Cupid's Sabotage (COMPLETED)

Chapter 18

Prom is set to begin at six o'clock, but I decided ahead of time to get there a half an hour early. I follow the sound of a steady drumbeat to the gymnasium which is where prom is being held. I expected to find the place to be nearly vacant due to my early arrival, but I'm shocked at just how many people are already here. Looks like being early is the new late.

Tonight, the gym looks drastically different; everything has been decorated for the occasion. The basketball goals have been moved to the corner of the room to allow for more floor space, and scarlet and crème colored streamers are strung between the overhead rafters with matching colored balloons swaying freely in the air. The wood court looks as if it was waxed this morning; all shiny and reflective, which likely means at least one person will slip on its coated surface before the night is complete. At least there will be some action if nothing else.

There's a small table by the gym's entrance with a white chest resting on its surface. A stack of note cards are laying next to the chest along with a Dixie cup full of ballpoint pens. On the chest is a handwritten sign that says: Prom king and queen. Vote here! Naturally, I write down the name Gwenevere McCallum onto a note card and slide it through the open slit in the chest. I've yet to see her this evening, but I don't need to in order to know that she's prom queen worthy. I'm sure she'll look beautiful in whatever dress she's chosen to wear. She looks beautiful in everything.

I spot Reggie standing by the food table and move over to him. "Wow! Regg, you actually look . . . nice!" I stare at his well-put-together outfit of gray slacks, white shirt with suspenders, and gray suit jacket. I mean, sure, he isn't the best-dressed guy in the room, but come on! This is Reggie we're talking about. In all the years I've known him, I don't think I've seen him wear anything other than shorts and a raggedy T-shirt.

"Thanks, pal. I'm wearing my fat pants tonight, so I won't feel guilty about overeating." He pats his waistline trustingly. "You're looking quite spiffy yourself."

I glance down at my own outfit of navy blue dress shirt with matching dress pants, silver tie, and black vest. "Thanks. So who did you vote for?"

He flashes a confident smile. "Well, me, of course. I've got as much of a shot at that crown as any guy here."

"I like your confidence, buddy!" I know he doesn't have a prayer, but I don't want to burst his bubble. To be honest, I'd like to see him be crowned prom king. After all, the underdog wins every now and then, right?

"And who'd you vote for? Wait! Lemme guess. Gwen?"

I shrug. "She deserves it."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure it was a completely unbiased vote. And the king?"

"Left it blank."

"Oh, really? I'm surprised you didn't write down your own name."

"Nah. Only self-centered jerks vote for themselves."

"Hey! Not cool, bro. Not cool at all."

"I'm just messing with you, pal." I slap him on the back.

"You better be. Any idea how we're going to sabotage this evening?"

"Isn't that the million dollar question every time?"

"Sure is." He snaps his fingers. "I've got it! We'll spike the punch bowl, then prom will be canceled and everyone will be forced to go home."

"Spike the punch bowl? Seriously?" I shake my head. "That's not only cliché, it's dumb. What if we get caught? We'd spend the rest of the night in detention hall. The only people we'd be sabotaging is ourselves."

"Oh. I hadn't thought about it that way."

A thick beat sounds over the speakers as the music increases in volume. Screams and cheers of approval from fellow dancers follow. Tyrone, an afro-headed guy with a love for electronic dance music, is our DJ for this evening. He's standing behind a mixing board pushing buttons and turning knobs like a madman to create the pulsing noise in our ears. I find the tempo to be rather annoying, but his choice of musical tracks seems to be well-liked by everyone here. Maybe I'm just being an old fart?