Part 2: Don’t Make It Easy
Sheldon started snapping pictures right away.
“Okay! Okay! Out front! By the hydrangeas! Stand closer!”
We moved closer.
“Closer! You’re not strangers!”
We were basically strangers. We shuffled an inch closer.
“Brent, give her the corsage!”
I’d picked up a corsage at the grocery store that afternoon on my way home from work. A white rose with a little green ribbon, twelve dollars. I’d agonized over it for twenty minutes in the floral section.
I held it out. Georgia took it and slipped it onto her wrist without looking at me.
“Smile!” Sheldon said.
I smiled.
Georgia smiled too, technically. It was the kind of smile people give at the DMV.
Sheldon took about forty pictures: by the hydrangeas, by the front door, by the car, and then by the car again from another angle. Georgia hardly said a word. She stood there in her green dress, arms at her sides, looking as though she’d been sentenced to three hours of accounting.
“Okay, Dad,” she said finally. “I think you have enough.”
“One more! One more!”
“Dad.”
“Okay, okay.” Sheldon lowered the camera and turned to me. “Midnight, Brent.”
“Midnight, sir.”
“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said to Georgia, and kissed her forehead.
She allowed it. Then she walked silently to the passenger side of Uncle Frank’s mustard-colored Buick and got in.
The ride was painfully quiet.
I turned left out of the driveway. The car squeaked. Georgia glanced at me sideways. I acted like I hadn’t noticed.
“So,” I said, “are you excited about prom?”
“Sure.”
“Are your friends going to be there?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Lots of kinds.”
I took a left at the stop sign. Eeeeeek.
Georgia looked at the dashboard, then at me.
“It does that,” I said. “My uncle says it has personality.”
“Okay,” Georgia said.
She turned to stare out the window.
The radio came on by itself, a man yelling about mattress sales. I switched it off.
Eventually I gave up trying.
The Ridgeview High lot was packed when we arrived. Limousines lined the front doors, and kids in tuxedos and sparkly dresses were taking selfies on the steps. Somebody had rented a white Hummer.
I parked Uncle Frank’s Buick between a BMW and a pickup truck with a flag in the bed.
I shut off the engine and sat a second, hands on the wheel.
“Well,” I said, forcing a smile. “I hope tonight won’t be too terrible. I guess your dad really wanted you to go to prom.”
Georgia didn’t smile back.
She opened her door but didn’t get out.
Instead she twisted in her seat and looked me dead in the eyes.
“Wait,” she said.
That was when she told me her father hadn’t picked me by accident.
And she showed me his strange message.
I stared at her phone.
Remember our agreement. Don’t make things too easy for him.
“Don’t make things too easy for him?” I read out loud.
Georgia nodded. “My dad wants me to make tonight difficult.”
“Why?”
“To see how you react.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“He suggested I complain about everything,” she said. “Make unreasonable requests. Be rude. Be a total nightmare. And then he wants me to tell him whether you lose your patience.”
I looked through the windshield toward the gym. I looked down at my grandfather’s funeral suit and the shoes I’d borrowed from my neighbor, half a size too small. I thought about the mustard-colored Buick with its squeaking left turns and its haunted radio.
“So,” I said slowly, “I’m wearing borrowed shoes and driving a car that sounds like a shopping cart because your father wants to test my patience?”
Georgia stared at me for a second.
Then she burst out laughing.
It was a real laugh, loud and startled, as if it had escaped without permission.
“Pretty much,” she said.
“Does he know there are easier ways to annoy me?”
“Brent!”
“I’m serious. He could just ask me to reorganize the warehouse again. I did it in February. Took three weeks. He changed his mind about where the paper towels go four times.”
Georgia laughed harder and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“He told me about that,” she said. “He said you didn’t complain once.”
“I complained,” I said. “Just not out loud.”
Then her expression shifted.
“I told him I wouldn’t do it,” she said. “The whole difficult thing. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“Then why did you look so miserable back at your house?”
“Because my dad was standing right there taking forty pictures, and I didn’t want him to think I’d agreed to his ridiculous plan.” She shrugged. “And because I was annoyed with him. Not with you. Sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.”
“Then why are we here?” I asked.
“Because I still wanted to go to prom,” Georgia said. “It’s my senior prom. I bought this dress in February. And I thought you deserved to know what he was planning before you spent the whole night wondering why I was being horrible.”
I studied her.
“Planning for what?” I said.
Georgia hesitated.
“That’s the part I can’t explain yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to hear it from him,” she said. “It’s not my news to tell.”
