Deacon Locke Went to Prom

  “Soraya,” I say when we come up for air. “I’ve been thinking—”

  She reaches up and places her fingers on my lips. “Don’t say it.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  “Were you going to second-guess being on TV?”

  I toy with the hat. “Maybe.”

  She looks down at her CD, then up at me. “Deacon, I hate that you’re leaving. I didn’t expect this. But you’re going to have fun. And you’re going to come back with a lot of money. And I think I might enjoy bragging about my famous boyfriend.”

  She shuts me up with a final kiss.

  As I watch her drive off, all I can hear is one word.

  Boyfriend.

  I tiptoe back into the house so as not to wake Jean. But she’s still up. She’s sitting on the couch, listening to music, and staring at that photo of my grandfather.

  I sneak behind her and up the stairs.

  I guess I’ll be leaving two girls behind. Jean will be fine. I’ll make sure her doctor says it’s okay for me to leave. And why shouldn’t it be? Things have been so crazy lately, half the time I’m as confused as she is.

  Still . . .

  Los Angeles. That’s far.

  Big opportunity or big mistake?

  If you think Deacon should go to Los Angeles, turn to page 402.

  If you think he should stay in Fayetteville, turn to page 501.

  TWENTY-SIX

  NOW THAT COLLEGE HAS BEEN DELAYED, I’M KIND of at a loss as to what to do with myself all summer. Last year, Jean and I took a series of road trips, visiting state parks and historical sites. She hasn’t mentioned doing anything this vacation, and Soraya is busy volunteering at the YMCA most weekdays. I research additional dance classes, but everything is geared toward the high school/college crowd and is not offered during the summer. I find myself alone a lot.

  Not that I don’t have anything to do. Mr. Delaney has given me plenty of homework. He’s big into social media.

  “You really have to get yourself out there,” he wrote me. “Have an online presence as much as possible.”

  I don’t mind constantly posting pictures of myself and writing blog posts, more or less following a script I was given:

  COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS TILL SEASON SEVEN! LOOK FOR ME ON THE UBN THIS FALL! #CELEBRITYDANCEOFF

  CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE EXCITING FINAL SEASON OF ZOMPACALYPSE, ONLY ON UBN!

  JUST TALKED TO MY NEW DANCING PARTNER. TALENT AND LOOKS!

  I asked Mr. Delaney who my partner was going to be. He said they hadn’t decided yet.

  I am a little uncomfortable with the blatant advertising they ask me to do.

  HOT AS HECK HERE IN ARKANSAS. WHO’S UP FOR A NICE FRESA ICE TEA BLASTER?

  JEAN JUST DEPOSITED HER SOCIAL SECURITY CHECK IN THE FIRST BANK OF MOARK. I’M GLAD THEY’LL BE THERE TO LOOK OUT FOR HER WHILE I’M IN CALIFORNIA.

  CAN’T WAIT TO TRY THE NEW PASTA BURGER FROM PIZZA PRESTO. #PIZZALICIOUS

  I had to draw the line when Mr. Delaney asked me to adopt a puppy so I could tweet about some dog-food brand.

  I sit on the front porch, staring at the broken drainpipe and trying to figure out how to post about this new brand of selfie stick without sounding like a douche. I decide it’s impossible.

  My phone buzzes. One of these days I’m going to have to ask Elijah how to change the alerts. Seems all I do these days is accept friend requests. . . .

  See? I totally sounded like a douche there. It’s spreading.

  I try to silence the chat request when I notice the picture is of astronomer Neil deGrasse Tyson. Unfortunately, the name is just Adam.

  I’m a little disappointed that it’s not actually Dr. Tyson trying to contact me, but I like this guy’s style. I respond.

  DeaconLocke: Nice avatar.

  AdamF: Holy geez, is this really Deacon Locke?

  DeaconLocke: The same.

  AdamF: Awesome. I’m Adam, I’m a junior at the U of A. I don’t know if u remember me. I met you at an Ozarks Astronomy meeting. I was the 1 with the Celestron NexStar.

  I don’t remember him, but I remember his telescope.

  DeaconLocke: Right. How’s it going?

