PROM?

Slowly, I ascended the stairs to the second floor of my small, private high school, Pinkerton Christian Academy. My feet shot flashes of pain through my soles and up my calves, as my legs rose up and down, up and down, in my climb. With every step, I regretted choosing to wear these 4 inch black, strappy sandals. In an attempt to achieve a “slimming effect” on my legs, I chose the highest heels I owned.

Trying to impress someone was hard. Trying to look “hot” was even harder. The plastic grocery bag I carried, on one arm, hit my knee with each upward movement. The handles twisted with each bounce. Every two steps, I checked the flip phone, in my hand, for the time. It was 4 pm. The meeting was supposed to begin. I was aiming to be three minutes late. I did not want to appear desperate, like I had been waiting for the meeting.

I had been waiting all week.

The upcoming meeting was in honor of Frankie DeMaggio, a classmate who died in 2003, while we were in the 6th grade, in a car accident. It was now 2009, and it had been six years since the accident. On this year’s anniversary, the yearbook editor Alexis had decided to honor the day with a memorial.

My soon-to-be-graduating class of 40 had all known Frankie. My school was very small and taught kindergarten through senior year of high school. Most of us had grown up together and been at the school for years. The grade was too small to ignore the presence of one another.

Frankie’s frequent jokes, as class clown, were long gone. I couldn’t remember a single one. I was now a senior in high school.

I decided to attend the memorial, but I had ulterior motives. I was only attending to see Johnson, a former classmate, who had switched schools, after junior high.

His real name was Jake Johnson, but there were three Jakes in our grade, so everyone called him by his last name, “Johnson”. In the seventh grade, I saw Johnson sitting on a swing alone, during recess, reading a book. He wasn’t conventionally good looking, by any means. I was intrigued that he was a loner, who didn’t care that no one talked to him. I then learned he loved to write poetry. I became obsessed.

I needed to be his crush. Emboldened, I started passing notes to Johnson during class. They were long notes, filled with poems and drawings-of teachers, of animals, whatever inspiration I felt that day. Surprisingly, every time I passed him a note, he passed one back. We communicated through these passed notes, but rarely spoke in person. My crush on him only grew.

In the eighth grade, our lockers were assigned close by, three away from each other. Once the bell rang and school was over, Johnson took a long time to gather his stuff and leave. I was always at my locker before him. I didn’t have much to put away or clean in my locker, but I painstakingly would rearrange book after book in my locker, waiting for him. By the time, he came to his locker, most of my classmates were gone, and he and I could be alone. I would make something up for us to talk about. My mom, who picked me up from school, was very annoyed by this ritual. She usually waited outside for at least 30 minutes, while I tried to make conversation with Johnson. I told her the truth of why I stayed so late. She rolled her eyes.

Johnson loved a girl named Patricia, who was also in our grade. She was the opposite of me. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was peppy and athletic, with a great personality. She may or may not have liked him. No one was sure. The rumor was that, one day, in the eighth grade, he passed her a note, during class, saying, “Will you marry me, once we turn 18?”

She was freaked out by the note and thought it was too much. I silently died inside, when I heard of this rumor. I never spoke to Johnson about Patricia. I preferred to pretend that she didn’t exist.

After the eighth grade, he left our small private school to go to public high school. A lot of kids did that because public high school had a variety of AP courses, clubs, athletics, which our school did not offer. One day, during freshman year, I decided to email him. To my delight, he responded. We corresponded by email every week. We both loved poetry. We both shared similar senses of humor. He occasionally mentioned Patricia in his emails to me and how he still liked her and that he tried not to think of it. I ignored his comments on Patricia, in my email replies back. I didn’t want to talk about her. I wanted to talk about me.

We had been email pen pals for four years now. We occasionally saw each other. I invited him to family Christmas parties and family events, and he rarely said no.

When his mom picked him up from a Christmas party we hosted, one night, she remarked to my mom, “I’m surprised they’re friends. They don’t seem to have much in common. Maybe it’s because they both like poetry?”

I was hurt by the comment. Couldn’t his mom see that I was a great match for him?

It was now the May of our senior year. I hadn’t seen him in about six months. I had heard, through Alexis, that he was attending this “Frankie memorial”.

Next week was my senior prom, and it was blatantly apparent that no one was going to ask me to be their date. While so many of the girls around me were receiving elaborate prom proposals, I was straight out of luck. I didn’t want to go alone. I was a private sort of girl, who never talked about my life outside of Pinkerton, with my classmates. All I ever did on the weekends was hang out with my family and go to church. I so badly wanted to go to my senior prom, with a date. I was determined to ask Johnson to be my date. I firmly wanted to take advantage of this opportunity, brought about by the memorial, to ask him.

I arrived at the assigned classroom, the first at the top of the stairs, where the memorial was being held. Standing on my tip toes, to look through the glass on the door, I peeked inside. Four attendees sat in chairs, in a circle. I saw my friend Katie, Alexis, the yearbook editor, the assistant yearbook editor Stanley, and right beside him, slouching in his chair, Johnson. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and opened the door. Alexis smiled and waved her skinny, tan arm, at me.

