The Prom Queen's Date

Chapter Six

If there were one piece of advice that I would hand out to anyone in high school, it would be to eat where appropriate to avoid milk spilling all down your t-shirt and having people snap pictures of the epic fail. Milk above your upper lip? A milk moustache? Awesome. Funny. Something forgotten about in seconds. Milk making your clothes sopping wet and possibly see-through? Not so cool.

My brilliant idea to have my breakfast in a thermos flask led to us all being in trouble.

Mr. Byers and Principal Kellerman went straight into the office. Both Jack and Gerald were called into the principal's office first, leaving Sabrina and me to sit in the waiting area with the receptionist. He was this old guy tapping on the keys of the computer, using only his index fingers and pressing the buttons in five-second intervals.

It was painful, seeing two waiting fingers hovering in the air as he scanned over the keyboard, going through each button like it was life and death decision. I guess it was considering he'd have to go through the hassle of finding the delete button and to find the correct button after.

With every click of a singular button, our sighs grew louder and louder to the point where Sabrina swung her body around on her chair, so she faced me and threw her legs across my lap and dramatically burrowed her head into my shoulder.

I pulled my hands from underneath and interlocked my hands over her legs.

Oh, to be so carefree as her.

It wasn't fair really; how adorable it was that she sung beneath her breath and didn't speak to me and still managed to make physical contact that made my hands shake. She didn't have to try, and she made my heart rate. Could she stop existing for a second to give my poor heart a break?

Her getting us in trouble didn't deter my body's reaction. She was the one to go batshit crazy and destroy the phones which made sense in the context that she could see through my t-shirt . . . but apparently, that wasn't the case for Jack and Gerald.

"You know who he reminds me of?" Sabrina whispered.

"You in ten years?" I said.

"There's the overwhelming gratitude I was expecting."

"I hate guessing games," I admitted.

"That sloth from Zootopia."

"Huh . . ." She was right. He even had that dopey slow smile. "Cute."

"Look at him," she said, lifting her head from my shoulder, "with his massive glasses and his breathing is so slow that I'm almost sure he's suffering from oxygen deprivation."

Gaping at her casual tone, I said, "That's not so cute."

"I dare you to wipe whatever document he's typing up."

"Please tell me your heart isn't that evil?"

"I'd fly over the counter," she said, avoiding the question, "retrieve the document in a second flat, and his eyes will light up. Slowly, that is. There's nothing better than when old people think you're a genius when it comes to technology."

"Deceiving old people . . . awesome."

"I bet if you're quick enough, you could even change your grades on the system."

"Sabrina . . . that's actually a good idea."

"If you dare," she said, pointedly looking at the computer.

"Get off me then."

"Shut up. You're a coward. Besides, you already have perfect grades."

"Doesn't mean I wouldn't change yours."