Abomination

It's prom night, you know, that night where everyone buys fancy (but hideous) dresses and tuxes, and gets their hair and makeup professionally done, and overall spends just way, way too much money on some stupid glorified high school dance. Yeah, which is the exact reason why me and Ryan won’t be attending this overrated event. Instead, we grabbed a bunch of Disney movies from my basement and stocked up on popcorn, chips, and of course, Ben & Jerry's. We're also planning on having lots and lots of sex (is this surprising?), so tell me, how could prom be any better than the anti-prom evening we have planned? That's right, it's not.

Spencer and Jon on the other hand, are no doubt going. I mean, they already bought their tuxes how many months in advance - and they bought them , people, not rented but bought. Who even does that?

I guess tonight is also a little bit of a very, very upsetting farewell party to my dear Ryan who decided that he's going to take his dad's offer and move back in after graduation (in exactly four days). However, on the condition that if he turns back into a raging douchebag and bans Ryan from seeing me, Ryan's packing his bags right back up and moving back where he belongs, with me (in my bed).

So, anyways, I pop in Aladdin into my DVD player, then settle into my bed beside Ryan, squeezing right up next to him, and just as I'm about to press play, my door comes flying open and in comes Jon, Spencer and my mom in a blur of colors, tuxes and very large plastic bags.

“Get up! Get up!” Jon demands, beaming, dressed in a sharp, black tux with a small, silver bag that looks suspiciously like a makeup case in his hand. “You're going to the prom!”

Spencer and my mom stand behind him, matching, crazy smiles on their faces and large plastic bags draped over their shoulders.

I clutch onto Ryan's arm, eyes narrowed. “Uh, no, Jon. We're really, really not.”

“Actually, you are,” Spencer informs from behind him. “You really don’t have a choice.”

“Um, no.”

“Um, yes.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter.

“Brendon!” my mom scolds.

I stick my tongue at her, then sigh. “Guys, no. We’re not. And we couldn’t even if we wanted to. We don’t have tickets, let alone anything to wear,” I explain.

Jon flashes us a mischievous smile, reaches into his pants pocket and flashes us two, blue tickets, while Spencer and my mom pull the over-sized bags from their shoulders and dangle them in the air. “Now you do!” Jon beams.

I glare, and Ryan looks up at me, blinking.

“We’re not going,” I say again.

“Bren…” Ryan starts, grabbing onto my arm while batting his eyelashes. “It could be fun… I mean, and if they went through all this trouble…” He shrugs.

“Okay, then you go,” I answer stubbornly. “I am not going to this stupid prom if it’s the last thing I do. I swear it.

---

I end up going to the prom.

Well, actually, at the moment we’re standing by my door, while my mom flashes dozens upon dozens of pictures, tears in her eyes.

I have glitter in my hair. Fucking glitter! As if going to prom wasn’t bad enough. Did Spencer actually have to put glitter in my hair? Did everyone else have to willingly put their own glitter in their own fucking hair? I’m pretty sure everyone at our school already understands the fact that we are gay without the flipping glitter.

“Brendon, smile!” My mom orders, silver camera clutched in her hand.

I scowl more.

But then Ryan kisses my cheek, and that makes me smile a little. But just a little ‘cause I'm still pissed.

Eventually, my dad pries the camera away from my mom long enough for us to escape out the door, and to Spencer’s parents Lexus that they so nicely let us borrow for the night. “We were considering renting a limo,” Spencer explains, “but, then my parents offered their car, so, we really couldn’t turn them down.”

“No doubt,” I breathe, running my hand over the shiny paint. “And your parents trust you with it?”

Spencer shrugs, and hits the unlock button on his set of keys. “Well, I know I’ll be next week’s dinner if anything happens to it, so… I think I know to be pretty damn careful.”

At this, Ryan bursts into soft giggles, and we all turn to stare at him, eyebrows raised. A small blush spreads across his cheeks, but he lets out a pathetic shrug and slides into the backseat. “What? It was funny,” he mutters under his breath.