  AdamF: Not as good as you’re doing! I saw that u r going to b on Celebrity Dance Off.

  DeaconLocke: The rumors are true.

  AdamF: Guess that means u won’t be coming here 4 college.

  DeaconLocke: Not until spring semester.

  AdamF: 2 bad. We’ve got kind of a skywatcher club here. Every Thursday night we take the telescopes out and have a midnight picnic.

  That does sound like a lot of fun, and again I’m second-guessing my decision to postpone college.

  DeaconLocke: Sorry to miss that. But my girlfriend is starting there this year. Maybe I’ll stop by and say hi when I visit her.

  Because I totally have a girlfriend.

  AdamF: Sweet! Hey, if u r not doing anything tonight, we’re having a little party at my apartment. U guys should come by.

  Tonight I’d planned to blog about those great new summer fashions from Newstrom and Green.

  DeaconLocke: Sounds like fun. Can we bring anything?

  AdamF: You’d seriously come? Dude, that’s great! I’ll send u an evite!

  Well. My first college party. Adam sounds like a together guy, so it shouldn’t be too insane. This might be fun.

  I text Soraya, who’s on board. Now all I have to do is borrow the car. That will be easy enough, since it’s Friday and Jean usually stays in. Most classes and clubs don’t meet on the weekends and Jean doesn’t care for traffic and crowds. I find her in her bedroom, primping in front of a mirror. Even on stay-at-home nights, she always makes sure she looks sharp.

  Though I’m wondering about that dress she’s wearing. It looks new. And somewhat fancy for an evening of old movies on AMC.

  “Looking good, Jean.”

  “Thanks. Hope you don’t mind if I slip out tonight. I left you a cold supper in the fridge.”

  Damn. This is going to be a problem. Maybe I can convince her to get a ride from someone else. “Where are you headed?”

  “Oh, out to dinner.”

  “Do you think you could get Shirley or Peg to drive you?”

  She dabs on a bit of perfume. “They won’t be there.”

  “The thing is, I was hoping to use . . .”

  Wait a minute. The clothes. The perfume. The unexpected Friday-night plans.

  “Um, who exactly are you meeting?”

  She continues to stare at her mirror. She mumbles something.

  “Jean?”

  She stands and picks up her purse. “Otis Harold, from the grocery store.”

  “That guy who works in the meat department? The one with the beard?” I feel like I’ve been slugged in the gut. Not that I’m upset about this, just really, really surprised.

  “The same. He’s been asking me to dinner for quite some time now. I finally decided that if you could find a girlfriend, I can have an evening out with a gentleman.”

  I’m reeling. I really am. “But . . .”

  “I have to go.” She kisses my cheek. “Be safe, love you.”

  “I . . . I’ll have my cell!” I yell after her. “Call me if you need anything!”

  Okay. Jean has a date. With a guy.

  Why shouldn’t she? I mean, she’s an attractive, mature . . .

  She’s my grandma! Grandmas don’t date!

  At least not the hairy-eared butcher from the Safeway.

  I suddenly really need to get out of the house. See Soraya. Go to Adam’s thing.

  I don’t have a car. But I have a phone.

  “Hey, um, Elijah? You feel like going to a party?”

  Adam’s place is on the second floor of a small complex of cheap student apartments. As we pull into the lot, I can already see several people hanging out on the stairwell.

  It’s a relief to get out of Elijah’s car. Because of my long legs, I was forced to ride shot
gun with Elijah, while Soraya and Clara sat in the backseat.

  I help Soraya out of the car. She’s wearing a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, but she still looks incredible. I’m dressed in a set of preppy clothes that Mr. Delaney sent me. It feels like the new suit you get when they release you from prison.

  Elijah thumps me on the back. He holds up half a bottle of Scotch that he filched from his parents. “So who’s ready to party?” He hands his keys to Clara, then turns to me. “Lead on, MacDeacon.”

  I point to the crowded stairs, where a couple of people are already staring down at us. I’m feeling less and less confident. I don’t really do small talk, and I have a feeling that if Soraya doesn’t take the conversational lead, I’m going to end up standing in a corner, ignored. As Elijah and Clara head to the party, I lean over to my date.

  “If you’d like to leave early, just let us know.”

