The Anti-Prom by Abby McDonald

through the gap in the door. The impossibilities just keep mounting, but I can’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy. Jesus, what’s next: me and Meg painting each other’s toenails and lip-synching to Lady Gaga?
    “I lost my virginity to this guy from down the street,” I offer awkwardly. Girl talk isn’t exactly my thing, but I need something to snap her out of this slump. “He had a goatee, a sharks’ tooth necklace, and was way too old to be scamming on high-school chicks.”
    “Ewww.” She gives a faint smile.
    “Mmhmm,” I agree. “And then he dumped me because I talked trash about the Dave Matthews Band. He really loved those guys.”
    Bliss manages a giggle. There.
    “It’ll get easier, I guess.” She sighs, hair falling in her eyes. “I mean, I won’t have such big expectations next time. It won’t matter so much. That’s what Kaitlin said, anyway,” she adds darkly. “And she would know.”
    I shake my head. “It always matters. It should.”
    She gives me a sideways look. “JD McGraw mattered?”
    “I don’t sleep with everyone I date, you know.”
    “Oh. Sorry.” Bliss at least looks a little guilty.
    “It’s OK.” I shrug. “I thought I was supposed to, in the beginning.” I shift to get more comfortable. “You know, like when you’ve been with a guy a while, and he starts pushing, like it’s obligated.”
    She nods. “I thought it would bring us closer together. . . .” She trails off. “Prove he really did care about me.” Bliss gives a tight little shrug.
    “Asshole.” I roll my eyes. This is why I don’t date high-school guys. Not that my exes are that great, either. “Well, they’re going to get what they deserve now,” I tell her brightly. “You’ve seen to that.”
    Bliss nods, unconvinced. “I guess . . .”
    “Are you kidding me? Once that stuff gets out, they’ll be ruined. I’ve seen how your group works.”
    She brightens, clearly spurred by their warped view of social justice. “You’re right. It’s over.” With a reassuring look at the journal — balanced precariously on Jason’s nightstand beside a mold-filled mug and a suspiciously scrunched-up T-shirt — she bounces up. Picking up the mirror from where Jason discarded it, she fluffs out her hair and adjusts her PJ outfit, as if reminding herself who she is.
    “You’ve got my dress?” she asks, without looking up. “I need to change before we head back. And you have no idea how much it cost.”
    Yup. The great Bliss Merino is back.
    “Right here.” I pat my bulging backpack, a little relieved. Enough with the bonding.
    “Then what are you waiting for?” Stalking past me, Bliss heads back out into the hallway. “Meg is probably, like, having a breakdown by now. I still can’t believe you dragged her along. If anyone sees me with you both, my status will be totally wrecked.”
    Maybe tearful, vulnerable Bliss wasn’t so bad after all. . . .

Perhaps I was wrong, and being invisible has its advantages too. Because for five whole minutes, I’m left blissfully alone in the alcove by the stairs, unnoticed as the party shrieks and thumps around me in a riot of Victoria’s Secret nightwear and trashy dance music. I watch it all with a curious mix of fascination and fear. I’ve never been to a college party before. To tell the truth, I’ve barely been to high-school parties, either — at least, not the kind where kids drink and flirt and fall against walls making out with each other as if there’s nobody else around. No, back when I still had an approximation of a social life, my experiences were always on the safe, sedate side: juvenile slumber parties, or birthday gatherings where we would all go bowling or to the movies or something, like we did when we were in fifth grade. I suppose I’m all grown-up now, because here, the Jell-O comes in shot glasses, and the only punch I’ve seen is the one being guzzled from red plastic cups by enthusiastic frat boys.
    Something