I groaned and dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel.
“Georgia,” I said, “you’re making this sound like I’m about to inherit a castle.”
She smiled, a real smile this time.
“No castle,” she said. “But you might be surprised.”
Inside, the gym was draped in balloons and string lights.
The theme was “A Night Under the Stars.” Someone had hung hundreds of little silver paper stars from the ceiling on fishing line, and they spun slowly in the warm air rising from the crowd. The basketball hoops were wrapped in white fabric. Under one of them stood a DJ booth with colored lights pulsing to the music.
It smelled of floor polish, hair spray, and far too much cologne, which is exactly how every high school dance smells.
I felt about a hundred years old.
Georgia grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd toward a table near the back.
“Come on. I want you to meet Madison.”
Madison was Georgia’s best friend, short and blond in a bright red sequined dress that flashed every time she moved. She was sitting at the table eating a cupcake.
When she noticed us, she set the cupcake down and looked me over.
Then she grinned.
“So,” she said. “You’re Brent.”
I blinked.
“Why does everybody say my name like that?” I asked.
Georgia rolled her eyes.
“Madison knows about Dad’s little experiment,” she said.
I stared at them both.
“Wonderful,” I said. “Does the DJ know too?”
Madison laughed.
“Not yet!” she said. “But the night is young.”
Her date was a tall, quiet boy named Theo from the basketball team. He shook my hand, said, “Hey, man,” and went back to his phone. I liked him immediately.
We found our seats. A waiter, actually a junior from the culinary club, set plates of chicken and green beans in front of us.
“So,” Madison said, leaning on her elbows. “How’s the test going so far?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Nobody’s told me what the test is.”
“That’s part of the test,” Madison said wisely.
“Madison,” Georgia said.
“What? It probably is.”
About thirty minutes later, we were standing at the edge of the dance floor. Georgia passed me her purse.
“Hold this,” she said.
I took it. It was small and sparkly and weighed about as much as a sandwich.
Then she handed me her phone.
“And this.”
“Okay.”
Then her drink, a cup of red punch.
I stood there holding a purse, a phone, and a cup of punch, and eyed her suspiciously.
“Is this the test?” I asked.
“No,” Georgia said. “I’m tying my shoe.”
She bent down, fiddled with the strap on her high heel, and straightened up. Then she saw my face and started laughing.
“You’re going to question everything I do tonight, aren’t you?” she said.
“Your father,” I said, “has destroyed my ability to recognize normal behavior.”
For the next hour, Georgia teased me by pretending to make ridiculous demands.
“Brent,” she said, with a completely straight face, “could you ask the DJ to play ‘Midnight Sparrow’ by The Clementines?”
“Sure. Who are The Clementines?”
“They don’t exist.”
“Then how am I supposed to…”
“That’s your problem.”
I walked to the DJ booth. I really did. The DJ was a bored-looking guy in his thirties with headphones around his neck.
“Hi,” I said. “Do you have ‘Midnight Sparrow’ by The Clementines?”
He looked at me.
“Never heard of it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I walked back to the table.
“He’s out of stock,” I told Georgia. “He offered me a substitute. Something by Taylor Swift.”
Madison choked on her punch.
Next, Georgia complained that the punch wasn’t cold enough.
I went to the drink table, filled a cup with ice, and poured the punch over it. I carried it back with a napkin folded into a triangle on top.
“Chilled to perfection,” I said. “And I’ve added a complimentary napkin.”
Georgia took it and sipped.
“Hmm,” she said. “Acceptable.”
Then she asked for a chair facing exactly northwest.
“Northwest?” I said.
“Exactly northwest. Not north. Not west. Northwest.”
I took out my phone and opened the compass app. I turned in a slow circle in the middle of the gym while Madison and Theo watched.
Then I looked at Georgia.
“Georgia,” I said, “I can offer you north or west. The budget doesn’t cover both.”
Madison laughed so hard she almost dropped her cupcake. Theo actually glanced up from his phone and grinned.
Georgia was laughing too, really laughing, head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut.
For the first time all evening, I relaxed.
Then a woman walked up to our table.
She was in her forties, with short gray hair and reading glasses on a beaded chain around her neck. She wore a black dress and a name tag that read CHAPERONE.
“Brent?” she said.
I stood. “Yes?”
“I’m Evelyn. Georgia’s aunt. I teach chemistry here.” She held out her hand. “I’m one of the chaperones tonight.”
I shook it.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“So,” Evelyn said, smiling, “you’re the young man Sheldon keeps talking about.”
