Michael Jackson One-Shots

🟢PROM?

1976

Y/N's Point of View

I stared at Michael for the entire class period. Prom was coming up, and I wanted to ask him to go with me.

But I didn't have the confidence to do so, of course.

I've really liked him since I was a freshman. I watched him go through a few relationships, which all didn't work out. And I was more than happy about that.

"Give him a note." My friend Martha whispered to me.

"No." I hissed. "He's too far away. That would be awkward. Besides, what am I going to say? 'Prom?' With a yes and no check box?-"

"Y/N."

My face heated up. "Sorry, sir."

The teacher nodded and went back to teaching the lesson.

The bell rang for us to leave soon enough. I felt relief fill my chest, and I stood up slowly, packing my bag up.

I knocked over my books and groaned. I was about to pick them up when somebody else had done the job for me.

"Here."

My heart skipped a beat. Michael's voice was very distinct and wasn't hard to miss.

"Thanks." I was getting flustered, so before he could see, I started walking out of the classroom after Martha.

"Wait." He stopped me. "Your names Y/N, right?"

I frowned and turned around. "Yeah. We went to the same middle school."

"I thought I recognized you," he smiled.

Oh, man. That adorable smile.

I bit my lip subtly. "Well, it was nice talking to you..."

I turned around again and left. I couldn't help but notice how he had the strangest look on his face. It wasn't like a, 'what on earth was this conversation for?' or, 'why is she so urgent to leave?' but rather like he wanted to talk more. Unless I only imagined that.

I found Martha by her car. Her family was quite wealthy, so I never understood why she hadn't been sent to a private school or something.

"What happened?" She asked once we both got in the car.

"Oh, Michael started talking to me," I said. "It was nothing."

"What?" She stepped on the gas a little too hard, sending us jerking forward onto the curb.

"Man, Martha, watch it!" I scolded her.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I mean, what happened?"

"Nothing. He picked up the books I dropped and asked me my name."

"So? Did you give it to him?"

"Yeah. But then I left. I didn't know what else to say."

She sighed. "You are a chicken."

I shook my head and didn't answer. I didn't feel like getting myself worked up about this.

A Week Later...

Michael and I have talked a little more recently. Maybe that's because our teacher ironically assigned us to partner up for an assignment. Usually, we stayed on task, but we'd always get to laughing one way or another. Michael knew how to tease me, and I wasn't sure why since I'd never told him what pushed my buttons.

"What all left do we have to do?" I asked.

"I think we could probably finish this in class tomorrow. It's getting a little late, and my mother said dinner would be ready by six." He looked at my clock on the wall, which read five forty-five. "I'm sure she'll have questions if I'm not home soon."