Our Inverted Promposal

I blink a few times, willing my sore eyes to stay wide open. I glance at the clock…. 23:15. I look back down at the pile of materials and the lot of work on my bed that I have to rush through for tomorrow. God….I’m so gonna get a pair of panda eyes the next morning. My phone beeps. A message from Weston.

‘Can’t sleep, baby.’

I text back quickly, ‘Good, neither can I. Let’s be a panda couple tmrw.’

‘You sure about tmrw? You know im gonna say no, rite? :)’

‘300% sure. Im doing it in front of the whole student body and u can’t say no. Got you a side gift btw.’

‘Lemme guess…..BASKETBALL, ain’t tat rite baby?’

My eyes widen at the phone screen. How does he know this? Casting a fleeting glance at the brand new basketball in front of me, I reply uncertainly.

‘Not even the minuscule bit close. Now go to sleep and brace for my legendary promposal tmrw.’

‘Im gonna reject u in front of all those nosy eyes, so think bout it again, baby.’

‘Why r u doin this? I freaking hate you.’

‘Told u this bfore. I’ll ask, you’ll say yes, that’s the way we do things. Boys take the initiatives, not girls.’

‘Blah blah, you’re always the one askin, now it’s MY turn, baby.’

‘You’ll end up in our school’s e-newsletter.’

‘With you by my side, yeah.’

‘Not gonna persuade you anymore. See you at school tmrw’

‘Grand idea. Till then, BABY.’

‘Night, baby.’

‘Not gonna ‘night’ back, cause I hate you to the bone marrows.’

With that, I turn off my phone before tossing it aside carelessly. My eyes fall back onto the stacks of colourful sticky notes and the basketball on my bed. This promposal is killing me.

Grabbing at the stray marker at the edge of my bed, I plop onto my elbows, a hand stabling the basketball while the other begins to draw on it.

I’m only doing this for you, Weston Donovan. You better say yes and not embarrass me.

What’s he thinking anyway? I don’t even get why he’s so adamant that he should be the one asking. The fuddy-duddy macho stuff, that’s probably why.

It’s hard to write on a basketball, the ink wouldn’t even stay the beautiful way. Placing the ball onto my nightstand, I move to the next task- the sticky notes, and know that I wouldn’t be able to drop off until dawn.

***

To make sure I’ve got enough time to wreck up Weston’s locker a bit, I have to arrive at school half an hour early. I did not sleep a wink last night, but my mind is currently too occupied to even feel a tiny twinge of sleepiness- weird, yeah, but true.

But what’s weirder, my friends all seem to be edgier than me, though it’s blinding clear that I’m the one doing the promposal, not them.

“Honestly, Kelsey, we can perform a cappella for you…..you know, for the mood and stuff,” Melinda clasps her hands together suggestively.

I shiver instinctively, and Kyle the football jock speaks for me, “A cappella, my ass. It’ll only sound more like a horror film’s soundtrack.”

That definitely sets Melinda off. Dropping her bag to the ground, Melinda leaps forward and gives Kyle a good shove on the head while I try to scan the moving heads in the hallway for Weston.

He wouldn’t be late, would he? Cause the second the bell rings, my promposal would go all out the window.

Kyle bumps into my shoulder, “Hey Kels, come to think of it, I can do a beatbox. I’m good at that, really.”

I frown at myself, wondering who on earth needs beatbox to do a promposal when Melinda deliberately tosses her hair and says loudly, “You mean, like, making those farting sounds, Kyle? No offence but that’s what they sound like coming out from you.”

I lift myself up on my tiptoes, trying to get a view of Weston’s locker. We’re far enough for him to not notice, but I still need to keep an eye on it in case one of his friends decides to open his locker.

Someone taps on my shoulder, and I turn around to see the last person I expect to run into at this very minute.

“Oh hi,” I smile up nervously.

“So….” Weston looks around amusingly, “…I thought you wanna do it in front of everybody?”

I facepalm inwardly.

I glance around, and find Melinda and Kyle already at the furthest end of the hallway. Melinda shrugs innocently at me. Those two betrayers…

Pulling my gaze back to Weston, I give up, “It’s all in your locker.”

A smug grin crawls across his face, “I know.”

This, is exactly why I hate him.

