Ever After

A Prank Gone Right

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This chapter is in Mark's perspective.

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"Mister Fischbach?"

My silence was (apparently) an insist for him to repeat himself.

"... Mister Fischbach?"

But I couldn't hear him – I was far too distracted by the clamoured amount of teenagers, their judgemental eyes piercing me down and against the stage's floor. They were all given an enraged emotion thanks to the red, blistering lights pulsing out from the gym's brick walls, walls I (ever the athlete) wasn't capable of recognizing. I wasn't used to any of this; the look Mr. Caulfield was shooting at me, the sight of the angered teenagers, and Jack, his gaze taunting me all the way from the raptors up above, his stare penetrating what I thought was miles in between us into mere inches.

I was practically in the spotlight, blind to the world around me despite my ability to pluck out every single detail. It was like I was stuck in a dream, immobile and forced to stand still against my will – what could I do?

I'd just made a complete idiot of myself, running out and onto a stage in front of what appeared to be hundreds of upset teenagers (although I'd already done so before, seeing as the Shakespeare play went down as it did). Even Eunice was there, making me feel much more intimidated than I should – I felt my knees buckle as Jack, no longer affected by the sudden outburst, returned to hooking up his last can of paint. Knowing his strategic, scheming mind, he probably saw it as a means of biding more time, and I, feeling he needed said time, found something to say.

"Um..."

Not good enough.

"Hello, everybody!" I squeaked, my voice (yet again) failing at its one and only job. I cleared my throat, wishing the laughter would disappear before I worked up the nerve to say what was determined to come next. "Um, I and the committee that planned this dance would like to give a shout-out to our spons-"

"He's not on the Dance Committee!" someone bellowed.

"Yeah!" another agreed.

I swallowed, wishing to press on – at least, I was, before Mr. Caulfield decided that he, too, had the right to interrupt.

"Now, Fischbach, I don't know much of the Dance Committee," he apologized, "but I do, however, know that you were suspended early yesterday morning." Then, a questioning look came across his face. "Why are you here?"

I left a dramatic duration before opening my mouth, letting all of the gasps and mumbles and "Coffee Breath got suspended?"s sink in.

"I'm here because I wanted to go to the dance," I said, keeping a watchful eye on Jack. "But it doesn't matter – I'm here to thank our sponsors."

"Well, I don't think that's very important at the moment," Mr. Caulfield argued, taking a risky step forward. "In case you haven't noticed, young man, the lights have gone out and the music has absolutely dropped, need not mention the fact that something went awry with the Prom King and Queen ballets." Now, practically casting a shadow with the amount of height he had towering over me, he hissed, "I think you have something to do with it."

I didn't let the fact that every word had raised itself an octave the further he progressed through the statement, not even mentioning the grimness hidden within the last sentence. Instead, I cleared my throat once more, smiling – beaming – in his direction.

"Yes, and I understand your reasoning, Mr. Caulfield," I said bitterly, forcing the smile to grow bigger and bigger just as his tone had. "But, until you find better reasoning as to why I may be behind whatever is going on, I am going to continue to go about my business."