Chapter 5 - Prom

Sixteen year old Esther goes to prom, and when she's abandoned by her best friend, the most popular boy in school unexpectedly walks her home.

Previously: Esther’s request seems to have fallen on deaf ears, and she can’t seem to dismiss her surprise letter from Gloria.

Esther (16)

‘How do I look?’ I ask, and I smooth down my dress and touch my straightened hair. Amber dips her finger into a tiny pot of peachy pink glitter and I suck in my cheeks as she dabs it on my skin and brushes it out towards my temples.

‘Like such a cutie,’ she says, stepping back, dusting off her hands and admiring her handiwork. She turns me around and calls our mother into my bedroom and I slip on my shoes.

‘Oh, Esther,’ she coos. She’s clutching her camera and she ushers me into position, but I take it out of her hands, focus it on my reflection in the mirror and click, batting my lashes and pouting.

‘Beautiful, but can I have a proper photo now? For a frame. And, I do think it’s a bit of a shame you’re not going with a boy.’

‘Why?’ Amber asks. ‘Have you seen the boys in Esther’s year? I wouldn’t want to go to prom with any of them, either.’

‘Bethany and I always said we’d go together. And… Amber is sort of right.’ I wrinkle up my nose and Mum looks resigned.

‘They can’t all be awful. What happened to James? What was his surname? Cooper?’

‘What? From primary school?’

‘I knew his mum from toddler group. He was your first best friend.’

Amber snort-laughs.

‘Your face, Esther,’ she says.

‘He very much hangs out in the upper echelons of school social groups these days. It wouldn’t have occurred to either of us to go together. He’s got a girlfriend, anyway.’

They can be found most break times snogging behind the portacabins we have geography in.

I grab my denim jacket from the hook on the back of my door and Mum’s lips are pursed. She doesn’t like the jacket with the dress; she suggested a pashmina.

‘Dad’ll drive you to Bethany’s,’ she offers. 

‘No thanks, I’ll walk,’ I say. ‘Not like it’s far.’

‘In those shoes? Take some flats in your bag.’

‘Mum! I’ll be fine!’

I’m at the bottom of the stairs now. Dad ambles out of the sitting room and loiters by the door, one hand shoved into the pocket of his trousers, the other holding his car keys.

‘She’s walking,’ Mum says, and he looks relieved. He pats my shoulder and kisses the top of my head and wanders into the kitchen, calling back at me to have a nice time and not to get caught up with any boys. Amber and I roll our eyes. No boy from school asked me to prom, so my chances of miraculously pulling any of them are remote at best.

Bethany’s sitting on her front wall when I arrive, ready to go. We don’t even go inside, just just link arms and totter up the hill to school like we’ve done for the past five years. Little groups of people mill around, posing for photos, chatting excitedly, admiring their dresses and hair and immaculately applied make up. Beth and I gravitate towards a cluster of people from our tutor group and loiter until we’re welcomed into the fold. It’s always been a bit like this with us. We’re not particularly part of any group. We’re not artsy or mathsy, sporty, or particularly popular. We wouldn’t classify ourselves as emo. We’re definitely not chavs. We’ve floated and meandered around like this since we were eleven, not standing out, but equally, not really fitting in. We’ve always been like twin moons on an elliptical orbit.

Tonight is different though, the labels we’ve assigned ourselves and nurtured for years have been shrugged off. Tonight we’re a sea of suits and skinny ties, sparkly dresses and high heels, false eyelashes and lipgloss, and soon enough, we shuffle inside for the last time. The bleacher seating has been stacked away and a band is setting up on the stage; four boys, only a little bit older than we are. Strands of fairy lights hang from the middle of the ceiling into the corners of the rooms and cascade down the walls, nestled into swathes of fabric. Circular tables are made up around the outside of the room with balloons weighed down between them. Someone’s already trying to hack into one to inhale the helium.