We wriggle our way through the mass of students to his locker, and not even bothering to wait for my preamble speech, Weston yanks his locker open casually, revealing the inches deep of sticky notes adhered to the back of the locker door, where every single piece reads the most cliché question ever, “PROM?”

I open my mouth, about to hush the students around, when I spot my rescuer jutting out from a box in a boy’s arms. I grab at the megaphone, and putting it to my mouth, I say, “You bitches.”

That actually works. The students quiet down and they turn their attention to me. I blink a few times at the sea of heads in front of me, a little at loss for words. The hell, how did I manage to forget about preparing a promposal speech?

His eyes still on me, Weston reaches for the basketball at his top most shelf. A line of unattractive words have been smeared onto the surface of the basketball- “Be my prom date”

My subconscious clicks her tongue at the inelegant handwriting.

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I put the megaphone to my mouth again and decide to just skip the cheesy lines, “Weston Donovan, can’t you just be my damn date to the Prom Night?”

Upon hearing my words, Weston widens his eyes slightly, the basketball still in his hand, and I realize a little too late what I’d just said.

I hasten to clarify, “Minus the damn, actually.”

Spinning the ball in his hand, Weston replies, “No,” and pushes his glasses up a bit.

He’s the only walking specimen in this whole galaxy who would look hotter with a pair of glasses on.

I slur deliberately into the megaphone, “Forgot to mention. This is a multiple-choice question, mister. You’ve got three choices. A, yes. B, yes. And C…..yes. Pick one.”

Putting his smug grin on again, he enunciates, “N.O. No.”

The students around cough purposefully, and some snigger at me. WESTON DONOVAN, YOU BEASTLY BOOGEYMAN.

I’m actually ditching a girl’s pride by doing this and Weston’s still steel-headed on not letting me ask. What kind of a world is this?

I narrow my eyes at him, “Say yes.”

Someone from the crowd makes an animal sound. The normal school’s students would just clap or maybe whistle playfully, but no, this is our school, where people make animal sounds whenever circumstances want it.

Tucking the basketball under his arm, Weston reaches out and steals away my megaphone. His amused eyes on me, he puts the thing to his mouth and says, “So I’ve heard, you’re gonna prompt Aladdin Snowberry.”

I scowl, “Prompt WHO?” Was that even a name?

A hint of smirk tugs at his lips, “Prom, with me.”

A series of animal sounds come from the crowd again, and I try not to yell at them. Instead, I cross my arms and give Weston a mocking wearisome look, “That was a lousy pun.”

“I want an answer, not your opinion.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” I glare. For once, why can’t he just let me be the one who asks?

Weston fixes his eyes on mine steadily, probably attempting to figure out where I’m going with this. I answer him out loud, “I want to be the one to ask this time, Weston Donovan.”

The talks among the students die down, and not even an animal sound is made.

Expressionless, Weston holds out the megaphone for me, “Okay.”

I lean back in disbelief, but couldn’t help the surge of happiness inside either. Flashing a Chesire grin, I take the megaphone from him and speak into the cone, “I’m skipping the cheesy lines, because they’re gonna sound weird coming from me so…… Weston Donovan of Woodland High School, would you uh….be my date to Prom Night?”

I frown at myself disapprovingly. That wasn’t my voice at all. I sounded like Theodore the Chipmunk.

His eyes smiling, Weston chews on his inner cheeks, probably finding my act amusing. Cracking a grin, he answers, “In a heartbeat, Kelsey Evans.”

And…..here comes another series of animal sounds. Not like I care anymore anyway. Still chuckling, Weston opens his arms out wide. I close our gap quickly, throwing my arms around his neck. He smells of chocolate. No, actually, I always smell chocolate when I’m happy.

Laughing out loud, I lean in for a kiss, only to bump into his damn glasses, “I hate your glasses.”

Weston throws his head back in laughter while taking them off.

I grab away the glasses from his hand, and putting them back on for him, I explain, “No way, put them back on. You look yummy in glasses.”

Weston stops laughing, “Yummy.”

“Good, I mean good,” I nod vehemently. What a choice of word, Kelsey.

I turn my head back to Weston, only to have him laugh harder at me. In. My. Face.

God, I really hate him.