You see, Spencer and Ryan are still kind of on awkward terms. None of us are quite sure how Spencer feels towards him at the moment, I mean, one moment he's acting like their best friends forever again and the next moment he's acting like the world’s biggest bitch and treating Ryan like he killed his mother or something. Which leaves Ryan to be the biggest suck-up you will ever see in your life, it's pathetic, really. He'll laugh at almost anything that comes out of his mouth (see above paragraph), and compliment him at least ten times a day (ie. 'Oh my god, Spencer, I love your shirt! You have such awesome taste!' 'Oh my god, Spencer, you're so smart! Of course you'll pass your French Oral exam!' 'Oh my god, Spencer, your hair is extra shiny today! You're just so perfect!'), I'm just waiting to get down on his knees and lick his shoes. Honestly, this really does nothing except raise his self esteem a few couple notches (and trust me, when it comes to Spencer Smith, self esteem boosting is really not necessary), and okay, make Ryan look like a brain dead twelve year old fan girl.

Jon rides shotgun, of course, so I get into the backseat with Ryan who just ends up staring at the back of Spencer's head with a look of pure concentration half of the ride there, like he's planning his attack to brainwash Spencer into being his best friend again (which, by the way Ryan's been acting lately it really wouldn’t be surprising).

I slowly and subtly scoot away a few couple inches.

So, not only am I pissed for being forced to go to this stupid, stupid thing with a bunch of people I despise, but now I'm also freaked out cause I'm trapped in the back of a very expensive car with my apparent, crazy stalker boyfriend. Please note, I am also still pissed that I have glitter in my hair. GOLD FUCKING GLITTER. I'm also pissed I was forced into an uncomfortable, stuffy suit. But overall, I'm mostly pissed that I have to spend time with these stupid people, outside of school, when I don’t have to, because god knows, even being in the same building with them during school is bad enough. So, tell me, why would I want to do that when I could stay at home in my nice, comfy warm bed watching children's movies and then having sex with my boy friend (who, by the way, may be crazy but he does look very ravishing and just drop dead smothering sexy all dressed up in his tux).

“We're probably gonna get kicked out,” I mutter bitterly from the back, arms crossed over my chest. “Or, at the very least, have rotten things thrown at us. No one wants drugged up whores at their prom.”

This only earns me three eye rolls and ignorance.

I let out a frustrated groan and sink down in the leather seat. I hate them all I tell you.

“One day you'll thank us, Brenny,” Jon says from the front, index finger rubbing circles into the palm of Spencer's hand.

“Doubtful.” I snort.

“You're such a drama queen,” Ryan scoffs, finally tearing his eyes off the back of Spencer's head long enough to look at me. “It's one freaking night. I'm sure you live.”

I pout. “But...” I start, “I was excited for our anti-prom...” and the sex. Mostly the sex.

He gives me a pointed look. “Brendon, really. Every night is anti-prom with us,” he points out, with a knowing smirk.

I sigh, because he's right... again.

- - -

The hotel our school picked to host our prom is pretty damn fancy, and like I suspected, the second I step foot into the lobby, I'm blinded by colorful, hideous dresses and my ears bleed from the disgusting music that is blasting from inside the next room.

Then, of course, to make matters worse and prove that tonight is just going to suck big, fat, smelly balls, the first thing we're greeted with (besides the ugly dresses and the bad music) is a scantily dressed Dayna. No joke (although, I wish it was). Her dress is white, and tight, and well, short and she's probably got more makeup on than my mom has in her whole makeup bag and top drawer of the bathroom. Then add in some very high heels that resemble one a hooker would wear, and that's about that.

Ryan takes one hard look at her, and shakes his head. “She's so pathetic. Such a great example for us Christians,” he remarks with a disgusted look.

“Coming from the gay one,” Jon teases.

“Shut up,” Ryan snaps, face dropping as he stares down at the patterned carpet under our feet.

I do a mental face-palm and shoot Jon a look because that's really not something you say to Ryan of all people. Spencer even shoots him a look.

Jon puts his hands up in defence and mouths, “I'm sorry.”

Then, just of freaking course, Dayna decides to come waltzing by, not a second too late, with her little church friends trailing behind, and her fucking nose in the air. “Oh, I'm so glad you guys could find time to come tonight,” Dayna comments as she passes, voice dripping with fake (just like her stupid face, and stupid hair, and stupid dress, and just stupid her), “you know, away from your clients and all.”

Two of her friends smirk and giggle behind her.

My fists clench, and this is it. She's going to die. I don’t care if she's a fucking girl. “You know what, you f - ” I call after her.

