A Prom to Remember(6)

He took a screenshot of these texts. Sometimes he did that with Paisley. Not because he wanted to preserve these conversations forever, but because if someone were to ever challenge him on his friendship with Paisley, these were the kind of things he liked to keep as proof. Also it was never a bad idea to keep receipts.

There was something about the way she talked to him, so no-nonsense, that no one else in his life had quite figured out.

Henry walked out of school with his backpack over his shoulder and his baseball glove in hand. He’d turned in the direction of the baseball field when he saw it.

The most terrible thing.

A promposal of epic proportions. This was no little moment in the hall that could be skirted around. This was happening in the front of the school at the end of the day.

He burned with the shame of secondhand embarrassment as a girl asked a boy to the prom right there in the middle of the school lawn. In front of God and parents picking up freshmen and students exiting the building and EVERYONE.

He was never sure if what he experienced in these moments was an overload of empathy or an overload of sympathy. Whatever it was, it was nearly crushing him. He couldn’t move as he watched Margie Showalter hold up her hand-lettered and glittered sign that read STEWART SMITH—WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?

She was smiling broadly and obviously trying to hold the sign steady in the breeze.

Henry could see little flecks of glitter fluttering off into the air and blowing around. He imagined where those pieces of glitter might end up. A bird’s nest, someone’s unsuspecting ice cream cone, the sewer.

And then the worst thing happened. The absolutely worst thing imaginable.

Stewart Smith said no.

Henry saw him shake his head. His smile was apologetic. He said a few things, but the words were obscured by the wind that was now kicking up even more glitter.

Things were falling apart in slow motion in the middle of the school parking lot. Henry didn’t know how to deal with this horrible tableau that was happening in front of him. He had the distinct urge to run away and never, ever look back.

That’s exactly what Margie was doing.

She wasn’t running, though, just walking away dejectedly, and dragging her poster along behind her.

Henry accidentally made eye contact with her for a split second. His regret was swift and immense. She looked like someone had run over her dog.

“I thought he liked me,” Margie said to no one in particular.

Henry’s eyes went wide, and he knew he did not have the bandwidth for her sad state of rejection. He backed away from her, going off the path down to the field instead and winding his way across the lawn, trying to avoid the goose crap that was everywhere. For some reason, geese from a nearby pond liked to come up to the grass in front of the school and basically shit everywhere. It was an issue that the administration hadn’t figured out a way to deal with yet, even though it’d been literally happening for years. Something about the new dam that had been built by the brook. It was a serious environmental issue.

Jamie Fitzpatrick materialized next to him, his long legs falling into rhythm next to Henry, barely managing to miss what could only be described as goose diarrhea.

“Oh gross,” is all Jamie said as he sidestepped around it.

“Hey,” Henry said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Why are you walking through this field of sorrow and goose shit?”

“Oh man, I just watched this really terrible promposal go down. Margie Showalter asked Stewart Smith, and the dude said no.”

“That’s awful. Why would you make such a big show if you weren’t guaranteed a yes, you know?”

“I have no idea,” Henry said. “I was just so embarrassed for Margie. I mean, I’d be embarrassed for anyone getting rejected, but there was something about this moment. I wished the ground would swallow me up on her behalf.”

“How could the ground swallowing you up even help her?” Jamie asked.

Jamie was not the brightest bulb in the box. “It wouldn’t. I’m just explaining to you that it was that embarrassing.”

“Oh, I get you.” Jamie bobbed his head. Henry had a feeling that Jamie did not get him but that he mostly wanted to stop talking about this. They were at the field house now where all the guys changed for practice. “I’m so freaking relieved that I have a girlfriend and don’t have to deal with shit like that. You know, like rejection. When I ask Cora I know she’ll say yes.”

“You haven’t asked her yet?” Henry asked.

“Nah, I’m waiting a couple days, until she’ll be surprised and I know she’d kill me if I made a big deal about it.”

Henry chewed his lip.

“What about you?” Jamie asked. “You gonna ask someone?”

Henry wrinkled his nose. “I’m not really interested in prom.”

“Oh, come on, man. It’s one of those things.” Jamie paused and snapped his fingers, searching for the words. “You know. Like a thing.”

“Tradition?”

“Well that, too, but like … Oh man, I’m so annoyed I can’t think of this.”

Henry shrugged.

“A rite of passage!” Jamie said, smacking Henry hard on the shoulder.

“I’m sure I’ll live,” Henry muttered, rubbing the point of impact. He wasn’t in the mood to explain to Jamie Fitzpatrick that the anxiety of even considering the prom wasn’t worth Henry’s time.