"Prom Date"

Bobby, Michel

English 1A

2/18/13

Essay #1 Narrative

“Prom date”

            Palms sweaty, heart racing, adrenaline pumping, ten minutes left on the clock, nerves a wreck, all eyes on me! No, this is not another victory story about an egotistic jock scoring the winning touchdown or the pressure felt by an all-star basketball player. But rather a much smaller victory, and quite possibly one of the best last minute decisions I have ever made. I wasn’t a star athlete nor was I the most popular, as far as looks are concerned, I wasn’t signing any modeling contracts with Abercrombie & Fitch any time soon, so the thought of having to ask a girl to prom terrified me. I have dreaded the day where I had to throw myself out of my comfort zone and make myself vulnerable since freshman year, but despite my angst I knew it had to be done.

            I had never met the girl whom I would ask to prom; she was never the center of attention, humble, a wallflower. She was the foreign exchange student from Essen Germany. As a senior at my high school, unless you were an AP student or future protégé, every senior takes the similar core classes; Econ, English, Math. This is how she came into contact with my circle of friends. But still I had only heard of her, but not actually met her let alone seen her. As prom crept closer and closer, my mind was going through every miniscule thread of gossip and trying to recollect every Facebook post trying to decipher who had and had not been asked to prom in order to find a date. Week’s even months went by and still no date. At this point I wanted nothing to do with prom.

 Later that week I get invited to a garage party. I decide to go, as a distraction, to try and escape the stigmas of not having a date yet. As I open the door my senses are bombarded with the stench of sweat, Little Ceasers “hot and ready” pizza and cheap vodka that could have easily passed for rubbing alcohol, this was the place.  I seat myself awkwardly, and ponder to myself “why am I here?” When suddenly I’m sideswiped, not by the appearance of my good friend Paola but rather by who is accompanying her. She had brought someone with her, a tall beautiful girl whom I’ve never met before. Once they have finished making their rounds around the room saying “Hi” and taking an excessive amount of pictures with the people who she just saw last week at school, Paola introduces her friend, Dilara. Dilara just so happens to be the foreign exchange student. I am not the smoothest person when it comes to introductions so I give her the boring and average “Hi, how are you?  “My names Bobby nice to meet you!” I instantly knew that I have found the girl I want to ask to prom! I know nothing about her, but I just had this connection that deep inside, I knew.

            She had the most beautiful golden brown hair, which cascaded ever so faultlessly making every waterfall jealous. She also wore a smile which stretched cheek to cheek, illuminating even the darkest of garage parties, radiating happiness and a sense of contentment. But looks were not the only determining factor in which influenced my decision to ask her to prom. After getting to know her and actually holding a conversation, I noticed that she had a certain finesse and carried herself with such an ease and elegance, to the highest of standards. My decision was set, I knew I would not find anyone like her.

            Sadly, all good things had come to an end, and she had to leave as Paola was her ride home. A couple of hours later the party was over and I too left, on my way home I kept beating myself up for not getting her phone number, although I doubted she would have given it to me. As the weekend wound down and school assignments were due, Monday came around the corner and still no date for prom. I really wanted to go with Dilara, but I never really saw her around campus. It was as if the cosmos didn’t want it to be. So I went on with my life in hopes that maybe we will run into each other in some random event. Or I find another date.

            Just when I though all hope was lost and I was doomed to regret senior year, I decide to get my schedule changed during my second semester. I drop my first period sociology class and pick up another elective. Photo1 intro to photography, in hopes that it would add some well needed variety. If I had to describe the classroom, teacher and overall ambiance in two words they’d have to be “hipsters’ paradise.” There was always some undiscovered or garage band rock playing in the background, the room which had previously been the old AP art room, was decorated with abstract pieces of art that would evoke an inner thought and emotional dismay that anyone ever even knew they even had. The room wreaked of film developer and chai tea and marijuana, not exactly my idea of a good morning. The only positive to having to deal with being stuck in Photo1 for the rest of my senior year you’d never guess, Dilara would also be scheduled in the same class, so now I knew it was more than just chance. The very same cosmos that separated us have felt some sort of repent and made things right once again. I knew that was my opportunity and that I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers once again. So I plotted my exact approach, taking into consideration her likes and dislikes in order to extrapolate the best method of asking her to prom.

 I knew she was a quiet and down to earth girl whom wasn’t yet used to all the attention that “being the new girl” had brought her so an over the top and extravagant proposal would be too overwhelming. But I knew it had to be special because in Germany they do not even have “prom,” so it being senior prom for the both of us I knew it had to be different. I also knew that in Germany they don’t even have cupcakes! Instantly I knew it had to be cupcakes.

            Once the school day has ended, I go home and do my homework, eat a snack and watch TV. Later that vary night I get a text message from my friend Valerie asking me who I was going to go to prom along with other questions that I could really care less about. Until I tell her who I thought about asking. I hear my phone go off with a buzz, and it says “Bobby if you want to ask Dilara u shld do it soon, I think she might go with someone else” that was my moment of realization that I couldn’t wait forever and knew I had to make my move and ask. It was around nine forty five at night and I my dad was asleep already since he works early mornings and I had to make the cupcakes to ask Dilara the very next day. I knew I couldn’t make them in the kitchen because my dad’s room is one wall over, so I took my Oster hand mixer, bowls and all the ingredients needed to the basement! After I made the cupcake mix in record time and filled the cupcake tin with liners and spooned the batter into each individual cup, and flew up the stairs in a mad frenzy to get the cupcakes in the oven. I then had to think of how I was going to frost and decorate the cupcakes. For the frosting I knew it had to be good so, I whipped up some buttercream and added a heaping spoonful of Nutella. Why Nutella? I figured well “they have Nutella in European so she’ll feel at home and hopefully say yes.”  Cupcakes, check! Frosting, check! All that was missing was a way to distinguish these cupcakes from the everyday cupcakes in a supermarket, so I melted some chocolate in a pastry bag and very carefully in cursive made a letters “P,” “R,” “O,”  “M,” and a question mark. Before the chocolate hardened, I quickly grabbed the nonpareils sprinkles and coated the chocolate letters to give them a colorful and beautiful coating. Now all I had to do was to find the five best cupcakes to place the letters on, to later the next day ask Dilara to prom with.

            With the scent of film developer and the clicking of film reels I knew it was time. First period, Photo1, eight ten in the morning was the moment of truth. No turning back now. There I am sitting at my table, waiting anxiously, heart pounding with a tray of cupcakes spelling out “PROM?” waiting for her to walk in and take her seat. The final bell rings and no Dilara five minutes go by, then ten minutes and still no Dilara. Every minute seemed to take years; I was beginning to lose hope. I sat at my table, starting to feel a pit in my stomach as I assumed she didn’t even come to school today and all this was for nothing. With about twenty minutes left in the class I hear the door handle click and in walks in Dilara. A huge wave of relief washes away all my doubts of having to walk around school with a tray of embarrassment. Now more than ever I knew I had to get up and ask her to prom, I couldn’t build up the nerve to physically get up and ask. So as I sat there waiting and putting it off to the last minute, I ran every possible outcome for her reaction, ranging from the very excited yes to the awkward and dreaded no. I finally after internally battling with my mind, heart and the little voices inside my head I got up and proceeded to walk towards her table. I approached her and sat in the seat in front of her and placed the tray in front of her. Within the thirty seconds that it took her to read the cupcakes and formulate her answer I had already prepared my own, somewhere along the lines of the typical nice guy “Oh It’s okay” or the “Its cool, I’ll find someone else to go with” response to rejection. Too bad I didn’t need them because, she said…Yes!