The halls grew colder and colder as we walked through it that late afternoon.
“And this is the blah blah blah, where we blah blah . . .”
If my memory serves me right, that was all I uttered during the whole tour.
“Aaand this is the gymnasium where poor freshmen usually get beaten up by uglier-than-ugly or by we-rule-the-school thugs. On a lighter note, this is where we’ll be having Christmas prom next week.”
He stared at the prom posters around the hall.
“It’s on a Saturday, seven sharp,” I informed him.
“Will you be going?” He’s been so silent during the whole tour I forgot that he could talk.
I shrugged and said, “Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not a party person,” I sighed.
“It’s a prom,” he clarified.
I looked at him stupidly.
This dude just won’t drop it.
“Can I take you?” he went on.
I blew up my cheeks then faced him.
“MAY,” I said in my most know-your-grammar tone.
“Screw grammar,” he responded.
And then I gave him my oh-no-you-di’nt face. With the neck thing in my head.
“Sorry,” he grinned.
“Look, you don’t have to take me. You can go. Have fun, grab a chick, hook up, and then repeat cycle.” I gave him a good pat on the shoulder. “Go on, kiddo. SOCIALIZE~”
I gave him a thumbs-up as a final inspiration.
“I want you to come. With me. To the Christmas prom. Next week. On Saturday. At seven. Sharp.” He was persistent.
“No,” I blurted out.
“I betcha that’ll be a ‘yes’ in less than a week.”
He gave the most mischievous smile I’ve ever seen, Mischievous yet charming.
“Not happening,” I insisted.
“Not YET happening,” he double insisted.
After that , we parted ways at the school gates.
I went home with his request circling my mind.
. . . ARRIVED HOME . . .
“Dad, I’m home!”
I slammed the door in the calmest possible way.
“Wendy,” Dad said lovingly as he came out from the kitchen and pulled me into a big dad hug.
“How’s my educated chore-doing gangster?”
“Tired and educated,” I exhaled.
“You’re not a chore-doing gangster anymore?”
“Dad, it’s your night on the dishes; and I’m still a gangsta,” I grinned.
“Shoot,” Dad snapped his fingers, “well, gangster, you better take quick bath, eat, then head to dreamland.”
“Mmmkaay, Dad.”
I started to go up the stairs; I suddenly paused on the third step.
“Dad?”
“Yes, dear?”
“If you were me, someone asked you out to the upcoming Christmas prom, would you go? Oh, and, he’s pretty hot.”
Dad let out a chuckle and said, “I’d go, dear, I’d go.”
