The Optimist

five

. . .

Three steps to embarrass myself.

I stand in an awkward position, wobbling a bit in the six inch stick-thin heels. I wait in line in front of the gym's entrance, butterflies racing on my stomach, as Jacob makes his rounds of greeting and handshakes. The line moves up a few steps, and with no one to support me, I take a breath and drag my feet across the concrete.

I almost topple over, tripping over my dress, but two strong hands firmly grasp around me, saving me for the second time today. My eyes widen, in shcok, fear, and mostly embarrassment. By the size of the hands, I can tell they're not Jacob's, and when I look up it's none other than J. Chresanto.

Well, just Chresanto.

"Woah there, tiger." He chuckles. His voice is deep and lined with an accent. His chocolate eyes meet my dull brown ones, and he smiles, rising me to my feet again. "You look familiar. Where have I see you around before?" He asks, taking a step to admire my fancy attire as I gaze down, unable to speak.

"J-just lunch." I mutter, stuttering over my words. He grins and holds my chin up the same as Jacob had, showing off his white, perfectly aligned teeth. "Listen, be careful, okay? You're too beautiful to be falling head over heels. Literally." He says and I chuckle under my breath.

He only sees the fancy dressed, makeup drowned, glasses-less girl now, not the real me. "I won't." I promise, and then he's gone. When I reach the entrance, the ticketmaster asks for my name and date. Jacob's not here, and he's still doing his rounds, so technically, he's supposed to be here becuase no name can be said twice.

"Nadia Crestfield." I mumble, barely audible. Luckily, Jaxton, the man behind the whole prom night, hears me and nods. Then I say Jacob's name, but he's shakes his head. "Mr. Perez has already made his way in. Go ahead inside and get your picture taken."

I hear a few laughs behind me.

"That dateless freak shouldn't be allowed in." Someone whispers behind me, and new round of low laughs erupt behind me. I ignore them, face burning and heels clacking like they're five inch wide chunks of nothing supporting me, adding on the the embarrassment.

The man behind the photo booth looks at me curiously before making me pose alone. He snaps the photo, and I pick at my nails as he hands it to me. "

Do you go here?" He asks. I nod silently and step out of the booth, clanking over my heels again. This time, I catch myself before I fall but the loud, thumping beat of the music makes me dizzy as I wobble to the punch bowl. The green punch has swirls of a suspicious white color, and so does the red one.

I decide to take none, but when I step away from the room-stretching table, someone grabs my lower arm. Chresanto again. "Where's your date?" He yells over the pumping music. I shrug and look down, watching my step as I step away from the snack table.

But Chresanto doesn't let me go just yet. I want to step outside, but I won't be let back in. I walk over to the bleachers, Chresanto hot on my tail as he watches me. I take a sit and he sits next to me.

"So," he smiles. "What do you do for fun? Perhaps, partying, pranking, and sex?" He says, leaning close enough for me to hear his breathing. All of those are his interests, especially pranking ad joking, but mine are completely opposite.

"Reading." I say, but whenh he cups hand around his ear, I know he didn't hear me. "Reading!" I say louder, watching his expression change.

"Reading is boring. I mean, I try to read, but them high words like prejudice and discombolu-"

"Wait!" I interrupt him. He doesn't realize it. He's actually using those words. He stops talking, waiting for me to continue. "Prejudice means, like," I pause, thinking of the best way to break it down. "Like, when you judge something beofre you know what actually happened." I say.