Pancakes and Paper Planes || ✔ || Under Revision

17|Prom and Peonies

Warning: Neither of us have been to prom, so we apologize if any of this is incorrect.

As Nick talks I try and process the situation. I'm basically forced to go to Prom with a guy who I find only slightly attractive and who may be a psychopath serial killer. It seems like Nick maybe doesn't know me as well as I thought.

It's too late to refuse Norman. And if I do RJ will find me out and it's just not worth it. I shake my head.

"You ready to go home?" Nick asks. I look up at him, and he smiles down.

"Yeah," I reply. I pick up the bag containing the dress and shoes that we had bought, then walk back down the hallway and out of the mall. Nick unlocks the car and I slide into the passenger seat. Nick slams his door and starts the engine. We smoothly pull out of the parking lot and drive down the street.

My mom freaks out when she hears about what happened.

"Micah! You're going to prom!" She shouts for the fifth time. We are seated on the L-shaped couch framing the living room.

"Yes, mom," I say, clenching my teeth. "I believe that's been confirmed."

My mother turns to me, a huge motherly smile wiped across her face. "I.....I..." She stammers.

I roll my eyes. "Mom, I'm going to bed," I announce, stepping up the stairs and storming down the hallway. I hear my mother shout a goodnight, but I ignore her. I close the door to my bedroom and flop down on the bed. My head hits the pillow and I'm immediately fast asleep.

I wake up the next morning to the sound of Alex frying breakfast. I stand up, pulling on my bathrobe over my clothes, then go down the spiral staircase into the kitchen. The sizzling of eggs on a frying pan echoes loudly in the big room as I sprawl myself across the huge couch.

Alex turns to me, grinning. "Hey, cupcake!" He exclaims. "Ready for breakfast?"

I groan, wiping a bit of drool from my chin. I glance in the mirror hanging above the kitchen sink, and notice the terrible rat's nest that is my hair. Sighing, I grab a comb that my mother had left on the coffee table, and begin ravenously detangling the knots.

"Where's mom?" I ask as I rip out a large mass of brown hair. I drop into the wastebasket under the low table.

Alex shrugs in response. "She went to some party last night and probably ended up with some fan."

I wipe my eyes, leaning back against the soft cushions. I yawn widely, blinking my eyes. The clock above Alex's head reads 11:30, but it feels like 8. I always end up eating breakfast at lunchtime on the weekends, thanks to my early weekday schedule.

Suddenly the front door is flung open, startling me. My mother enters, her blonde hair straightened and carrying the faint scent of pomegranate. She stares up at Alex, a deranged look on her face. I can tell she had another all-nighter.

"Hey, mom," I say.

She ignores me, stalking over to Alex. "Why didn't you tell me?!" She shouts, jabbing a finger at his chest.

The man raising his arms in a sign of surrender, looking moderately confused. "What do mean?"

My mother growls menacingly. Then she turns to me. "How was your sleep, duckling?" Her voice suddenly sounds sweet and endearing. It must have been one crazy night.

"It was fine," I reply. "What were you talking to Alex about?"

Completely ignoring my question, an excited smile crosses her face. "Are you ready for prom tonight?"

I shrug, then repeat my question.

She sighs. "Oh, it's nothing, dear. Miles was at the party."

Alex and I both stare. Woah. I guess he's not leaving. My mother had told the man to go back to New York, but I guess he changed his mind.

Alex shakes his head, then turns to me. "Are you ready for prom tonight, dumpling?" He grins.

I shake my head.

At 5:30, Alex drives me to the dance, which is on a bridge in the Porsche, on which my mother, insisted. When we arrive, I bite my lip as I crawl out of the door. My black/gold dress glints in the dim moonlight, and I suddenly wish it wasn't so shiny.

The entire bridge has been closed off for this event, and there are refreshment tables stationed along the railing overlooking the calm river below. The theme is "Under the Stars", as the school has been advertising this whole year. I meander over to one of the pastry concessions, careful not to tread on the hem of my gown.

As I bite into a cinnamon bun, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Whipping around, I find Norman, dressed in a fancy tuxedo, with his brown hair combed back in a semi-attractive flip. His white teeth flash from his huge grin.

"Hey, Micah!" he says, so loud that it almost sounds like an announcement.

"Hi," I reply.

"You look sensational," he exclaims. He places his hand on my shoulder, but I uncomfortably shrug it off.

He turns to the middle of bridge, which has been labeled the dance floor. The only lights provided other than the stars are the headlamps on the heads of employees. Dozens of couples are dancing to the mellow music, while the majority are at the food stands.

Norman grabs my hand and pulls me out to the dance floor which is the main part of the bridge. Just my luck.

"Norman...don't..." I struggle as he pushes past a dancing couple. I recognize the girl immediately. It's Austin.

"Why, hello there, Micah," the girl greets me in a sly tone. Her makeup includes bright pink lipstick and matching eye shadow, with lots of black eye liner and mascara. Her flawless blonde hair has been curled and I'm pretty sure she added some extensions.

I give her a cold glare.

"Who's this?" Austin asks, cocking her head sarcastically and pointing at Norman. "I'm surprised anyone would ask you to prom!"

I sigh, grinding my teeth. I can't let her set me off. I just need to get away.

Austin chuckles, narrowing her brown eyes.

Inhaling deeply, I turn to Norman. "I have to tell something," I say, my voice low so that Austin can't hear. I grab his arm, leading him away. We wind through many dancing couples, then down off the bridge.

"What's wrong?" Norman asks.

I ignore him. We sit down on a rock under the bridge. The loud music is blasting from above, and I bite my lip. Maybe this isn't a good idea.

"Micah?"

I turn to him. "Norman. I have....." I trail off.

"Micah. What's. Wrong." He grabs my arm, turning me so I am staring at him. His eyes search mine, wide with worry.

I pull my arm away. "An anxiety disorder," I finally blurt out. I turn to see his reaction, but it's he exact opposite of what I had expected.

"That's cool," he says. He leans over, draping one arm over my shoulder. He looks directly at me. "I have something to tell you too."