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The reason American high school proms are taken so seriously is that they serve a function similar to the coming-of-age balls of European aristocratic society. Although certain ethnic groups in North America still have their own coming-of-age party traditions, most high school students rely on this dance as their opportunity to "train for the battlefield."
The important part isn't really dancing with a date. What truly matters is learning proper social etiquette and taking one's first steps toward independence, rather than remaining a puppet whose parents arrange everything and whose only job is to do as they are told.
So a proper prom isn't simply about dressing up beautifully and going somewhere public to dance with the handsomest boy or prettiest girl. It begins with the invitation, with every student trying to come up with something creative so they can successfully find their ideal date.
Then, before the dance, most couples will also have dinner together. This can take place at either the boy's house or the girl's. Naturally, that's another part of the social process: before winning over a stranger, you first have to win over your date's parents.
Gwen's mother wasn't around, and expecting George Stacy, the police commissioner, to prepare dinner would be asking too much of him. Henry was staying at Katherine Hepburn's house. The old lady probably wouldn't have minded, but bringing a girl there for dinner wasn't exactly appropriate either.
As for the house Henry had bought himself, it hadn't even been furnished yet, so that was out of the question. A boy and a girl having dinner alone together…
George would probably pull his gun before Henry even finished picking Gwen up and put a few holes in his forehead.
For a situation like Henry and Gwen's, the alternative was simple enough: find a suitable restaurant.
Henry didn't choose some cheap family restaurant, but neither did he go for one of New York City's most prestigious establishments, even though he could easily afford it. Instead, he picked an upscale French restaurant on the expensive side and treated the girl to dinner.
Even Gwen's nervous expression as she entered the restaurant was almost identical to that of the valet who had taken the keys to the Red Skull's car from Henry.
The valet looked terrified that he was about to ruin everything and be hit with an astronomical compensation bill.
Henry let the girl take his arm as they entered.
"Don't worry. This restaurant isn't one of those places where the etiquette is so strict that they'll throw you out for saying the wrong thing.
"After all, we're going to your prom afterward. We can't spend several hours eating here, and you can't drink alcohol. Most importantly, the food here is genuinely delicious, and it isn't particularly expensive.
"You paid for the prom tickets, and I'm treating you to dinner. That's what we agreed on from the beginning. You're not thinking of backing out now, are you? Otherwise we'll have to find a pizza place and stuff ourselves with a few slices."
"Bonjour."
The restaurant manager greeted them in French.
Henry responded in French as well.
People often say English is the world's universal language, but the French would probably be the first to object.
On the streets of France, it was better to struggle through a greeting in French, humbly admit that your French wasn't very good, and then ask for directions in English than to launch straight into a stream of English.
The latter approach could very well earn you complete indifference from the proud Gallic rooster.
Even in the United States, where English was overwhelmingly dominant, restaurants with French owners or French heritage still retained some of that pride. Speaking to the manager in English and speaking to him in French could result in somewhat different treatment.
Someone like Henry, who could speak fluent French, was naturally quite welcome.
Not to mention his outfit and the automobile he'd arrived in. He might not have been among New York's absolute wealthiest elite, but he certainly wasn't some shabby kid from the streets either.
After they sat down, Gwen looked at the menu, which was filled with French.
She smiled helplessly.
"I took Spanish as my elective in high school. I taught myself some French, but menus like this are written way too artistically. I still can't understand them."
"Then I'll order for you. Do you want something relatively ordinary, or something a little more adventurous?"
"What's adventurous?"
"Escargot for the appetizer, rabbit or sea bass for the main course, and one of the chef's signature desserts."
"Rabbit? It's so cute. Can you really eat it?"
"Rabbit is a very common ingredient in French cuisine. The French are pretty particular about their food. If it weren't delicious, it would've been kicked off the menu long ago. Want to try it? Consider it a taste of adulthood."
"Hmm. All right."
Gwen had quite an adventurous streak herself, so she agreed.
Henry then ordered in French.
He didn't order wine to accompany the meal, instead choosing sparkling water, which was similarly expensive.
The dishes Henry selected also happened to pair well with sparkling water, so Gwen found herself pleasantly surprised throughout the meal.
It wasn't as though she'd never been to an upscale restaurant with her father.
But some experiences simply felt different depending on who you shared them with.
Henry was also quite good at creating an atmosphere. At least with his super-brain backing him up, he was full of clever conversation and knew exactly how to keep the girl happy.
They finished dinner right on schedule, then drove to the prom.
The prom for Standard High School in Queens was being held in the school's gymnasium. The outdoor athletic field had been turned into a temporary parking lot, where countless rented luxury cars and stretch limousines were parked.
When Henry drove the Red Skull's car onto the grounds, even though these students couldn't recognize the brand or distinguish between different levels of luxury automobiles, nobody could help admiring such an imposing antique car.
If anyone looked unimpressed, it was definitely because they were suppressing their jealousy.
Henry stopped in front of the gymnasium, where the dance was being held, and got out first.
He did so specifically to display his gentlemanly manners and open the door for Gwen.
A social occasion like this was, bluntly speaking, all about saving face.
The fact that Gwen had chosen Henry obviously wasn't merely because she wanted someone to dance with.
So at a time like this, he naturally had to go all the way and give her the full experience.
If he wasn't willing to do this or that, he shouldn't have accepted the invitation in the first place.
Henry was quite self-aware about that.
There were no valets at a high school dance like this, so Henry had to park the car himself.
Meanwhile, the girl who had gotten out first was immediately surrounded by classmates who had spotted her, all of them chattering excitedly.
"Gwen, who is that guy?"
"That car you came in—was it rented? I've never seen a rental company offer anything like that."
"Is he your boyfriend? George approved?"
…
The girls chattered away.
There wasn't much sign of fake friendship. Instead, every single one had transformed into a gossip columnist, completely possessed by the urge to find out everything.
Nobody was entirely immune to vanity. The difference was that some people chased that feeling so desperately that they stopped being themselves, wrapping themselves in layer after layer of hypocrisy.
Others simply enjoyed the temporary praise, felt a little giddy about it, and then forgot about it afterward.
Gwen probably wasn't someone who actively sought such things, but when she found herself surrounded by a group of admiring girls, she was still quite happy.
Henry, on the other hand, wasn't receiving nearly as friendly a reception.
Gwen Stacy wasn't the captain of the cheerleading squad, but she was still a girl impossible to overlook on campus.
As for the off-campus male guest she'd invited, if everyone hadn't been uncertain about Henry's background, someone might already have stepped forward to challenge him.
But this was New York.
Everyone knew exactly what kind of people were best left alone.
Judging by the wealth Henry displayed and his distinctly adult, worldly appearance, not a single high school student dared step forward and provoke him.
The two sides were practically creatures from different dimensions, and that disparity alone suppressed all the hostility that otherwise might have surfaced.
There were, however, some people whose status was roughly the same as Henry's—other adults from outside the school who had been invited by graduating students.
Their gazes were much more blatant.
They looked at Henry as though they were sizing up a rival hunter in a competition for beautiful women.
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