She looks behind her shoulder at me, and smirks.

Ryan squeezes my arm, and shoots me a look with a shake of his head. “Brendon,” he warns, serious. “You promised.”

I snap my mouth shut and scowl. See, a few weeks back, I made this stupid promise to Ryan not to start anything with Dayna (in my defence, I was horny, and he would not let me touch him, or vice versa, unless I did) because something about proving how we're better than her and aren’t going to sink down to her level or some shit like that, I don’t know, I was too horny to really be paying attention, to be perfectly honest.

So, then she like, fucking cackles, and throws her head up in the air and continues to walk off. To our complete and utter surprise, one of her followers turns around and sends us a small, but genuine, apologetic smile and then scurries off after her friends.

Ryan looks pleased for a moment, and even a little relieved, but then his face drops again, along with his head, and he sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Maybe coming tonight was a bad idea...” he mutters.

I bite back the I told you so, instead I throw my arm around his neck, and rub his shoulder comfortingly.

“Come on, Ry,” Spencer says, patting his back, “don’t let that stupid bitch ruin your night.”

Ryan, of course, perks up at this because it came from Spencer, hello. “Okay,” he starts with a small smile. “Let’s do this... thing.”

So, we do.

- - -

I was right, Prom is really no different than that one crappy school dance in our gym that I went to back when I was in grade nine and so naive. The girls are still slutty, and the guys are still horn dogs, and they just rub up against each other all night like cats in heat.

This pretty much leaves the four of us to sit at a table the entire time, sipping punch. However, that's only until a slow song comes on and Spencer and Jon decide to get up and dance (of course), which only makes Ryan beg and plead me to. I blatantly refuse because I do not dance, and even if I did, it would not be at some stupid school dance.

Ryan sends me this big, dramatic pout, bottom lip practically touching the bottom of his chin.

“That's not gonna work. I'm still not dancing,” I say.

His pout turns into a glare, and he groans as he mutters something unrecognizable under his breath and turns his back to me.

“Don’t worry, Ry,” Jon says with a wink as Spencer's pulls him out to the dance floor, “I'll save the next dance for you.”

“Thank you, Jonathon,” Ryan calls after him, then he turns to me, like, hmph. “At least someone has a good boyfriend,” he scoffs dramatically.

I just roll my eyes, and go, “Still not gonna work.”

All at once his face goes beat red, the shade of a fucking tomato, and he sucks in a long breath of air. I count to three, and little worried what I have in store for me, then all in one breath he screams out something along the lines of this, “BRENDON BOYD URIE THIS IS MY PROM AND IT MIGHT NOT BE IMPORTANT TO YOU BUT IT'S IMPORTANT TO ME AND JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE BEING DICK AND CARE TOO MUCH WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK YOUR RUINING MY PROM CAUSE I CAN’T EVEN DANCE WITH MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND AT THE LAST FUCKING DANCE OF MY ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE CANT YOU EVER THINK OF ANYONE ELSE BUT YOURSELF FOR ONCE IN YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE?!?!?!?!!?”

Unfortunately for him, by the end of his power crazy, scary rant, the slow song ends and a fast one comes on.

He breathes in and out, eyes flashing, and chest pumping up and down.

“Um, sorry...?” I reply meekly with a small gulp cause holy crap my boyfriend really is crazy.

He lets out a loud huff, and turns his back to me again.

“Look, I didn’t know it was that important to you,” I say to his back. “I'll dance to with you the next slow song, okay?”

He makes some grunting noise that I can barely hear over the music.

When Jon and Spencer get back to the table they're all kissy and cute, which of course, only makes Ryan more mad.

“I'll go get us more punch,” I suggest, deciding to keep away from the path of Ryan might be the best for a little way.

Spencer pulls himself from Jon and goes to get up with me. “I'll help before you spill red punch all over your rental.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Ryan just stares ahead at the dance floor, arms still crossed over his stomach.

Of course, to our luck, when we reach the punch table, Dayna's already standing there, chatting with her friend who smiled at us earlier. Spencer asks the PE teacher who’s in charge pouring the punch (you know, so no one spikes it), for four cups and Dayna takes one look at him, and scowls. “It’s disgusting, showcasing your... behaviour like that,” she snarls. “No one wants to see it, Spencer.”

