The Worst Prom Date Ever

1 • The Worst Incident Ever

BEAU • [2:48 a.m.]

That was it. My life was officially doomed. Why did I even plan to attend the stupid party that was situated in a place where the streetlights weren't doing its job—to light the streets?!  

I just got out from one of my friend's party at two in the morning without being a tad close of being tipsy, let alone drunk, and yet I managed to wreck a car of a college student...with my dad's brand new 2015 Cadillac.  

"How the hell am I going to get you one-freakin'-thousand dollars in under two months, Griffin?!"

"Can you not see my Wrangler, Huntley? It's fucking wrecked!"

"My car's wrecked too!"

Of all the places in our neighborhood, it had to be in a dimly-lit place. Of all the days of the year, it had to be that night. Of all the cars we owned (and we only had two), it had to be my father's. Of all the people in the world that I had to face, it had to be Pascal Griffin.

Damn it. Pascal Griffin, an alumnus of my high school, Hartsmith High. He was the school's quarterback, was a straight-A student and was also crowned prom king. If that didn't sound surprising enough, he was attending Harvard University. 

He wasn't called the most popular guy for nothing.

Despite his amazing list of triumphs, he was also kind of the mischief maker—always known for getting all the girls, pulling pranks in and out of school, and throwing the wildest parties in our whole town here in Alcovix, Massachusetts.

He wasn't called Pascal the Rascal for nothing, either.

I scratched the back of my head infuriatingly. The trunk of my dad's Cadillac's destroyed, and I was guessing it will cost me even more than the damage I did at Pascal's car. I wasn't even sure if Dad's car was insured yet!

I let out an obvious groan.

"Look, Huntley, see these two LED headlights?" he asked in an angry tone, pointing at it, shards of the headlights scattered all over the asphalt.

"That will cost you a thousand bucks. I travel back and forth from Alcovix to Cambridge, so if you don't get to fix my damn jeep, you're toast as fuck." Pascal threatened me icily.

I wasn't the pleading kind of guy. I just didn't do it. I usually get what I want, without the pleading part. It was embarrassing, but I just had to, even if it was already too much for me.

"Please, Griffin, I don't have that kind of money. I can repay you, but give me half a year," I begged, half-considering kneeling down in front of him.

He scoffed. "Beggars can't be choosers, Huntley. Next time, if you're gonna drive yourself home, make sure you're not drunk. You ass."

"But I'm not drunk!" I barked, and then I quickly turned my head to see if anyone from the ongoing party was watching the two of us. Gladly, everyone was inside.

"Then watch where you back your car!" Pascal yelled, and rested his hands on his brown buzz cut hair, as if he was patting down the steam coming from his head.

He let out a huge exhale. "That fucking does it, it's two in the morning, and I have to go home. I'm calling Mei." He held his hands up and walked towards his jeep and into the driver's seat, retrieving his phone.

I ran up to him and snatched his phone. "Don't you dare call my sister, she will flip out," Mei's my older sister—and unfortunately, Pascal's best friend.