and intrigue — would have been laughable even a day ago. But now I smile to myself, hugging my arms around me as we walk.

We round the last corner. “Is your exam first thing, or —?” The words fade from my lips as I look up and see Jolene and Dante making out against the car. Seriously making out. He’s pressed her right up against the driver’s side, and his hands are slipped so high inside her jacket that I blush, just looking at them.

“Ummm, guys?” I start, hesitant. There’s no change. “Jolene?”

He brings his hands down to her thighs and then lifts her up; she wraps her legs around his waist, but before things can get R-rated, there’s a piercing whistle. We all look over. Scott lowers two fingers from his mouth. “Hey.” He gives them a casual wave. “We, uh, got the card.”

Jolene slips to the ground again, untangling herself from Dante’s arms. “Great,” she says, breathless. “That’s awesome!”

“Good work.” Dante gives me a sheepish grin.

“OK.” I’m trying not to laugh, but they look so dizzy it’s hard to keep a straight face. “How about we go ahead and break in, while you . . . umm, keep watch here.”

“It’s a plan,” Dante says immediately. He wraps his arms around Jolene’s waist, leaning his chin down on her shoulder; she relaxes back against his chest. “We’ll be, uh, vigilant.”

“I’m sure you will.” I smirk. Jolene looks happy, if such a thing were possible. Dante whispers something in her ear, and she swats him good-naturedly.

“I’ll turn the jammer on.” Jolene looks over as an afterthought. “So you — and Scott?— can take your time.” She holds up the remote control as evidence.

“I guess we’re up.” Scott grins, turning back to me. “You ready?”

I nod, determined.

There’s a wide walkway leading up to the dorm, but we approach from the side, skirting along the front wall to stay out of sight. I peer around, through the walled glass entrance. The old security guard is at his desk inside, watching something on the computer screen as he munches on a slice of pizza. Bliss is watching from her perch on a file cabinet behind him, slurping at a soda. I risk a wave. She glances up and catches my eye; I gesture. She nods.

“Let’s go,” I whisper to Scott, even though there’s nobody around to hear us. Taking a breath, we stroll around and approach the door in full view. Scott swipes his card. Nothing. He swipes again, miming in a big gesture. I step up beside him and knock loudly on the door.

The guard looks up. Scott waves his card and points to the scanner. Reluctantly, the guard puts down his pizza and comes to let us in.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I say, heart beating quicker. “It won’t even beep.”

He frowns, swiping his own card through the machine, but there’s no response. “Come on,” he says with a sigh, waving us inside. I make it halfway to the elevator before he adds, “I’ll still need to see —”

“Quick, Brazil is about to score!” Bliss cries. From this angle, I can see that he’s streaming a soccer match on one of the computer screens. The guard glances back, torn.

“Here!” Scott takes the opportunity to wave his card in the guard’s face. He glances at it for a split second.

“Oooh!” Bliss cries out with excitement. “That was so a foul!”

With a quick nod at us, the guard hurries back to his station. “What did I miss?” he demands, as Scott hustles me into the elevator. I hit the button, and finally the doors slide shut.

“Oh my God.” I cling to him, breathless. “That was close!”

“He barely looked at it!” Scott exclaims. He looks down at me, laughing, and I suddenly realize I’m still holding on to him, pressed warm against his chest.

“Right.” I quickly let go, blushing. “I, umm . . .”

The doors open.

I step out into the hallway ahead of him, forcing myself to take a deep breath. You’re not clear yet, I remind myself. There’s still the matter of Jason to navigate — who could be poring over the diary at this very minute.

“Which way now?” Scott gets his bearings. There’s mess from the party still scattered all around: garbage bags littering the lobby, and bottles stacked in recycling boxes outside every door.

I check the map on the wall. “Room 318, that-a-way.”

“Lead on.”

With the dorm so quiet now, there’s nobody to stop us from making our way quickly through the hallways to Jason’s room. I stop outside and assess: the door is shut, no light coming from inside.