I looked over at Georgia. She had become extremely interested in her green beans.
“Hopefully nothing terrible,” I said.
“Oh, no. Not at all.” Evelyn’s smile widened. “He says you’re excellent under pressure.”
I frowned.
“Does everyone in your family discuss my job performance?” I asked.
“Aunt Evelyn!” Georgia said, hiding her face in both hands.
Evelyn laughed and patted my shoulder.
“Have a nice night, Brent,” she said. “Don’t let my niece make you fetch the moon or anything.”
She strolled off toward the punch table.
I sat back down slowly.
I couldn’t stop turning over what she’d said.
Excellent under pressure.
Later, Georgia and I went outside for some air.
The night was warm and smelled of cut grass. A few other couples were out there, perched on the steps or standing by the flagpole. The music from the gym came through the brick wall muffled, a thumping bass line I could feel in my feet.
We stopped by the bike rack.
“Okay,” I said. “Enough games.”
Georgia looked at me.
“What?”
“Your dad keeps asking me strange, unexpected questions at work,” I said. “Like, all the time. For months. Then he asks me to take you to prom. Then he wants you to test me. Your aunt apparently knows my entire employment history. Madison knows. Probably the guy who sold me the corsage at the grocery store knows.”
Georgia sighed and leaned against the bike rack.
“He’s been thinking about something important,” she said.
“Yes, and?”
“Something involving the company.”
My stomach clenched.
“Is he selling it?!”
“No.”
“Is he closing it?!”
“No.”
“Am I getting fired?!”
“No,” Georgia said. “Brent, calm down. It’s definitely not that. I promise.”
“Then what, Georgia?”
She hesitated, studying me for a long moment.
“You’ll know soon,” she said.
I put my hands on my head.
“Your family is exhausting,” I said.
She laughed.
“Imagine growing up with them!”
Before I could answer, Madison burst through the gym doors in her red sequins.
“Georgia! Group pictures! Right now! The photographer’s leaving in ten minutes!”
Georgia grabbed my arm.
“Come on!”
As we walked back in, I noticed something.
Georgia had stopped acting annoyed with me. Completely. She was holding my arm. She was smiling. She kept glancing at me as though we shared a joke.
Whatever her father was planning, she seemed to be on my side.
That made me feel a little better.
Only a little.
The photographer had set up in a corner of the gym, beneath an arch of silver and white balloons. A long line of couples waited. When our turn finally came, he waved us forward.
“Couples, stand together! Closer!”
Georgia stepped in beside me.
“Put your arm around me,” she whispered.
I hesitated.
“Another test?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Brent. It’s a picture.”
“Right,” I said. “Sorry.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me.
“Smile!” the photographer said.
I smiled.
A few seconds later, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. A text from Sheldon.
Everything going smoothly?
I showed Georgia.
She grinned. “Tell him I’m being difficult.”
I thought for a second, then typed:
Georgia has requested a chair facing northwest. Negotiations are ongoing.
Sheldon answered instantly. He must have been sitting there staring at his phone.
Interesting. How are you handling it?
I stared at the reply.
Georgia peeked over my shoulder and burst out laughing.
I typed:
I’ve offered her a north-facing chair and a complimentary napkin.
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
Then:
Good thinking.
I shook my head.
“Your father needs a vacation,” I said.
Georgia snatched the phone out of my hand.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said.
She typed something fast and gave it back. I looked at the screen. She’d already hit send.
Georgia has also requested that I obtain the moon. Please advise.
My boss took two minutes to respond.
Georgia and I waited under the balloon arch, staring at my phone, while the photographer tried to take our picture again. He kept saying, “Look up, please! Look at the camera!”
Then:
Um, well, use your judgment.
I laughed so hard I doubled over. Georgia laughed so hard she had to grab the balloon arch, and one of the balloons popped.
The photographer sighed and shot us again. And again. In the end, I think he gave up and used the one where we were both laughing with our eyes closed.
By the end of prom, Georgia and I were honestly having a great time.
We danced badly. Really badly. I’m not a dancer. Georgia isn’t either, it turns out, but at least she’s confident about it.
We ate too many cupcakes. The culinary club had baked about four hundred of them, chocolate with silver sprinkles, stacked on a tiered tray by the drink table. Georgia had three. I had four. Madison ate so many we stopped counting.
We watched Madison talk the DJ into playing an old disco song. It took twenty minutes and a lot of begging. When “September” finally came on, the entire gym groaned, and then everybody started dancing anyway.
Georgia taught me a dance move during that song.