Beth and I help ourselves to a drink and sit at a table. She stares dreamily at the stage.

‘I’m going to pull the drummer,’ she says.

‘You won’t be the only one who tries.’ 

She winks at me. ‘Maybe not, however, I will be the one who succeeds.’

Up on stage, he laughs at something one of his bandmates said, spins his drum stick like a baton, and flicks hair out of his face, and I’m dead certain Bethany has just fallen in love. ‘If anyone can,’ I tell her, ‘it’s you.’

‘You’re so right,’ she says, and she finishes her cup of cranberry juice and lemonade and looks around. ‘Oh my days, look who has just turned up!’

She nods towards the entrance to the hall. Ashley Ramsay, king of the popular kids, is standing on the steps, surveying the room with his jacket slung over his shoulder and his dark, ringletty curls over his face. 

‘I thought he wasn’t allowed to come,’ I say, in pointlessly hushed tones. It’s not like he can hear me over the sound check and the chat.

‘As if that would stop him,’ Bethany scoffs, rolling her eyes. ‘He probably jumped the fence. And who shows up to something like this in ripped jeans and manky Vans? I bet he’s here to cause trouble.’

‘Why would he cause trouble?’ I laugh, and Bethany looks incredulous. She has scant time for Ashley Ramsay. ‘He probably just wants to have a nice evening with his mates, the same as the rest of us.’ 

‘Whatever,’ she says, ungraciously.

‘He’s not as bad as you think,’ I press.

‘Esther, as you know, I went to primary school with him. He’s been horrible since he was five.’

He’s talking to a girl from my Spanish class, and she’s gazing, hearts for eyes. Honestly, I don’t blame her, he’s a little enthralling. He makes popular kid comments and back chats teachers for clout, and one time he set off the fire alarm to get out of a maths assessment and was suspended for a week.

‘Yeah, I know. And heckling your talent show piece on residential wasn’t very nice,’ I say, and she frowns.

‘It ruined the whole trip for me. Even now I can’t even think about going back to Westward Ho!,’ she pouts. ‘Anyway, he probably just wants the girls to fawn all over him. A last bun fight to get off with bad boy Ashley Ramsay.’

And I suspect this, at least, is probably true.

We stay at the table as the hall fills up and the band begins their set. They’re pretty good, and in an attempt to get the drummer to notice her, Bethany drags me into the middle of the dance floor.

‘Dance with me,’ she laughs, grabbing my hand. We bop around in time to the beat. She goes all out to attract attention with sexy dance moves and hands through her hair, shimmying towards the stage and generally acting as if they’re the best thing she’s ever heard, and I, brimming with second hand embarrassment, slink back to our table.

‘Not dancing anymore?’ a voice says from behind me. Ashley’s leaning against the wall, his shirt untucked and a little bit undone, his knee visible through the rip in his jeans. I shake my head, mortified that he’d seen me.

‘Nah.’

‘Not your thing? Or has Bethany abandoned you for one of those pricks?’

‘Erm, neither?’ I lie. It’s definitely the latter.

He looks blankly at me. ‘Looks like both to me.’

‘Do you not feel like dancing either then?’ I ask. He carries on looking at me and I get a weird frisson. This is the most we’ve ever said to each other.

‘I don’t really dance, Esty Mackie,’ he smirks, and walks off, slinging his jacket back over his shoulder as he goes.

‘It’s Esther,’ I say, after him.

Bethany returns when the band are taking a break, replaced by a DJ playing songs from a laptop hooked up to the PA system.

‘Let’s get some fresh air,’ she says. ‘It’s hot in here.’

Outside, a group’s banded together by the side of the gym block. The popular crowd, so my first instinct is to quietly turn around and slip away, unseen, but Bethany tells us we are carpeing the diem, and muscles us in.

‘Any chance I can bum a cig?’ she asks, whilst I hover behind. She doesn’t smoke, but she did mention reinventing herself for college so perhaps she’s getting a head start. One’s produced and she leans in to hands cupped around a lighter.