“Do we knock?” I wonder.

“And ask politely for it back?” Scott asks, pressing his ear against the door to check for noise.

“Good point.”

Besides, aren’t I past the point of asking politely — standing back and waiting for something to be given to me? Isn’t it time I reach out and take what I want myself?

Putting my hand to the doorknob, I carefully turn. It’s open. “Shh,” I tell Scott softly, easing the door wide enough to slip into the room.

It’s pitch-black inside, with the drapes pulled shut and nothing but dark shadows all around. I feel Scott edge in behind me, closing the door behind him to block the hall light. We stand silently in the black for a moment, until my heartbeat slows again and my eyes adjust to the dim.

The sound of light snores is coming from the corner.

“Here.” Scott’s voice is quiet in my ear, and then there’s a pale flicker as he takes out his cell phone. “Do you know where it is?”

I nod, before realizing he can’t see it. “They said they left it on the bedside table,” I whisper back. His arm brushes mine, and I shiver.

Scott takes his phone and sweeps the room, casting a bluish glow over objects in turn until he lands on Jason’s body, slumped unconscious over his bed with a paper party crown crumpled on his head.

“I don’t think we need to worry about him waking up anytime soon.” Scott laughs, his voice returning to normal, but then there’s a sound from the far corner. We freeze.

“Jase?” a male voice slurs from the floor. A head pops up on the other side of the room, adorned with his own crown. “Isthatyou?”

I gulp, lunging for the dark, squarish shape beside Jason’s bed. My hands grope in the dark, feeling my way for something hard and booklike.

“Yup,” Scott says behind me, trying not to laugh. “Just go back to sleep, buddy.”

“Mneughh.” The body slumps back down, just as my fingers close around pages and a leathery cover.

“I think, maybe . . . ?” I hold the book out to Scott, anxious. He shines his phone over the pages, and in the faint light, I can just about decipher a girlish scrawl. “Yes!” I breathe, full of relief.

“Come on!” he whispers, grabbing my free hand and pulling me out of the room. I barely have time to shut the door behind us before he pushes me down the hallway, sprinting toward the elevator. We collapse laughing against the back wall, and then I realize. He’s holding my hand.

This time, I don’t let go.

“The outfit . . .” Scott begins, when we’ve both caught our breath. “You said you were trying to impress someone.” He looks straight ahead as the elevator slowly descends. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” I say quietly.

“Oh.” His hand loosens in mine.

“But it turns out he wasn’t worth impressing,” I add.

“Oh.” The grip tightens again.

I grin.

And then, because adrenaline is still sparkling in my veins, because tonight I’ve done things I never thought I’d have the courage to do, and because — most important of all — I suddenly want it so badly I forget how to breathe, I turn around and kiss him.

My lips bump awkwardly against his at first, but before I can feel clumsy or embarrassed at all, Scott pulls me closer, kissing me properly. His lips are warm against mine, hands gentle on my cheeks. I fall against him, giddy.

Now this is perfect.





We meet back at the car — Jolene and Meg both grinning like cats who got the cream. Or, you know, the cute boys.

“Great.” I sigh, looking between the happy couples. “Now I’m the third wheel. Or is that fifth?”

Meg blushes, shyly holding that Scott boy’s hand. I size him up for a moment, but he’s gazing at Meg with such clear adoration, I can’t even hold those indie sideburns against him.

Jolene isn’t so coy. “Get over it,” she tells me, one hand in Dante’s back pocket. “You’re the one mourning your lost love, remember?”

I stare at her blankly.

“Uh, Cameron, remember him?”

“Oh, right.” I pause, thrown. After everything tonight, he feels like a stranger — someone from a different life.

“So, we’ve got the diary back.” Jolene yawns. “What’s left?”

“Food,” Meg announces immediately. I laugh. “What?” she protests. “Theft and deception is hungry work!”

