Pleasure was a feminist choice too.
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ll play. Also, I had an idea for prom.”
“I brainstormed a few themes in history,” said Gennifer. She flipped around her notebook to show us. Hawaiian Hoopla. Ivy League Gala.
“No, no,” I said. “We don’t need a theme. We need to change the dance’s very structure. We’ll call it the Last Chance Dance.”
“Well, we’re seniors, so by default—” began Gennifer.
“Listen. You make a secret list. Of anyone you’ve got a crush on. Anyone you’ve ever crushed on. And then you get matched.”
“Just the guys, right?”
“What?”
“Like, the guys write down who they like. The girls see who put them and choose their favorite.”
“No, no. Everyone submits a list. And if any of the choices overlap, you both get notified.”
Andy grinned and put his hands behind his head again. “Nice. So say I put Gennifer, because she’s hot, and then it turns out she’s always dreamed of me, turns out she thinks I’m Lust Incarnate, God of Sex, which, of course, I am—”
“Shut up,” said Gennifer, giggling.
“—and she’s only dating my brother because, genetically speaking, that’s as close as she can get—”
She gave him a naughty little smile. “I bet you two have a lot in common.”
Barf. “Anyway,” I said loudly, “in your hypothetical situation, Andy, yes, you and Gennifer would be informed you were matches. But say you’d put me as well. Obviously I’m not going to put you, given that I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole—”
“What if I said I could touch you with a ten-foot pole—”
Gennifer slapped his arm. “Bad boy.”
“Nobody would ever know you’d put me,” I continued. “And your embarrassing crush on someone totally out of your league would remain cloaked in secrecy.”
“As if,” said Gennifer.
“What if someone doesn’t get any matches?” said Andy. “That’ll happen, right?”
“Well, then, they can just find a date the usual way. But we’ll encourage people to go broad. Put anyone they’d even consider. We’ll give everyone, like, a hundred slots.”
“Honestly,” said Andy, shrugging, “I think it’s a great idea. Change it up around here.”
I was quiet. Now that I’d made my point, I needed to lie low. If Gennifer didn’t take some ownership of the idea, she’d never agree to it. She looked between us, her eyes narrowed to slits. She pursed her glossy lips. I found myself staring. How did she get the lip gloss to stay on? I always end up eating mine. Especially if it’s fruit-flavored.
“Do you have an ulterior motive?” she asked me.
Yes. Giving girls control over their own lives. Balancing the power structure of dance invitations. Smashing the patriarchy. The usual. “Not at all,” I told Gennifer. “I just think it’d be a fun twist. It could jump-start some relationships.”
“True,” she said.
“I think the class’ll be into it,” said Andy. “As long as they’re assured it’ll be anonymous. We can’t be the ones sifting through the lists, making the matches.”
“But that’d be the best part!” said Gennifer.
“We’ll do it online,” I said. I’d thought about this. “We’ll have a program that encodes each name as the lists come in, and it’ll pair the codes and only decode the ones that match.”
“You can write this program?” said Andy.
“I’ll ask Paul Cunningham. He’s a junior. You know him?”
“I still think we should do it ourselves,” said Gennifer. Ha. She was in. Now that she was worrying about the details, I knew she’d bought the big picture. “Don’t you think there’s room for discretion? Like, if two people match who’d be gross together—”
“Let’s talk decorations,” said Andy quickly. “What’s Last Chance decor?”
“Ooh,” said Gennifer, diverted. Andy quirked a smile at me, and I smiled back without even meaning to. That was the effect he had on me. And on every other girl at Chawton, I hasten to add.
“How can we visually evoke the idea of chances?” said Gennifer.
“Garlands of lottery tickets,” I suggested.
“They’d look like trash hanging from the ceiling.”
“I mean, most dance decorations do.”
“We could use actual trash,” said Andy. “To conjure the theme of desperation.”
“You two are hopeless.” Gennifer slammed shut her notebook. “I’ll discuss it with Social Committee. Meeting adjourned.”
* * *
—
Wednesday Quiz Team practice was my favorite time of the week. I got to hang out with my friends and show off. The two spices of life, as far as I’m concerned.
Mr. Peabody was our coach. He had me, Paul, Jiyoon, and Jonah playing Ashby, Zachary, Greg, and Cilla. We were neck and neck right till the end, when Paul got some computer-science toss-up that the rest of us had no clue on. That reminded me. I needed to ask him to code the Last Chance Dance site. Preferably in private, since Triumvirate had decided it would be best if nobody knew who’d done the programming. It’d be a tiny bit of extra security for all that sensitive data.
“I have a favor to ask you, Paul,” I said as we walked out. Jiyoon was with us, but she was extremely trustworthy. “On behalf of Senior Triumvirate.”
“Does this have something to do with Powderpuff? Because I hate that shit.”
I was surprised. Paul wasn’t the most dynamic person. He was laconic, understated, dry. Him saying I hate that shit carried way more clout than someone saying it who was bombastic and bilious and prone to hyperbole—e.g., me.
“Why?” asked Jiyoon.
“I hate school spirit. For the same reason I hate professional sports. They’re ways for people to hide.”
“Did you have a traumatic experience with pro sports?” I said. “Puking at a football game or something?”
“Never mind, if you’re only going to mock it.”
“You mean,” said Jiyoon, “if you bury your identity in an institution, you don’t have to worry about what your identity actually is.”