For the last two years, my daughter, Elsie, had worn a complex orthodontic frame.
Kids at school called it “robot gear.” After that, she stopped smiling in photos.
Then, one day, she walked in beaming and said, “Mom, Mason asked me to prom! He said I was really beautiful.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Everybody in town knew Mason. He was the star quarterback, on the honor roll, and known for being a good, polite kid.
I thought he could be good for my daughter.
She stopped smiling in photos.
When your daughter has spent years shrinking herself, and suddenly the golden boy of town looks at her like she matters, you don’t want to be the kind of mother who goes searching for a trap.
You want to believe in the nice story.
I think part of me also saw something else in it. Something selfish.
See, I had raised Elsie alone since the night her father walked out on me at my prom.
Darren had smiled for photos, danced with me twice, then disappeared before midnight. The last thing he said to me was that he wasn’t ready to be a father.
So, I wanted my girl to have the amazing prom experience I didn’t get.
You want to believe in the nice story.
When Mason showed up for Elsie, smiling and nervous in a dark suit with a white boutonniere, some old, bruised part of me thought: maybe this is where the story turns.
Elsie came down the stairs in a pale green dress. I had curled her hair and pinned one side back with my grandmother’s pearl clip.
She looked stunning.
The prom was in the high school gym, dressed up as best a small-town budget could manage. Parents lined the walls, pretending not to hover. Teachers smiled too hard. The DJ was doing his best.
I stayed because Elsie asked me to.
Some old, bruised part of me thought: maybe this is where the story turns.
For the first hour, everything looked good.
Mason held her hand and got her punch. He bent down when she spoke, listening like every word mattered.
Once, I saw Elsie laugh without covering her mouth, and I had to look away before I embarrassed her by crying in public.
Then, the slow song started.
For the first hour, everything looked good.
Mason led Elsie out with one hand at her waist. She looked nervous, but pleased.
Then Mason leaned down and said something near her ear. Elsie stiffened. He said something else. She pulled back and stared at him.
Then she yanked her hand out of his.
She spun away from him and marched straight to me.
Her face was red and blotchy. Her eyes already spilling over.
My stomach dropped. “Elsie? What happened?”
She yanked her hand out of his.
She stopped a few feet from me, breathing hard.
“How could you?” she said.
I froze. “What?”
“You paid him, didn’t you?” Her voice cracked so loudly that conversations nearby cut off in the middle. “You felt sorry for me, so you got Mason to pretend he liked me.”
