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Bridget did not have an audition (another lie!) and went to the prom with Pepe. They finally debuted as a couple, as she—as they —had planned all along, and Bridget was gracious enough to fill me in on all the major prom hoopla because . . .

I did not make it to the prom. It wasn’t part of their master plan, but all involved parties were very happy, anyway.

Here, in dragged-out, dramatic detail, are several scenarios, all of which did indeed take place at the pre-prom party held at Sara’s house, but only one of which is the real reason I did not make it to the prom.

Scenario #1: Skank Thanks

“Can I talk to you?”

It was Manda, all heaving bosom, body glitter, and baby-blue chiffon.

“I never got a chance to apologize for what happened between you and Len,” she said.

“Why now?”

“Because this is it, isn’t it? It’s never going to be like this again. We’ll see each other from time to time, I’m sure, but it’s never going to be like this again.”

“Thank God.”

“I just want you to know that Len and I are in love.”

Quintuple ack.

“Manda, I understand that you want to apologize so you can go off to college with a clear conscience, but quite frankly, I don’t really care about you and Len anymore.”

“Then if you don’t care, you can hear me out.”

It was clear that she was hell-bent on unburdening her soul, so I gave her the go-ahead.

“Girls with low self-esteem have sex sooner, and more often, than girls with high self-esteem,” she said.

“Oh, which must make me the queen of self-esteem.” I snorted.

“Well, yes, actually . . .”

“Oh, Christ, Manda, I am not in the mood for any of your feminist bullshit.”

“No, listen,” she said. “But guys with low self-esteem postpone sex and have less of it than guys with high self-esteem.”

I thought about this for a second. “Chicken or the egg.”

“What?”

“Maybe the reason they have low self-esteem is because they’re not getting laid. It’s a chicken or the egg situation.”

“Puh-leeze,” she said, though I could tell I had stumped her. “That’s not the point. The point is, I realized that Len and I were both suffering from low self-esteem, which seems to stem from our sexual histories.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Right.”

“Okay. That’s fantastic. So are we done now?” I said, looking around for Pepe.

“No. Listen,” she said, grabbing my arm. “I realized we could help each other. And we have. I know you think that he’s just another guy, but Len is the first one I’ve truly cared about.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m just sorry that it went down the way it did, and I want to thank you for being as cool as you’ve been about it.”

This was as close to humane as Manda could ever get.

“Friends?” she asked as she extended her hand.

I know I was supposed to bypass her hand, bow down, and kiss her pedicured toes for her compassionate apology. Like hell I would.

Did I not make it to the prom because I bitch-slapped her across the face, thus starting the best chick-on-chick brawl since the infamous Bridget/Manda/ Sara cheerleader cafeteria catfight of ’00?

Scenario #2: Jock Shock

“So you’d go to the prom with the Black Elvis, but you won’t go with me.”

Scottty was well on his way to a DUI.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You look hot,” he said, looking down the front of my dress. “You should dress like that more.”

I must admit, I filled out the dress just fine, thank you very much. But it made me uncomfortable to know that Scotty had noticed too.

“That wouldn’t be very practical,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I mean, more like a girl. You wear jeans too much. You should show off your legs more often.”

“Well, if you’re done criticizing my appearance, I think I’ll find my date.”

“No,” he said. “Wait. I didn’t mean it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I always say the most stupid fucking things in front of you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me when I asked you to the prom.”

“What?” Whatever I had said had slipped my mind.

“You asked what happened to me.”

“Oh, right.”