Spencer's face goes beat red, and he stares down at the table, but he says nothing. I'm surprised, because Spencer's always had a big mouth and I really never saw him as someone that would let people walk all over him, especially not someone like Dayna.

She laughs. “I always knew there was something wrong with you. You were always so jealous over me and Ryan.”

Spencer shakes his head, continues to ignore her, and I'm trying to read the look on his face but he's still staring down at the table and the lights too dim. He mumbles his thanks to the PE teacher, grabs onto two cups, and follows behind her. “Hey, Dayna,” he calls, not even two inches behind her.

She turns around, and before I have a chance to think, she's screaming, and her skanky white dress is covered in bright red fruit punch.

“Oh my god!” Spencer cries, covering his mouth in shock. “I am so sorry!”

I just stand behind him, my own glasses of punch in my hands and eyes open wide.

“You fucking... you stupid fucking little faggot! Look at what you did to my dress!” she shrieks at the top of her lungs. People are stopped around us, staring and well.. laughing, which only makes her more mad. I also can’t help it, and a little chuckle passes my lips.

“I'm so sorry, Dayna,” Spencer continues. “I didn't mean to do it. You ran into me.”

Dayna's friend stands beside her, her own hand covering her mouth, however, I don’t think she's so much shocked as she is giggling too.

I'm just trying to decide if it really was a mistake, or if Spencer's just a really good liar. However, I think I'll go with the latter, because 'accidently' spilling punch on Dayna is just so Spencer's style.

Not even two seconds later, one of the teacher chaperones comes running up, and cries, “What happened here?!”

“He - he purposely spilt punch all over my dress, Mr. Gardener!” Dayna cries, tears filling her eyes.

Haha! Revenge is a bitch, bitch.

Mr. Gardener turns to Spencer, eyes narrowed. “Is this true, Mr. Smith?”

“Of course not, sir,” he replies with wide, innocent eyes. “I would never do that! It was a mistake! She turned around, right into me. It was an accident, I swear.”

“He's lying!” Dayna shrieks, red punch dripping onto the wooden floor. “He called my name then poured punch all over me!”

I stifle another laugh.

Mr. Gardener looks between me and Dayna's friend. “Is this true?” he asks slow, but suspicious.

I shake my head, and but on my very best, teacher suck-up voice (many, many years of practice), “Spencer would never do something like that, sir. Honestly, she turned around and he was right behind her.”

He turns to Dayna's friend with a questioning look.

She shrugs. “I um, I didn’t really see it,” she says meekly, avoiding Dayna's glaring eyes. “But, um, from what I saw I don’t think he did it on purpose.”

“B-But...” Dayna tries, a single tear dripping down her cheek. Mr. Gardener just shrugs, apologetic, which only makes Dayna throw her hands up in the air, and go something like, “GHURGH!”

I have no sympathy.

She pushes past us, soaking in sticky punch, but not before she shoots bullets at us with her eyes. “You are so fucking dead,” she threatens with a hiss, then disappears in the throng of people, Mr. Gardener following behind her.

Spencer doesn’t look worried he just smirks, and gives her a tiny wave.

“Oh my god, I cannot believe you just fucking did that,” I breathe once they're out of earshot.

He just smirks some more, and polishes his nails off on his suit. “You're surprised?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “Never underestimate my bitch powers.”

“Right. I almost forgot.” I smile.

Spencer slowly turns, noticing Dayna's friend, still standing there, fiddling her hands together uncomfortably. “Hey, Brianne...” he says uneasily, “um, thanks.”

She looks up at him, and lets out a tiny laugh along with a head shake. “Don't worry about it,” she says quietly, with a flail of her hand. “She's my friend and all, but she can be a bitch. She deserved it, you know, for saying those things and that... rumor.” She bites her lip, and shrugs. “We're not all like her, remember.”

“Right,” Spencer nods, with a small smile. “Well, thanks.”

“No problem,” she says, then gives us small wave and smile before wandering off.

Me and Spencer exchange shocked, but pleased looks before heading back to the table to our completely oblivious boyfriends. And I guess she's right, maybe not all the churchies are like Dayna or Jeremy or even Pastor George.

“You'll never guess what Spencer just did.” I beam the second we reach the table.