“Hey, Sophia!” Katie greeted.

Stanley was apathetic to my presence. He nodded. Johnson motioned for me to sit by him.

Quickly, I walked toward Johnson, “Hey, there.” I entered the open part of the circle, set the bag, I had been carrying, down on the floor and sat on the hard metal chair, beside him.

He nodded, “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Wow, you’re dressed nice,” Katie remarked, nodding to my 4 inch heels and the gold bangles, stacked up my arm.

I smiled, faintly.

“Let’s begin, guys?” Alexis interrupted our exchange.

“Wait, is this all that’s coming?” I asked, perplexed.

Alexis rolled her eyes, scrunched her curly hair, and straightened her glasses. “Yes, Sophia. You’re already 5 minutes late, and no one else showed interest.” She paused. “Well, did you bring something? To contribute?”

I reached down into the plastic bag I brought. Pulling out a large picture, enclosed in a white frame, I explained, “This was taken in the 4th grade, on a field trip to a nursing home. We went to sing songs to the residents there and square danced with them.” I pointed to the picture, “There is Frankie in the background.” Frankie’s arms were raised up high, in the back. He was the class clown and so full of life.

Alexis solemnly took the picture from my hands. She clasped a hand over her heart, “This is touching, Sophia.”

Johnson squirmed in his chair. He placed one of his long legs, on top of his other. By the 7th grade, he had reached 6 feet. Today he was probably 6’4.

I shrugged.

“I love how Frankie is all the way in the back, pumping his fist. Such a Frankie thing!” Alexis studied the picture carefully.

“I have a story to contribute!” Katie exclaimed.

Alexis straightened her glasses, “Yes?”

“One time,” she paused. “I dropped my books all over the floor. I was having a miserable day. My ferret had just died. It was awful.”

“Awwww…” Alexis clasped a hand over her heart again. Her brown curls fell into her face, with the gesture. Annoyed, she pushed them back.

“Yeah,” Katie continued. “And the pile of books was all over the hallway. Well, Frankie came along, and he helped pick up every one of those books. Yeah. What a guy. I was so thankful, and I said ‘thank you.’ And he said, ‘No problem’. Yeah, he was great.”

Stanley raised his hands up to applaud the story, but quickly set them back down in disappointment.

Johnson stifled a chuckle. I smiled faintly at the story.

“That was a great story, Katie,” Alexis affirmed. “Great story. Yeah, Frankie was a great, great guy.”

Katie nodded in agreement.

Alexis cleared her throat, “You guys, I have something to contribute.”

The four of us stared at her, expressionless.

“I used to have a crush on Frankie. Like a huge crush. I used to talk to him every day on AIM, and I couldn’t help it. He was so funny and nice. That’s why, when he died,” she paused, to set her thoughts in order. “I cried so hard.”

I rolled my eyes. There was no way Alexis, yearbook editor, popular, and boy obsessed, would have had a crush on 12 year old Frankie, who, to put it frankly, was very overweight, at the time of his death.

“Wow,” Johnson clapped his hands, in astonishment. “You’re not as shallow as I thought you were.”

Alexis rolled her eyes. She turned her back on Johnson, and turned to Katie, “Anything else to say?”

Katie shrugged. “Nope.”

A thick silence filled the room. The scent of chalk dust floated heavily in the air. I gazed out, through the window, at the grey clouds, pregnant with potential rain. Stanley sat, expressionless, with his arms folded. He was disassociating, I could tell. Johnson began to hum, folded his hands, and uncrossed his legs. Katie played with a strand of her long blonde hair, but soon abandoned this to tear off her split ends. Alexis cleared her throat, but said nothing. I glanced at Johnson. He was fidgeting. My stomach churned in knots. I was too nervous. I couldn’t do this.

Alexis turned to Stanley and Katie. “Anything else to contribute?”

Stanley halfheartedly opened his eyes and deadpanned, “No.”

Silence again descended upon the humid classroom air. I reached down into my purse and checked my phone. The time was 4:15. I mentally prayed the meeting would adjourn so I could speak to Johnson about prom. I sighed.

Alexis bolted up from her chair, her skinny body staggering from the impact. Straightening her posture, she pointed a long, acrylic nail adorned finger at our circle, “You guys have to have something! This can’t be over with yet!”

This random outburst startled me, “Alexis, is everything ok?”

Alexis sat back down and placed her head into her hands. “No, guys. I’m pissed! I wanted to do this special thing for Frankie! No one has anything to say. No one came. I feel like this is a failure!”

I got up from my chair and came to Alexis. I placed a hand on her back. “Girl, I’m sorry. This is really nice of you to have done this. I promise. We all really appreciate it.”

Alexis lifted her head. Her eyes were teary. “Are you sure?”

Katie chimed in. “Yes, Alexis! This was so nice of you! Frankie would have been so touched!”

I continued to rub Alexis’ bony, skinny back. “Don’t cry. Everyone is just busy with the end of the school year. And Frankie has been gone a really long time. People tend to move on. That’s all. None of this is on you.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m always trying to do fun stuff like this, and I feel like no one cares.”