  She shakes her head. “I had to spin some pretty improbable lies to get out of the house tonight. Let’s have some fun. Hey.” She takes my chin in her hand. “Maybe there’ll be dancing.”

  I can’t help but smile. “C’mon.”

  As we climb the stairs, I notice a few people pointing and whispering.

  So you’ve never seen a tall person before. Get a life.

  The apartment is pretty large, and there are about a dozen people inside. I’m relieved to notice two manga posters, a guy in a “Bob” Dobbs T-shirt, and an oscilloscope that flashes in time to the music. My kind of crowd.

  “Deacon! You made it!” It’s Adam. I remember him from the astronomy meeting. He’s a skinny Hispanic guy with glasses. “Let me get you guys some drinks. Hey, everybody, Deacon Locke is here!”

  The partygoers all turn at once. People smile at me. Someone snaps a photo.

  Soraya laughs. Adam hands me a bottle of beer. When I attempt to pop the top, it sticks. Determined not to look like a newbie, I grip it and twist with all my might. I lose some skin from my palm, but it opens.

  I then notice Adam still standing there, holding a bottle opener toward me. Oops.

  To cover my gaffe, I ask him about his classes. Soon, he has introduced Soraya and me to a half dozen science majors, including several amateur astronomers. I worry that I’m going to be outclassed like I was with Jason, but they keep the discussion purely on the material plane, avoiding the fruity mythological aspects. I think the dry nature of our conversation bores Soraya a little bit, and she joins Clara in the living room.

  More people arrive. Is it my imagination, or do they go out of their way to introduce themselves to me? Nearly all of them snap a picture. To hide my awkwardness, I grab another beer. And another.

  The music turns up. I haven’t had a chance to leave the kitchen area since I got here, because people keep surrounding me. At first, they’re all friends of Adam’s and his roommates’, wanting to discuss astronomy. But as more people arrive, they keep bringing up Celebrity Dance Off and that clip of me and Jean. Adam has left to talk to his other guests. I don’t see Elijah or Clara, though I spot Soraya, sitting on a couch, talking to some guy.

  I best join them.

  I try to barge through the increasing crowd, but I’m blocked by a wall of men, big guys who just arrived. They’re shouting and friendly, and I don’t think this is their first stop of the evening. They badger me with questions about the show, about the hosts, about the dancers. At first I try to avoid the questions by drinking more beer—wait, this isn’t beer, what is this?—but I’m surrounded. I pretend to take out my phone and check my messages. That’s a mistake. I have over thirty notifications. All pictures of me at this party. Is this why things are getting so crowded? Because I’m here? Nah.

  I elbow my way into the living room, where people are trying to dance. I notice Adam and his friends dashing around the apartment, trying to keep order. I think this get-together was a lot bigger than they had planned. I finally find Soraya, leaning against the wall. The chaos of the party doesn’t seem to affect her at all. She just stands there looking amused and slightly bored.

  “You want to go outside?” I half scream.

  She nods. “I could use some fresh air. Let’s go.” She takes my hand and starts leading me through the crowd.

  “Hey, Deacon!” shouts a stranger. “Show off some of your moves! C’mon!”

  There is a general scream. Hands push me from behind. People are laughing and yelling.

  I’m confused and dizzy and I’d like to leave. I turn to Soraya, who only shrugs.

  A new song comes on. It’s one from dance class, one we both know. I glance over at one of Adam’s roommates, who’s clapping to the beat. I look over to a group of girls, who are gesturing me out onto the tiny dance floor.

  I’m going to be doing this professionally in a few months. Might as well get used to it.

  Soraya and I take a bit to find each other’s rhythm. No one seems to care. The second we start moving, everyone goes wild. The phones are out, capturing our moves. Soraya is grinning. For the first time tonight, I’m really having fun.

  For about two minutes. Then some girl with way too much spray-on tan kind of barges between Soraya and me. She is not nearly as good a dancer, but that’s not the point. I’d much rather dance with Soraya. I wrangle around until I’m facing her again.

  Only now someone else barges between us. A guy this time. And pretty soon I’m being knocked around the room by people trying to show off their own moves.