Ryan raises his eyebrow questioning at first, but then I guess he remembers he's supposed to be mad at me, and replaces it with a scowl as he mutters a bitchy, “Hm?”

Jon reaches out and wraps his arms around Spencer's waist, pulling him onto his lap. “What did you do, baby?” he murmurs, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

Spencer smiles, and takes a long suspended moment before going, “I totally just 'accidently' spilt punch all over Dayna's dress and got away with it.”

Jon laughs, and gives Spencer a high-five along with a kiss on the cheek. “Oh yeah, that's my boyfriend,” he jokes.

Ryan on the other hand, does this whole gasp thing and covers his mouth with his hand. “Spence... you did not.”

We all turn to look at him like, seriously, Ryan? You cannot honestly be anything but happy over something like this. That bitch deserved every second of it, that's for sure.

But then slowly, he removes his hand from his mouth, and he's smiling. He grabs onto his glass of punch, and tips it towards Spencer in cheers. “That's a nice one. I have to give it to you,” he says. “I would never have had the guts.”

Spencer beams, and looks over at me. “Yeah... I thought it was pretty good.” He clears his throat, and finishes what was left of his punch from before. “It was for all of us. It was for all the shit she put all of us through. She deserved it.”

Ryan sighs, and nods. “She did,” he admits.

“Definitely,” I agree.

Jon just nods and kisses Spencer again, which, of course, only leads them to a full on makeout session.

I clear my throat, and reach over to grab onto Ryan's hand. He sends me a look, but doesn’t pull away, so I scootch my chair over and pull his head down onto my shoulder.

“So, are you happy you came now?” Ryan asks with a yawn.

I shrug. “Eh.” But I can’t help but smile.

He laughs, and shakes his head. “Well, I am,” he says, drawing lazy patterns onto my thigh.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes (well, as much as the blaring music and the screaming teenagers would allow) with Spencer and Jon sitting across from us, practically rubbing up against each other for all the world to see.

A slow song switches on, and Ryan looks up at me, batting his eyelashes. I sigh, defeated, and pick myself up from my chair, pulling him up with me. “Fine. Come on. Let's dance.”

He beams, and before he practically picks me up and drags me off to the sweaty dance floor he presses a quick kiss to my lips, and murmurs, “I love you.”

“Yeah...” I smile. “You too.”

- - -

Oh my god, I am graduated. I am no longer in high school. Twelve years and it's over. Done. Finito. I will never have to walk these halls again, or see these people again (okay, well, maybe I will at some point, but you know).

“Holy shit guys! We fucking graduated!” Jon cries, jumping up and down while waving his newly received diploma up in the air, tassel flopping up and down.

“I know, we're just getting so old,” I sniff, wiping a fake (okay, or maybe not so fake) tear from my eye.

Ryan wraps his arm around my gown-covered waist and presses a soft kiss to my neck, giant grin still on his lips. “So... you guys going to the grad parties tonight or...” he asks, turning to Spencer and Jon after a moment.

They exchange looks, before they slowly shake their head. “Nah,” Jon says with a smile. I think prom was enough for us. What do you think, Spence?” he asks with a quirk of the eyebrow.

He sends him an amused smile back, and shakes his head. “Yeah... I think so too.”

“So, um, Disney movies and all the leftover junk food from prom night? My house?” I suggest, wriggling my own eyebrows.

“I think that’s doable,” Spencer says, and Jon nods.

“Our very own BFF version of the grad festivities,” Jon points out with a laugh.

“Good.” I smile, and Ryan squeezes onto my waist.

We don’t have a chance to blink before our parents are surrounding us, complete with tears, ear-splitting smiles and congratulations. To my complete and utter surprise, I get a soft pat on the back from Mr. Ross, and a mumbled, “Congrats.” It's not much, but it's still something, and it makes Ryan beam like there's no tomorrow.

So, all in all, maybe this year hasn’t been the best. Maybe we've actually had a whole lot more shit thrown at us than probably normal, but now... now, I'd say we're pretty good. Maybe Ryan's moving back to his dads, and maybe next year Spencer will be going to school in New York, and maybe I'm gonna be stuck at a smoothie shop while Ryan is off enjoying college, and maybe me and Ryan won’t even last forever, but right now... I'd say right now, surrounded by my boyfriend, two best friends and family, I'd say it's pretty fucking perfect.

THE END.