Ashley’s in the middle of the group, sipping from a hip flask before passing it on to a friend who does the same, and so it goes around the circle, even offered to me. I immediately splutter as the liquid burns the back of my throat.

‘What’s up Esther, never had vodka before?’ asks James Cooper. James Cooper! If only Mum knew. He’s rewarded with sniggers whilst I feel a flush of red bloom across my skin. I pass the flask on and Ashley’s watching me again, but he’s not laughing.

‘Well, we’re going back inside now,’ Beth announces.

‘Bye then,’ James’ girlfriend sniggers.

Bethany does pull the drummer. At the end of the set, she struts over to the stage and beckons him over, later disappearing with him, so I flit from group to group until it’s late enough for me to feel I’m making a dignified exit. I’m halfway to the school gate when I hear a chorus of exaggerated spluttering, and laughter when I look back.

Can’t say I’m going to miss this place all that much.

On the street, I lean against the wall to adjust my shoes and Ashley rounds the corner, stopping in front of me.

‘Hi,’ he says, out of breath like he’s in a hurry.

‘Hello.’ And then, when neither of us say anything more: ‘Did you want something?’

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other a few times.

‘I didn’t join in, you know? With the coughing. Back there.’ He jerks his head backwards and a curly lock of hair immediately falls over his face.

‘I don’t really care, Ashley,’ I say, shrugging. I definitely care, but I’ll never let it show.

‘Just Ash,’ he replies.

‘Okay, Ash. Well, as noble as that was, you also didn’t get them to stop.’ 

I start to walk up the hill, my heels clipping the pavement and the balls of my feet burning, and he walks next to me. ‘Was there anything else?’ I ask.

‘Nope. Just going home. Thought you might like some company.’

‘Right,’ I say, and I’m not certain this isn’t an elaborate joke at my expense. But we’ve left school now and come September we’ll be scattered across the city for college, so what would be the point?

‘Did you have a nice time?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, it was fun. I liked the band… Did you?’

‘They were okay. My band’s better though,’ he grins.

We cross the road and walk past a house with a ghost advert still visible on the bricks. Ash points up at it. ‘I really like those,’ he says, apropos of nothing.

‘Yeah? Me too. I did my year ten photography project on them.’

‘They’re everywhere. Once you start seeing them, they crop up all over the place.’

It’s a clear, summery evening. Dusky and warm, with silhouettes of trees and television aerials and telegraph poles against the twilight. Across the valley, on the other side of the river, is the university where Dad works, and beyond, the tall trees lining the Common. A fat quarter moon hangs in the sky, and I’m talking about ghost adverts with Ash Ramsay as we walk home from prom.

And it occurs to me, as we reach the shops, that I’ve walked this way to and from school every day, and I’ve never once seen him.

‘Do you fancy something to eat?’ he asks, nodding at the chippy.

‘Erm…’

‘I’m getting something.’

‘Why?’

He smirks. ‘Because I’m hungry, Esty. Dunno if you noticed but there wasn’t much in the way of food there tonight.’

Again with Esty. I don’t correct him. ‘Anyway, I fancy some chips and thought you might, too. It’s fine if not, though. But I’m not sharing.’

I think about what Bethany would do in this situation, and even though she can’t stand him, I decide that chips with Ash probably isn’t the worst thing in the world.

‘Okay. Thank you, that’d be nice.’

I stand behind him in the chip shop, nervously fiddling with the buttons on my jacket and wondering if we look like we’re on a date as he orders our food and chats to the owner. We take our cones of fresh, hot chips, oil seeping through the paper, and sit on the base of the clock tower close by. 

‘Good chips,’ I say, between bites.

‘The best chips,’ he agrees.

Nuclear chips, I think, as one sears the roof of my mouth.

‘So… I didn’t really expect to see you tonight,’ I say.

‘Why?’ he laughs.