  A girl elbows Soraya in the ribs. Someone else spills half their drink down her front. And then . . .

  Some big guy is flailing all over the place, mistaking being a public spectacle for dancing. He knocks Soraya against the couch. She loses her balance and starts to fall over backward.

  I’m there in a second. Shoving the guy out of the way, I grab her hand and steady her before she goes over. Our eyes meet and we smile.

  Only now someone is poking me in the back. Kind of hard. Repeatedly jabbing me, trying to get my attention.

  Maybe it’s the alcohol, but it takes me a moment to realize he’s not poking me, but hitting me. With his fist.

  I turn around. While I’ve never had to look up to face someone, this person comes close. It’s the guy who almost knocked over Soraya, and he’s not here to apologize. He’s yelling something at me, but he’s talking so fast and the music is so loud that I can’t understand him. I try to move past him, but that only makes him madder.

  Elijah appears at my elbow, talking to the stranger. For some reason I can make out his words perfectly.

  “Hey, let’s just calm down, pal. Deacon didn’t mean anything. Why don’t we just all back up and let it go, eh?”

  Without breaking eye contact, he shoves Elijah, who almost goes sprawling. And I suddenly realize that this isn’t just some loud asshole. I realize that he wants to fight.

  Should I grant his wish? I take a step forward.

  There’s no telling what might have happened in this crowded room if the punches started flying. But at that moment, the music suddenly stops.

  Adam is standing on a chair. He does not look happy.

  “All right, it’s over! Thank you for coming, but I don’t know any of you people. I’m shutting things down here. Everybody out.”

  No one moves toward the door. After a second of silence, everyone starts talking again.

  I should do something.

  “He said . . .” My voice escapes me like a cannon report. “EVERYBODY OUT!”

  The confused partygoers start to make their way to the door. Soon the apartment is nearly empty. The belligerent asshole is one of the last to go.

  Once the crowd is gone, I realize why Adam put an end to things. There are spilled drinks and broken glasses everywhere. A framed picture lies shattered on the ground and someone has kicked a hole in the drywall.

  “Um, want us to help you pick up?” I ask lamely.

  Adam shakes his head. “We’ve got this.”

  “Thanks for having us,” says Soraya.
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  “Thanks for coming,” he replies, but with little enthusiasm.

  We find Clara and go downstairs. The other guests are already making their way to other places, other parties. They seem less friendly now.

  “Hey, faggot!”

  Great, it’s the jerk. He’s sitting on the bumper of a car next to a couple of his friends. They’re all staring at us. Unfortunately, he’s parked two spaces from Elijah’s car.

  I don’t want to deal with him. And I don’t want to make my friends deal with him. But we have no choice. I take Soraya’s hand, and Clara takes Elijah’s. We walk forward, ignoring the asshole’s taunts.

  “You think you’re hot shit, being on that candy-ass show? You ain’t nothing! Look at me, you ain’t nothing!”

  Clara beeps the keys and our car doors unlock.

  “Yeah, just keep walking, wimp! Goddamn queer dancer. Just walk away.”

  I have my hand on the door handle, ready to pull it open for Soraya.

  “Get the hell out of here! You and your raghead girlfriend!”

  My hand freezes, the door halfway open.

  “Deke . . . ,” hisses Elijah.

  I turn. I face the other guy.

  He should not have said that about Soraya.

  And from the look on his face, he realizes that as well.

  But now it’s far too late.

  Five minutes later, we’re speeding away from campus, with Clara at the wheel. We’d piled into the car so fast that I wound up in the cramped backseat, next to Elijah.

  There’s a grim silence in the car. Elijah, of course, is the one who breaks it.

  “Ten points on distance, Deke, but I’m going to have to ding you on your form. He flew way out of bounds.”

  Okay, maybe I kind of sort of hurled that guy across the parking lot like a bowling ball. Maybe he ended up going a lot farther than I expected.

  But that thing he said about Soraya . . . I couldn’t let that go.

  I wish she would say something. It’s so hard to read a girl’s emotions by the back of her neck.

  When we reach Soraya’s house, I follow her out of the car and instruct Clara to drive on. As soon as the taillights vanish, I turn to Soraya. She’s standing there, arms folded, obviously angry.