The Prom Queen's Date

Chapter Twenty

Our prom, as it stood, was a smelly old gym but in the figment of my imagination it was a world of colour, intrigue and most important of all; doable. Affordable. The inspiration was all down to Sabrina. It just needed a little help from outside our prom committee of two. Our budget required more funding. As it stood right now, we could afford the basics, the food, the drinks, the D.J and the photographer but the design elements were a little out of reach. Everything had been attended to; from the date and time, to the theme, entertainment, invitations, marketing, even down to how the prom court voting method worked. All that was left was inputting the design.

With our investment into the toy bows and arrows to sell on the week of Valentine's, we'd nothing left to spend. We'd run dry. It was a given we'd raise a bunch of money in the Cupid's week, plus the sales of the prom tickets too, but we needed cash now – as well as additional income to donate to the cat shelter.

The thing about our high school was, other than Mr. Byers, who had taken an interest in prom, no other member of the staff cared and that included the principal. Sure, they volunteered to supervise the dance, but other than that they didn't seem to take an interest – which made sense considering they heard about it each and every year.

It was at the end of the school day, and the secretary who I'd dubbed as 'Flash' from Zootopia in my head told Anna and I to head into the principal's office.

Mr. Kellerman concentrated on finishing the end of a sentence and one when he prodded his pen to mark a full stop, he offered us a greeting.

"Well . . . You clean up nicely, Sam," he said jokingly, and I forced out a little laugh at his attempt at a joke about the milk incident. Luckily, he moved on quickly. "What can I do for you, ladies?"

Anna took charge. "We need more funds for prom. Only a little."

"We've given you the same set amount that other years have received." His tone was instantly stern. "This is what you get when you mix girls and prom. Mr. Byers was supposed to keep you on track so you wouldn't spend impulsively. Now, girls, I'm afraid this is a life lesson learned the hard way. What you've spent is what you're entitled to, and that's the end of the matter."

"We have projection figures for what we'll receive on the week of prom, that compensates for the money you would let us borrow because, of course, we'll replenish the extra funding," Anna continued, ignoring his sexist remarks. "And there will be enough extra to donate to the cat shelter too."

"What good to me is imaginary numbers, Ms. Jenkins?"

"The figures speak for themselves." Anna slid a piece of paper across the table.

"Plus," I injected, sliding across my designs. "How can you say no to that?"

He barely glanced at them. "Sorry, ladies, what you have is what you're stuck with. It's not our fault you decided to explore more . . . advanced creative avenues than other year groups. You can see yourselves out."

Anna gripped the sides of her chair. "Sir—"

"I'm afraid that's all I can do for you."

"But you did nothin—"

"Come on, Anna, let's get out of here," I said, pulling her out of her seat and out of the office before she could land herself a disciplinary warning or something. As soon as the door shut, I continued, "We expected that. I think my plan will be awesome, anyway."

"I thought asking for funding officially first could save us some time . . ."

"He's an ass. He literally thought Jack and Gerald's phones were destroyed because I wasn't photogenic. Who the hell is photogenic with their top see-through because of milk?! You'd pull the same face too."