Caramel | A Short Story Collection ✓

18. Look What You Made Me Do

Ever since it happened, she's dreamed of revenge. One Monday morning, it seems within her grasp.

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I guess I should've seen it coming. My name is Carrie, after all, and the irony that came with it was just too good to pass up.

It was senior year, the night of the prom. I was on the arm of Ken Davies, the notoriously handsome football team captain who made everyone around him look cooler by association. I was no exception - people didn't usually talk to me much, but that night, with my hair curled carefully round one side and a shimmery floor length silver gown, everyone swarmed around me making loud compliments. I should have recognised the mean look gleaming in each pair of eyes, the subtle nudges and smirks as they crowded around me. But I was oblivious to it all, my brain cells befuddled by the shining presence of Ken beside me.

Ken led me into the school hall, straight towards a large bowl of punch. He poured himself an ample cup, seemingly forgetting the gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer me some too. Instead, he turned his back on me in favour of some guys from the football team who were munching on some of the snacks set out, their expensively dressed girlfriends chattering nearby. I could tell I wouldn't be welcomed into their little gossipy huddle, so I took my time in getting a plastic cup of punch, feeling oddly deserted. I sipped my cup to make it look as if I had something to do, and nearly gagged at the revolting mess of fruit mashed together to create an indescribable flavour. Discreetly, I poured it back into the bowl.

One of the girlfriends interrupted the boys' raucous laughter. "Excuse me, but are we going to dance or not?" She said irritably, and the offending guy allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor. Pretty soon, the two groups disbanded, as the guys realised they could get a bit more action if they kept their girlfriends happy. Ken turned back to me.

"Wanna dance?" He rumbled in the low voice many girls seemed to lose their heads (and pants) to, although he didn't sound as if he particularly wanted to.

"Why not?" I shrugged, keeping my tone as disinterested as his. I took his hand and he wrapped the other around my waist, pulling me in startlingly close. I placed my other hand lightly on his shoulder, sending up a silent prayer that he wouldn't try to grope me as we swayed awkwardly on the spot. However, as I glanced around at the other intertwined couples, I realised our positions were actually pretty modest; we were the nun and priest of the party, which didn't really say much for the rest of them.

We literally had nothing in common, and I had no idea if I was supposed to start making conversation with him or not. Most people were kissing as they danced, but I felt like our situation was not sure enough yet to suggest kissing to relieve the weird silence. It should have occurred to me then that it was really strange for Ken to have asked me to prom in the first place, especially when there were a tonne more interesting and more beautiful girls who already adored him, who would jump at the idea of swaying with him. But again, I failed to recognise that blindingly obvious fact; I was far too preoccupied with worrying over the silence.

Sometimes I wonder if I deserved what happened to me that night because of my inability to realise that everyone was out to get me.

"They're gonna announce prom king and queen soon." Ken grunted, and I latched onto the thread of conversation like a fisherman going in for the kill.

"You're a cert for that, aren't you? And Anna'll defo be your queen." I smiled at him, but he didn't return it, nor did he continue to talk. In hindsight, I really shouldn't have mentioned Anna, the girl who'd famously dumped him two weeks ago with the killer line of, 'I'm just not in love with you anymore,' slipped casually into conversation as she ate a low fat yoghurt. I wasn't at the lunch table where it happened - please, that was reserved for A-list students only - but the story circulated so quickly that by the end of the school day, even those who'd played truant knew Anna had dropped him like a bag of hot potatoes.