I couldn’t believe it. If Alexis, who was one of the most popular girls, in the entire school, felt this way, how was I supposed to feel?

The awkward silence we had come to know this entire meeting again descended on the room. What needed to be said had been said, and we didn’t have anything left to contribute. I was starting to get a headache. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to get out of here, ask Johnson to prom, have him agree, and secure my prom date.

“Well,” Alexis began. “If you guys don’t have any more to share, I guess we’re done. Thanks again for your contributions, Katie and Sophia. Stanley, I don’t know why you came.”

“You told me I had to!” Stanley replied.

“You’re dismissed!” Alexis pronounced, slightly annoyed. She waved us away.

Stanley laughed and quickly got up. “See you later, guys.” Waving, he exited out the door.

Katie waved goodbye to me and left the classroom.

Johnson stood up from his chair. His body towered over my 5’1 frame, “So….”

Standing up and snatching my Frankie picture off the table, I placed it back into the grocery bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

He shrugged, “All right with me.”

Exiting out of the classroom, we descended the stairs more quickly than I had climbed them.

“That was bizarre,” I remarked, shaking my head.

Johnson scoffed, “Weirdest memorial I’ve ever been to.”

Swinging open the school doors, we entered the dark afternoon.

“This is disgusting.” I commented on the weather, as we descended more stairs to the street below.

“Yeah,” he placed his hands in his pockets. “How you doing, Sophia?”

I nodded. “I’m doing all right. I don’t try at school anymore. I’m kind of on the verge of failing, but other than that, all right. I’m ready to leave this place. Fourteen years is way too long to be in one school, with the same people.”

“Yeah, that’s why I left. I don’t know how you did it, staying here and all.”

“Yeah,” I paused. “How are you doing?”

We crossed the street to the school parking lot.

“Great, great. I couldn’t be better. I’m ready for graduation. Senior prom was last week and that only made it more obvious to me: it’s all really over.”

I silently thanked him for bringing prom up. “Oh, really? Did you go? To prom, I mean?”

He shook his head, “No, I didn’t. There’s a lot of drinking going on, before and after, and I don’t know. I just didn’t want to be a part of it.”

“Of course. Of course.” I paused, not knowing how to phrase my next sentence. How was I to ask him?

He interrupted my thoughts, “What about you guys? When’s prom?”

Again, I silently thanked him for bringing this up. “Next week. I got my dress last week. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I was going to be the best dressed one there.” I grinned. “It’s a zebra print dress, and I’m wearing orange shoes!”

“We’re here!” he exclaimed, as we arrived to his red Ford escape.

“Hey, we’ve parked right next to each other!” I pointed to the black Kia SUV in the spot beside his.

Turning to me, he rested his back against his car, “How convenient.”

I looked down at my feet. A light drizzle began to fall from the cloud packed May sky.

“So, who you going to prom with?” he asked.

“Uhh,” I raised my eyes to meet his. “That’s what I actually wanted to talk to you about!”

He shifted against the car, “Oh really? You should go with Steve.”

I forced a laugh. “Well, actually, I was wondering…” I paused. My hands turned clammy. I was not one to be so bold or forward. “I have no one to go to prom with,” my words sprinted faster and faster out of my mouth, as they tumbled from my lips. “I really don’t want to go alone, so I was wondering if you would want to go with me!? It’d be so much fun with you, and everyone would be so shocked that we came together, and yeah, it’d be great. It’s next Friday!”

He stared at me and did not say a word.

Drops of rain started falling on the top of my head. My hair began to get wet.

“Well,” he began.

I interrupted him. “Do you need me to make this more dramatic or something?”

I got onto one knee, as if making a marriage proposal. Grabbing his hand and placing it in mine, I solemnly asked, “Jake Johnson, will you please go to prom with me?”

He laughed nervously. “I have to check with my parents to see if anything’s going on that day.”

“Oh.” I was deflated now.

“But it should be fine!” he reassured me. “I should be able to go. I should be free that day.”

“Thank you, thank you!” I could not contain my excitement. I threw myself onto him and hugged him, my head only reaching to his chest.

He returned the embrace.

The drizzle grew into a harder, biting rain. My hair was soaked. “I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later!”

Johnson waved to me goodbye, opened the door to his car, and entered inside.

Excitedly, I swung open my car door and entered the dry interior. Sticking the key into the ignition, with one hand, I wiped off beads of rain, dripping down my face, with the other. A feeling of inconceivable happiness flooded over my emotions. On the drive home, I sang with all my might, to every song blaring over the radio. I had a prom date! It was going to be so much fun! Everyone was going to be shocked that Johnson was my date. I would get attention. I would be the talk of prom.

I smiled to myself. Maybe this would even make Johnson start to like me? Maybe he would realize how fun I was and that I was the girl for him?

The next day, he emailed me; he would not be able to come. He had a birthday party to attend. I knew better. He didn’t want to see Patricia.

Sophia Bostic has previously been published in Columbia Poetry Review, Sphere Literary Magazine, and on 2nd Story’s Short Story Podcast. She received a Bachelor of Arts in Fiction Writing, from Columbia College, and J.D. from DePaul University. She currently resides in the Chicago suburbs.