Why You Must Never, Never Speak Ill Of The Prom

Remember in my last post when I mentioned that the Blue Moon Ball might possibly have been more fun than the prom? Well, the universe found out and had to immediately correct itself, because not even a day passed before this review for THE WAY HE LIVED was brought to my attention.

Okay.  So a New-York-based book blogger reviewed my book, which is great.  I love book bloggers, which many of my book-blogger friends already know.  She liked the book, and from her review seemed to really get the book, which is always heartening.   Her name is Sabrina Banes, and she's a former journalist who now writes YA lit.

But the part that kind of blew my mind?  Her boyfriend, Adam, was my Junior Prom date.

I asked Daniel if he thought it odd that Adam once went to the prom with an aspiring YA author and is now in a relationship with an aspiring YA author.

Daniel did not think so.  To him, I suppose, being a YA author seems a common aspiration.  But to me it does not.  Neither does it to my peeps The Clique.   They demanded to see photographs, perhaps doubting that I indeed had a date to my Junior Prom.  Not that I blame them.  The whole thing does sound just a little too coincidental.

I looked for evidence.  I had a photo.  I distinctly remember getting it taken, beneath a cheesy trellis-type thing inside the prom venue (which was the showroom of a car dealership.  Classy).   You didn't get a choice about this--at our high school,  custom mandated you stand in line for hours to get your picture taken under insanely hot, urine-colored lighting.  Everybody got a page of wallet-sized photos, which you collected from your friends like baseball cards.

However, those of you who knew me in high school know I was tremendously popular, and I must have given away all of my official pictures.  The best I could come up with was this:

Yes, Sara, I know.  Try to ignore the Utah-hair and instead focus on the 100% Utah-dress.  Ah, memories.

Other prom memories that resurfaced with the picture-hunt:

~ I drove.  Adam didn't know how to drive.  In fact, he probably still doesn't, if he lives in New York.   And I of course don't know how to drive, either.  So it was a grand time!  But I jest, because what happened actually wasn't even a little bit my fault.  I parked in the parking lot, where I was supposed to.  But like I said, we had our prom at a car dealership, and there wasn't sufficient parking for 1,200 couples.  So someone parked directly behind me (and of course, someone parked directly in front of me, too.  But that was a legal parking space, so they're cool).   I backed out in like a seventy-five-point turn.

~ We had dinner at the Olive Garden.  Adam ordered root beer, which came in a fancy bottle, and he called it the "Beverage of Kings."  The two ladies at the next table were drunk, and they laughed at us.  Not because of the Beverage of Kings comment.  Or maybe so.  But more likely because of my hair/dress.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most important memory (not that any of these memories are important; however, this one is relevant).

~ For our Day Activity, or pre-date date (again,  customary) we went to an art museum.  Well, art "museum."  In fact, "art" "museum."  It was a community art center, identical to the one Lissa visits in THE WAY HE LIVED.  We walked through this high school art exhibit (sound familiar?  If it doesn't, read my book.  Seriously, I can't believe you've even waited this long).  The painting we passed of Beauty and the Beast was untitled, and Adam said, "Well, it's Sleeping Beauty, obviously."  Or words to that effect.  So thank you, Adam Parrish, for contributing that line of dialogue.

Just to clarify, that is the only part of the story where the real Adam and the character Adam say/do the same thing.  Unless you count taking the bus.  Or, I guess, wearing gray sweats.

But this post is  supposed to be about the prom, not whether or not wearing clothes counts as actively doing something, so let me end by saying this:  Blue Moon Ball, you had a good run.  But what could rock as hard as prom night at Tony Russo Chevrolet?