“You put your arms like this,” she said, demonstrating. She bent her elbows and swung them back and forth in a kind of chopping motion. “And then you kind of bounce. And then you spin.”
I tried it.
Georgia stopped dancing and just stared at me.
“What?” I said, still swinging my arms.
“You look like you’re fighting invisible bees,” she said.
“That’s the move!”
“That is not the move!”
Madison was crying from laughing. Theo filmed the whole thing on his phone.
I kept doing it for the rest of the night.
The dance ended at eleven-thirty. The lights came up, the DJ played one last slow song, and the chaperones began herding everyone toward the doors.
By the time we walked out to the parking lot, Georgia was still giggling about the invisible bees.
“Okay,” I said as we reached Uncle Frank’s Buick. “I survived prom. Can you tell me what’s happening now?”
Georgia stopped smiling.
“There’s something Dad hasn’t announced at work yet,” she said.
My stomach clenched again.
“Please don’t keep me in suspense, Georgia. I have a weak heart.”
“You’re twenty.”
“I have a weak twenty-year-old heart.”
She took a breath.
“He’s opening another location,” she said.
I blinked.
“Another warehouse?”
She nodded.
“In Westfield. He signed the lease in March. It’s going to open in the fall.” She paused. “And he needs someone to manage it.”
I stared at her.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“He’s been watching a few different employees,” Georgia said. “Seeing who might be ready. But you’re the one he’s most interested in.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak.
The lot was emptying out around us. Limousines were pulling away. Somebody honked. A group of girls ran past barefoot, carrying their high heels.
Then I managed to squeak out, “Me?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m practically new!”
“You’ve been there more than a year.”
“I still call my mom when I don’t know how long to cook chicken!”
Georgia laughed.
“That doesn’t mean you’re bad at your job,” she said.
I shook my head and leaned back against the car.
“Why didn’t he just tell me?” I said. “Why didn’t he just call me into his office and say, ‘Hey, Brent, want to apply for this job?’”
Georgia was quiet a moment.
“Because he’s convinced you’re too young to recognize your own potential,” she said. “He thought if he asked you straight out, you’d say no. You’d say you weren’t ready. You’d say somebody else deserved it more. Kyle, or somebody older.”
I said nothing, because that was exactly what I would have said.
I thought about all the questions Sheldon had put to me over the past year.
The customer who refused to pay. The two employees who wanted the same day off. The supplier who delivered the wrong order.
Mr. Castellano and his takeout containers.
Why didn’t you get Kyle to do it?
“Those questions he kept asking me,” I said slowly. “Those were all tests?”
“Some of them,” Georgia said. “He wanted to know how you think. How you solve problems. Whether you blame people or fix things.”
“And tonight?”
Georgia sighed.
“He thought an awkward social situation would show whether you could stay calm when someone was being unreasonable,” she said. “Like a difficult customer. Or a difficult employee. He said, and I quote, ‘If he can handle a cranky teenager for four hours without losing his temper, he can handle anybody.’”
I stared at her.
“Your father turned prom into a management interview?!”
“That was his plan,” Georgia said.
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I told him!” Georgia threw up her hands. “I told him it was ridiculous! I told him it was weird and unfair! He said it was ‘an unconventional assessment environment.’”
Then I remembered something.
“Wait,” I said. “What happened to your original date? Your dad said he backed out at the last minute.”
Georgia smiled, a little guiltily.
“Oliver’s my friend,” she said. “We were supposed to go together. Just as friends. But then Dad started talking about this whole plan two weeks ago. And he asked if Oliver would mind going with his other friends instead.”
“So Oliver didn’t exactly back out?”
“No,” Georgia said. “He’s here tonight. He was the guy in the blue tux who did the worm during ‘Uptown Funk.’”
I remembered him. He’d knocked over a chair.
“Dad just preferred the ‘backed out’ explanation,” Georgia said. “It sounded more urgent.”
I rubbed my face with both hands.
“Everyone knew,” I said. “Everyone. Madison. Your aunt. Oliver. Except me.”
“Pretty much,” Georgia said.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“And I already told Dad what I think,” she said.
She turned the screen toward me. She’d sent the message twenty minutes earlier, during the last slow song.
Brent failed your test. He let me eat three cupcakes, couldn’t obtain the moon, and danced like a washing machine with a loose wheel. We had a great time. Stop treating people like experiments.
I burst out laughing.
Then I spotted Sheldon’s reply underneath.
Understood. We need to talk.
Suddenly I was nervous again.
That was when the car refused to start.
