21 Proms Read Online Free PDF

about you tell me what the Bacchanalia were?”
    I stutter something, but Danny turns nonchalantly on his chair and smiles his most ass-kissing grin. “The festivals of Bacchus, called Dionysus by the Greeks. People got drunk and had big orgies.”
    Some of the class laughs, but not Ms. Esposito. “He was called Dionysus by the Romans and Bacchus by the Greeks, but otherwise essentially correct. Now, can anyone tell me what the maenads were?”
    We can’t.
    â€œNo? Well, if we’re going to continue reading the story of Orpheus, it’s important to know. It was said that the mysteries of Bacchus inspired women into an ecstatic frenzy that included intoxication, fornication, bloodletting, and even mutilation. They would tear those not engaged in celebrating Bacchus limb from limb.”
    The class is silent.
    â€œXavier, can you read the first paragraph in Latin?” Ms. Esposito asks. She looks satisfied, like she knows she can freak us more than we can freak her. As Xavier starts to read, Danny turns to me.
    â€œLet’s not go,” he says.
    I’m still thinking about wild women streaked with mud and dried, black gore. In my mind, it’s kind of hot. “What?”
    â€œLet’s get into our rented tuxes, take pictures for our parents, pretend we’re off to get our dates, score a bottle of booze, and do something dumb, something different.” His kiss-ass grin has not faded and I realize something about that smile. It’s kind of smug. Charming but smug.
    I’m torn. On one hand, it sounds like a pretty good plan. On the other hand, it’s a plan I didn’t come up with. “Let’s break into Smythe Hall,” I say. “Do some urban exploring right on campus.”
    â€œGenius.” His grin widens into a smile and the naked, crazy girls fade from my mind.
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    The night before we’re supposed to go, Danny calls me. “Um, dude. I feel like a dick, but I have a date. I’m going to the prom.”
    I’m in my dorm room, downloading episodes of Veronica Mars and googling the old school. I was going to tell him that there were photos on Weird NJ of the place. I was going to tell him that supposedly someone remembered having a prom there. I have maps and everything printing in color off my ink-jet.
    My hamster, Snot, runs on his wheel and I hear only the clack, clack, clack of the metal because I’m not speaking. Snot’s been hiding the choice bits of seed from his food bowl for the last half hour but now he’s finally decided to kick his night into high gear. Lucky him.
    â€œWho?” I ask.
    â€œDaria,” he says. “She asked me, man. And she has a friend who could go with you —”
    I don’t wait to hear who the spare friend Daria Wisniewski’s willing to throw in to sweeten the pot. I don’t ask if it’s her stupid doll. I just hang up.
    He calls back twice, but I just let the phone buzz. I look at the tuxedo hanging on the door of the closet. I look at the floorboards, at the one I pried up to hide the half bottle of Grey Goose liberated from my parents. Now it seems like a half bottle isn’t nearly enough.
    My roommate left for his dad’s house this afternoon. He and his date are taking the SATs in the morning and then going straight to prom. I’m not sure if he thinks that’s like foreplay or what. Anyway, I’m glad he’s not here, because my eyes burn like I just got dumped.
    I know I’m not supposed to cry over a guy standing me up. So I don’t. But I have to practically break my knuckles against the brick wall outside my window to manage it.
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    By the time I get to the abandoned part of the school on prom night, I’m already drunk.
    The good thing about living at a private school is that you know how to break into places. You learn how to break into other guys’ rooms to take their hot cocoa mix and soup cups. You learn how to