Prom by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

that.”
    “Look, I was just trying to help you,” she said. “You were in detention, and you don’t have a phone. How were you going to know what to do? I figured I’d be saving you time, making it easier for you. Are you mad?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I let my arms drop. “Thanks, I think.”
    “You’re welcome, I think. Can we go now?”
    “Hang on. Gimme a pen?”
    “Why?”
    I put my hand out, and she dug out a pen from the bottom of her purse. I started writing in big letters on the track team poster taped to the wall.
    “Don’t!” she said. “We’ll get in trouble.”
    THE NEW MATH SUB SUCKS!!!!! was what I wrote. I underlined “sucks” and handed back the pen.
    “What was all that about?” she asked.
    “Insurance.”

70.
    Nat was a little kid buzzing on birthday cake for the rest of the afternoon. I was the balloon tied to her wrist. She talked to the custodians about using their ladders to put up decorations in the gym, then she talked to Banks about the best time to decorate. We didn’t have any decorations yet, but I guess that didn’t matter.
    Banks said we could use the school’s folding chairs and tables. Nat checked it off her list. I told her we would need another committee to scrape the gum off the bottom of the tables. She ignored me.
    Monica (weight 141 pounds) met us in the parking lot. She was hard to miss, because of the way she was screaming and jumping up and down like her thong was on fire. She hugged Nat, hugged me, screamed some more, hugged Nat, hugged me. Jumped up and down some more.
    Drugs, perhaps?
    Hardly. Her uncle who owned a restaurant downtown promised us all the tablecloths we wanted. Monica and Nat jumped up and down and screamed. They hugged.
    Everybody agreed to meet at Nat’s house to work on flyers.
    “You coming, too?” Monica asked.
    “Me?” I asked.
    “I heard you was moving in with TJ. Somebody heard he bought you a car or a ring or something. Thought you’d be too busy.”
    “No, um, he’s working. Besides I promised Nat. It’ll be fun, to um, make flyers.”
    “That rocks!” screamed Lauren.
    She hugged me, and I hugged back, and then we all hugged. I even bounced a little. I was getting better at this committee stuff.

71.
    We made flyers at Nat’s for hours. Her grandmother came out of the kitchen at dinner time carrying a tray filled with cabbage rolls and tripe for us.
    After Nat explained what tripe was, I went to my house to get us some real food.

72.
    The Hannigan kitchen was a war zone, and Dad was losing the battle. The window was cracked. There were tools all over the floor and thick dust in the air. Half of the wall behind the table had been ripped out, and Dad was hammering at the half that was still standing.
    He didn’t hear me come in, because he was singing an old Aerosmith song at the top of his lungs.
    I turned off the boom box. “What are you doing?”
    Dad stopped in mid-screech and turned around. “Princess! I wondered when you would be home.”
    “You said you were going to paint. Paint, Dad, not destroy.”
    He set the hammer on the table. “By the time I got the wallpaper stripped, the wall was a little dinged up. I figured I’d rip it out, put in some new insulation, which we need, throw up new drywall, and paint. It will look good as new. Better.”
    “It will take you ten years to do this.”
    He took off his work gloves and brushed the dust out of his beard. “It’s a weekend job. Don’t be so negative. I’ve got a buddy helping me.”
    “I don’t see any buddy.”
    “He’s in the john. What are you up to?”
    I was rummaging through our cupboards for normal food. “We’re having a meeting at Nat’s and we’re hungry. Does Ma know you’re ripping out the kitchen?”
    “It was her idea.”
    I loaded peanut butter, jelly, two cans of olives, a box of Triscuits, and a can of ravioli into an old grocery bag. “So she saw what a crappy job you did with the wallpaper and she