Promposal

In January it is slushy and gray, and moody, vitamin D deficient teens roam the halls half awake and drooling like Zombies. Everyone except one. Nose and cheeks cherry red from the biting wind, he has just arrived and stands like a sentinel at her locker, holding a bouquet of pink roses, punctuated with sprigs of baby’s breath. She shrieks, “Yes!” and the sleepy gawkers awake, momentarily, from January crusted apathy, to applaud.

For a moment, I imagine being that bold, holding flowers for my crush. Not roses, but lilies, just like her name. I slink away with ideas of my prom proposal flitting through my head. How will I ask the girl who blows kisses my way as she passess, always bringing heat to my cheeks and a flutter to my stomach?

In February, they hunt for dresses. Frost still clings to windows and billows of breath float in the air. For a beat, the strapless dresses bring summer, and the vibrant swirls of color — Barbie pink, periwinkle, sapphire blue — revive the dull days. So many dresses. So many choices. Sweetheart necklines, V-neck, corsets, sequined mesh. Chiffon, satin, tulle, organza. A-line, short, long. While my friends buy their dresses, I continue to imagine how I will ask my crush. The pictures play in my mind: I, personally, deliver the chai tea to her in study hall along with my handmade origami heart invitation. Or, I don’t deliver the tea because it probably will be cold by the time it arrives, and I slip the card into her locker when she isn’t looking.

Or…I just ask her. Or… I don’t.

In March, spring is new, but winter is still hanging on like an old coat, snow blanketing the ground. The cold doesn’t stop the girls from buying shoes, strappy and pointy, chunky heels and platforms. Much to the dismay of my friends who advised otherwise, I delivered the chi tea anonymously and stuffed the crushed origami card in my own locker. My crush hurries by and blows me a kiss. I melt instead of finding courage. “Come on, Bella! My friends admonish me. “Just ask her already!”

In April, I wonder Did I imagine her interest? She hasn’t responded to my casual texts to hang out. Maybe the kisses were meant for someone else to catch. But now she is walking my way. “Hey,” she says with a wink and a side bump to my hip. My hip is on fire. My insides are mush.

“Hey,” I reply, stuffing my hands deep into my pockets.

“Going to prom?” she asks. Before I can unstick my tongue and form coherent words, she asks, “Do you want to go with me?”

It’s May and prom has arrived. Today the question is hair. Curls? Braided. Updo? Ponytail? Side bun? Messy bun? Today the question is also lipstick. I can imagine my friends in the bathroom chittering like excited squirrels as they fumble through their makeup looking for the perfect shades. I don’t worry about any of this as I run my hand through my short purple curls, straighten my tie, and slide into black loafers. I wonder if my crush is worried about these things, I hope she isn’t because I think she is perfect just the way she is.

It’s prom and I have arrived to pick up my crush. Her parents invite me in and my stomach drops to the floor as she emerges in a floral printed fuchsia dress with ruffles cascading to the floor, her long dark hair swooping to the side, revealing a heart shaped birthmark on her right shoulder. My words have left me, and she giggles and winks at my silence.

“You girls look so cute!” Lily’s mom says and the camera flashes, catching me in a long blink. “Let’s try that again!”

My smile stretches wide. After all the poses and pictures on the double porch swing and by the trellis of climbing blue clematis, we are ready to depart.

I offer Lily my arm and we step outside, head to the car and off to prom.

Tamara Belko is a reader, writer and teacher. As a middle school English teacher and Power of the Pen Creative writing coach, Tamara has spent her career sharing her passion for reading, writing and poetry with her students. Tamara is the author of young adult verse novel Perchance to Dream.