“There’s a diner just off campus,” Scott suggests, looking around for approval. Meg bats her eyes up at him, lost, while Jolene shrugs, Dante still wrapped around her. Clearly, they need someone to take control before they all melt into a sickening pool of hormones.

“Let’s go!” I declare, shooing them into the car. “Dante, get your hands off her for, like, two minutes. You’re the only one who can drive this old thing.”

We make it to the diner without any more public displays of affection, piling into a huge red leather booth in the corner. The place is bright, full of early-morning truckers and students recovering from the night before.

“Hash browns, and waffles, and sausage, and maple syrup,” Meg tells the waitress, practically swooning over the menu. Scott grins, still holding fast to her hand.

“Need any help with that?”

Meg shakes her head so fast, her hair spins out. “Get your own!”

“Just coffee for me, black,” Dante says. He slips out of his seat and heads for the corner jukebox. A second later, the twang of an old country song begins to play. “Jolene, Jolene . . .”

Smooth.

“If I’d known you were so easy to crack, I’d have called him in a long time ago,” I tell her.

“Shut up!” she protests, but there’s no bite in her tone. Jolene nods at the small book on the table between us. “You know what you’re going to do with it yet?”

“I was thinking a ceremonial shredding.” I decide. “Every last page.”

“But there’s still Kaitlin’s dirt in there,” Meg points out. “You could keep that.”

I shake my head. “I’m done with her. All this stupid bitching . . . I’m better than that.”

“And so modest, too,” Jolene elbows me. I yelp.

“Just for that, I’m stealing all your bacon,” I inform her, sending a longing look at the kitchen. Then I stop. “No way!”

I blink, staring at the group of goth girls crammed into a table by the door. But I’m right: it’s her. My cousin, Selena, in thick black eye makeup and a black strappy corset, her hair twisted into sharp spirals. All this time I’ve spent trying to be as perfect as her, and it turns out, my sorority cousin isn’t so image-perfect after all.

I laugh, waving across the room. She looks confused, and then worried, and then finally she raises her hand and gives me a tiny wave back.

“What?” Meg cranes her neck around.

“Nothing.” I turn back to my table with a grin. Maybe my mom won’t be freaking out so much about the feud with Kaitlin. At least I don’t have a metal bar spiked through my nose.

“Did you see the flyers by the door?” Dante returns, pushing all of us tighter together. “Okkervil River is playing out by the lake tomorrow night.”

“You mean tonight,” Jolene corrects him. He rolls his eyes at her, she sticks her tongue out, he leans forward, and then I interrupt before it all descends into make-out city again.

“Let’s go,” I suggest as the waitress begins to dispense vast piles of food in front of us. I inhale the carbs. Heaven. “After we’ve had, like, ten hours’ sleep I mean.”

“Sounds good to me.” Scott reaches for the home fries. “My last final will be done.”

“I don’t know.” Meg bites her lip. “My dad —”

“Leave him to me,” I promise.

“And my mom . . .” Jolene adds, looking up from her bacon.

“Trust me,” I insist, snatching a piece from her plate and settling back in the booth. I look around, happy. “This is going to be an awesome summer.”





Thanks as always to my wonderful agent, Rosemary Stimola, and the fabulous team at Candlewick: Liz Bicknell, Kaylan Adair, and Tracy Miracle, and everyone else who worked to make this book possible.

Thanks also to my mum and dad, and the friends who offered ceaseless enthusiasm and advice: Veronique Watt, Elisabeth Donnelly, Darinka Aleksic, and Narmada Thiranagama. Thanks to Tyler Ruggeri for the support, and Will Sheff for writing “Unless It’s Kicks.”





ABBY MCDONALD is from Sussex, England. Since graduating from Oxford University in 2006, she has composed teen magazine quizzes, interviewed rock stars, and bounced back and forth across the Atlantic so often that the airlines should give her automatic upgrades (she wishes). She is now based in London, where she writes full-time.