Chapter 25

I waited until everyone was halfway through the main course before I broke the news. “I’ve got a date for the prom,” I said.

Everyone’s interest was immediately piqued. Mum directed an interrogatory raised eyebrow at me.

“Cayenne Proctor,” I said.

Terri expleted under her breath then turned to look at me, effecting a sad face. “I would ask you to leave me all your worldly possessions but all you have is dorky stuff.” Then Terri turned to face our parents. “Marcus Kafkasian is going to kill Kevin because Cayenne Proctor is his girlfriend,” she informed them.

That did nothing to alleviate Mum’s raised eyebrow. In fact, mention of the name Kafkasian made Dad’s eyebrows ascend too, although in surprise rather than as an interrogation technique.

“It’s okay, munchkin, I’ve got Marcus’s seal of approval,” I said.

Mum’s eyebrow reached hitherto unknown heights.

“Cayenne invited Marcus to the prom as an overage guest,” I explained. “Marcus got a last-minute call-up to a state football camp. They’d already bought a prom package including tuxedo rental and limo hire, and they chose me to be his stand-in. All I have to do in return is make Cayenne look good until the voting for Prom Queen is over.”

Mum’s eyebrows levelled out, but I didn’t like the way they were curling.

“Let me get this straight,” said Mum. “You’re going to the prom as Cayenne’s paid escort.”

“Well, I still have to pay for my own prom ticket, but I’d put it more like subsidised escort rather than paid,” I said.

Mum resumed eating, but the vicious way she was chewing each mouthful showed she wasn’t a happy bunny.

“This Cayenne Proctor, what is she like?” asked Dad.

“She’s absolutely drop-dead gorgeous,” said Terri. “Every girl in school wishes they had her looks.”

“There’s more to a person than looks,” I replied, hopefully hinting successfully that Cayenne’s personality wasn’t quite so beautiful. “Besides, I prefer you looking just the way you are.”

Terri half-smiled at that. She probably thought I was just saying that to make her feel better.

“I must say I’m very disappointed in you, Kevin,” Mum pronounced. “Prom is supposed to be special and you’re supposed to share it with someone you care about.”

“It doesn’t work that way when you’re a nerd, Mum,” I countered. “Michael was asked by a girl from the Zoology Club, Dennis was asked by an accordion player from the band and Dimitri’s prom date was chosen by his mum. The girls I asked turned me down. You even suggested I take Terri! So when Cayenne asked me, I was happy to accommodate her.”

“Still, to sell yourself out as an escort!” said Mum. “It would have shown more integrity for you to go on your own.”

“It’s not that much different to going on my own, only I’ll be helping to make someone else’s dream come true at the same time. What should I have done? Turn her down? Do you want me to ring her up and say I can’t be her prom date after all?”

That challenge was reckless on two counts. First, I didn’t have Cayenne Proctor’s phone number, and second I’d already been measured for the tuxedo and given a free shirt and tie as compensation for the unwanted attentions of the handsy assistant.

“You’ve made your bed, so now you’ll have to lie in it,” said Mum. “But if I get the slightest hint that Cayenne is dissatisfied with your conduct, the consequences for you will be severe.”

It took a great deal of willpower to ensure my sigh of relief wasn’t audible. Mum wasn’t happy but at least she wasn’t going to try and stop me.

I didn’t have an awful lot of homework, but it still took up the rest of the evening before bedtime. Another day when I didn’t have time to peruse the original copies of the town newspaper editions I had asked Dimitri to send me. I was just about to send him a grovelling apology when I received an incoming message from Michael: ‘Guys, you aren’t going to believe what I’ve just found! I’ll show you tomorrow at lunch.’

On the walk to school the next morning, Michael was resolutely steadfast: no amount of wheedling or cajoling would tempt him to divulge the slightest clue about his discovery. After our attempts dwindled out, I confirmed to Dennis that Dimitri and Michael had told him the truth about Cayenne Proctor being my prom date, then I regaled my nerd friends with the story of the handsy assistant at the suit hire shop.

“Oh man,” said Dimitri, “you’re going to make us look bad. I wasn’t planning to wear a tuxedo. I don’t own one and I don’t know where to get one in time.”

Michael nodded his agreement.

“I’ve got a suit for band performances,” said Dennis. “It’s not exactly a tuxedo but it looks a bit like one.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “If any of the girls I asked had said ‘yes’, I would have worn my Sunday best suit. I’m only wearing a penguin suit because it’s free as part of the package.”

“I had to get a new suit for my cousin’s wedding,” said Michael. “It’s not a tuxedo but I guess it will have to do.”

“It’ll be fine,” I reassured him.

“I’ve got a suit somewhere,” admitted Dimitri. “I hope it still fits me.”

Given the amount of weight he’d put on in the last few months I doubted it, but I didn’t say that out loud. “If not, I’m sure your mum will be able to rustle something up,” I said. “Since she set up your prom date, she must have had something in mind.”

“I hope so,” said Dimitri grimly.

When we got to school, I found a crowd of pupils milling around the vicinity of my locker. When they noticed me, an expectant hush descended over them. My locker door had been replaced by one which looked as though it had been the target of an artillery barrage, adorned with several large dents and scratches.

I noticed Mr Peters standing to one side with a supercilious smirk on his face. He had obviously chosen the worst possible replacement door he had in stock. But I thought of a way to turn the tables on him. As I stalked towards him, the smirk disappeared and he seemed to noticeably shrink.

I smiled and stuck out my hand. “Thank you, Sir. I’m grateful that Eugenie Butler-Walker’s artwork is now in safe custody and I have an expendable locker door that won’t suffer too much if the graffiti vandal strikes again.”

Still not quite sure I didn’t intend violence against him, Mr Peters cautiously extended his hand. I took it and shook it warmly, feeling the callouses on his leathery fingers.

“It was the only one I could find,” said Mr Peters. “I kept your combination the same.”

I was hoping Mr Peters would be rather discombobulated by my grateful acceptance of the wreck of a door.