Best (Prom) Night Ever

It was the day before prom and everyone in the entirety of the schools proximity could not keep quiet about it. And there were only four types of people at Timber-ton Heights. 

You have the ever-so pretty girls commanding their prom dates what to wear and when to show up on their door steps with a 300 dollar paid limo to escort them to the venue. It was eerily too similar to an army Sargent whipping their out of order cadets back into shape. 

Then over there you have the macho guys following every syllable that slips out of the girls’ mouths. It wasn’t too hard to tell where their balls were. 

Then right back there, near the unlit side of the back west wing, towards the auditorium you have the theater kids. The ones who never seem to have their top lip touching their bottom lip. (Well except the kids who actually never have their lips separated.) But almost always there was a low hum of chattering happening among them. Whether it was about the recent, up and coming play they were all hard at work on or how Carlos Santino was the only kid ever that managed to ruin the entire summer play by just simply eating too many bean burritos before going on to play the role of the lead character. Those seemed to be the two main subjects that group has never seemed to get passed since the start of freshman year, nearly 4 years ago. 

Last but not least, standing next to the almost overfilling garbage can, next to the principal’s office was me. Marcel B. Marcels. Don’t ask me why my parents decided their last name would look just as good a first name with the S chopped off. I have no control over how my parents lived before I was born or now even. They’re the type of people who like to think “outside the box” per say. Or maybe the ones who just have way too much time on their hands, both being passionate writers with no boundaries, or just maybe too many ideas running through their small minds. Either way my name was the outcome of two lovers’ mistake and my face probably was too. Especially my eyes, which were probably more blind than a blindfolded bat with no eyes, and that says a lot considering they’re already blind with eyes. 

But to make up for my lack of vision I had a pair of, overly sized, probably from the 1980’s, glasses resting on the bridge of my nose. Sure they made my eyes look bug-ish and way too large for my entire body but what can you do when the only store your mother knows of is the used vintage outlet; where she just happens to buy everything from. Even my own wardrobe, because she refuses to let me go to school looking like, what she calls, a “hoodlum” or a “thug-rat.” Her word choices always seem to astonish me. 

But anyways, I’m the kid who gets straight A’s and that no one really talks to. Unless you include, Booger Joe, who got his nickname in the first grade and that no one ever seemed to forget, as a part of the human life form. 

“H-h-hi. Marcel!” Booger Joe said as he approached my locker, which I was having trouble opening. 

“Hey, Joe” I’ve never called him Booger Joe to his face, saying as it could lower whatever self-esteem the kid has. 

“I’ve got an odd question for you. I mean, I probably already know the answer to it but…” He slid his hands into his pockets, balanced back on the heels of his feet; he did this when he got uncomfortable, as his words trailed off. 

“What is it? Can you just spit it out; I’ve got to get to Calculus soon.” I only had about 6 minutes until class started and still a jammed locker. 

“Well, ya know how prom’s tomorrow and everything and I know we promised not to bring it up because we didn’t have dates and probably would never be asked anyways.” Booger Joe continued. 

“Alright, get to the point.” I said as I finally got my locker door opened. 

“Well, so, my mom told me I had to go because this is our senior year and she wants pictures and all that stuff that mom’s like to do. And I mean I don’t want to go alone and I know you’re not doing anything tomorrow night and I know you have that tux still from your sister’s wedding a few years ago and well I guess I’m trying to ask you to prom with me, even though I don’t mean it like that. Because you know, I like Cindy Graslow and I’m not on the same side of the fence as you are, if you get what I’m trying to say. And yeah I mean my mom’s letting me use her van tomorrow night for this, so I mean it’s a pretty big deal to her and like she said…”