My 1st Prom

Date: 25/5, Wed

  S1G2 girls talk nonstop about the Mocktail in every single period. About the dresses they'd love, about which boys they'd love to dance with, about the prom in general. There really should be an advent calendar counting down to prom. Rumour has it that the prom is going to be a masquerade ball. Hearing them talk without knowing if I can actually go is bad enough. Not to mention when I'm supposed to be doing classwork.

Apple Onadonga -we're friends since Primary - beckons me during recess, and we talk about anything that comes to mind while strolling along a corridor. Or rather I listen to her views on stuff. When she got the flu, I didn't have friends to speak with for 5 consecutive schooldays. She's fiery & fearless ever since we first met, especially with the rising arguments and temporary fallouts between us. Back in Primary 6, We used to have mutual friends, but they all transferred to some other school. And for some reason, I feel discomfort whenever she implies we're bound for life.

'You up for the Mocktail?' I ask, my voice comes out hoarse from not speaking for hours. 'It sounds fun.'

'I don't know, it's way too formal. Do you think -be honest- I look nice in any dress besides the school uniform?'

I nod encouragingly, 'Yes, as long as your accessories don't clash with your dress.'

'I don't get it.'

'Ummmmmm...wear a dress and earrings that creates a lovely image...in general.'

She flips her ponytail, 'Are you sure your idea is ugly proo-'

'M germs!' A masculine voice bellows, portrait of a brave hero. Followed by girls screaming as they scramble away. As if I'm the sole cause of a zombie apocalypse outbreak. No-not true fear, only a norm. Just like the very familiar feeling of not belonging here. S1G2 people's reproachful stares usually make me feel bad for some reason, like I'm inferior to them. Plus, they're always disgusted by me. (That's another story.)

Walking back into the classroom together, some classmates -at the door- frantically taking huge steps backwards. In fact, they tend to avoid me, not that I deliberately bump into them. Total overreaction. Everyone's completely germaphobic nowadays. I try not to appear bothered when Nick coolly asks them if they're ok. His face looks so good -exceptionally handsome, there's no other description for him- I won't be surprised if he gets on magazine covers. Most of his Instagram followers agree that he can be gorgeous wearing nothing but a paper bag. (I've read the comments on his posts.) Those S1G2 people at the door mumble their answers softly, awed at his debonair. I should stop expecting other people to not give wide berths no matter where I go. Except I never ever did, despite going through that for more than 7 months. Secondary 1 is the worst time bullying time cuz everyone -new and old students- suddenly want to fit in with the crowd.

'Don't look at them. You don't see them, you don't think of them, all right?' Apple snaps her fingers, 'Try not to be all salty.' 'Salty?' I echo uselessly. She changes the topic, 'Does black make me stand out? It's not too gothic, right?' I pick up a new thread of conversation, 'As black as their hearts?' 'Forget those S1G2 people.' Apple ruffles my hair, 'You're more valuable than they know.' She stops ruffling. 'Of course,' my bangs fall over an eye, 'I'm untouchable.' She snorts, 'Touché, though not exactly my point.' She pats her cheeks, 'So all black suits m-'

'I think you'd look cuter if you keep your bangs out of your face.' XYZ chimes in, startling Apple. Cuter? 'What are you doing here?' Apple skips to the point, ' If you have any -any- body contact with Celestia, you'll be contaminated by her M germs. Simple as that.' I automatically hang my head before reconsidering. XYZ stands tall, 'Or so I've heard.' I remain quiet, monitoring both their postures, their tones. XYZ gives me a hairclip, 'Then why are you here, Apple?' 'We're besties!' Apple pulls me in way closer than I'd like, 'Celestia needs me around!' 'No,' I hate the way she talks, it's almost... condescending, 'we're not best friends.' I tell XYZ. 'Uh huh.' XYZ shrugs, gaze fixed on my bangs. Her eyes lock on the visible one of mine.