‘Because I thought they said you weren’t allowed to come. Because of the fire alarm thing.’

‘You shouldn’t believe all the rumours, Esty, I don’t,’ he says, eyebrows raised.

‘I mean, it was a pretty solid rumour. Everyone was saying it.’

‘Well, people say a lot of things.’ He shrugs, and takes his hip flask out again.

‘Can I have some of that?’ I say, suddenly feeling bold.

‘Yeah?’ he asks. ‘You sure?’

He passes it over and the vodka stings my throat again but I’m ready for it, and this time I merely wince. 

‘So did you want to see me tonight then?’ he asks, and I know he’s looking at me, but I concentrate hard on my food.

‘I wasn’t fussed either way.’

‘That’s a nice thing to say to someone who’s just bought you dinner,’ he laughs. ‘It’s cool though. I wasn’t fussed about seeing you either.’

‘Well that’s fine then,’ I say, fighting a grin. ‘We’re even.’

‘And yet here we are, sitting by the park, scranning chips and drinking alcohol I nicked from my mum. Certainly didn’t see that coming.’

‘Did you tell your friends you were walking back with me?’ I ask. ‘After they all laughed.’

Ash wrinkles up his nose. ‘Thought not,’ I say. He looks embarrassed and I feel mean for bringing it up because really, all this in the warm summer half light is nice. ‘Well, never mind,’ I say. We finish up and scrunch the paper into tight balls. ‘Shall we carry on?’

‘Where do you live?’ he asks, as we cross the road.

‘Up here on the right,’ I say, pointing. ‘You?’

‘A bus ride from here,’ he says, casually. 

‘Wait, what? I don’t understand. Back at school you said you were going home, I just assumed you lived my way and I’d somehow just never seen you.’

‘Nah. I mean, I used to live around here, but we moved.’

‘So… this was… what?’

‘I just felt bad about it, okay? I thought James was a dick for laughing at you. Then I saw you leaving and I didn’t want to think it was somehow because of me.’

I don’t know what to say. I’m suddenly entirely aware of myself. Of the way my feet ache so much in my shoes that I’m sure I’m hobbling. Of how there’s a film of grease on my fingers and that I probably smell of chip fat and not the perfume I liberally spritzed on earlier. Of how my heart is thumping and somehow, after the last thirty minutes, I’ve seen him in a light I don’t think Bethany would approve of. We get to the corner of the road next to mine, and there’s a bus stop at the end of it.

‘You don’t have to walk me all the way to my house,’ I offer. 

‘Yeah but I’m going to,’ he says, unapologetically, and I’m suddenly thrilled into silence.

The street is empty and my house is dark, except for the porch light. 

‘This is me,’ I say, and we stand on opposite sides of the gate, unsure of how to say goodbye. ‘Thank you for the chips and for seeing me home. I had a nice time.’

‘Are you around in the summer?’ he asks, looking down at the pavement.

‘A bit,’ I nod. All day every day actually, but he doesn’t need to know that.

‘Shall we swap numbers then? Maybe we can… do something.’

‘Are you asking me out?’ I ask, and I want to slap myself around the face.

‘Er…’

Oh god. He isn’t.

‘It’s okay if you’re not. But just so I get an idea of what sort of something we’re talking about.’

‘Maybe something?’ he says, and I still can’t quite tell.

‘Okay. Well, yeah, alright,’ I say, and we swap phones and tap in our numbers.

‘See you then, Esty,’ he says, and strides away, back towards the bus stop, and I lean against my front door and think, did Ashley Ramsay just ask me out?

Esther: How was your night with the drummer? You’ll never guess who walked me home and asked for my number.

Beth: Yes he is such a good kisser. Who?

Esther: Your fave ASHLEY RAMSAY!

Beth: Ew. Gross! I’ll call you tomorrow!

Ash: Hi Esty. So do you want to hang out next week? 

Ashley Ramsay definitely just asked me out.