Scribbles of a Broken Heart

“Homecoming was the following week. I was excited of course, it was my first Homecoming and I’d finally have a date to a school dance. Even though my elementary school had dances in seventh and eighth grade no one asked me to go with them. And, when the first one came up, my parents told me that I wasn’t even allowed to slow dance with boys. I was so upset that I cried,” I scoffed. “It seems so stupid now. And I actually listened to them! I didn’t dance with one guy those two years—although only one guy asked. You see, other catholic schools in the area never passed around the word that we were having a dance so the policy changed so that only St. Mary students and invited guests could attend; which brought a turnout of less than fifty people.

“But, I had a boyfriend…I already broke the rules. And I was able to cover it up. How the hell would they find out that I was dancing with boys?”

”Homecoming is this Friday. Tickets will go on sale during all lunches starting tomorrow. Eight dollars for a single and fifteen dollars for couples. If you would like to bring a guest, come to the main office to pick up a form. Thank you, and have a nice day.”

The intercom switched off in my homeroom and I turned around to talk to my homeroom buddy, Ashley. She was African American and wore her hair in curly braids.

“You’re going to Homecoming right?”

“Mhm,” she replied. “I have to get a guest form so Johnny can come.”

“How long have you guys been together again?”

“Almost three months.” Her dark eyes twinkled

“So…is it just implied that I’m going with Garrett? I mean, of course I’m going with him, but he doesn’t actually have to ask me, right?”

“Have you guys talked about it?”

“No, not really. Did you and Johnny?”

“He didn’t ask me. We just agreed that I was going to his Homecoming and he was coming to mine.”

“So Garrett probably isn’t going to ask me either,” I deduced.

“Well, from you’ve told me Garrett’s the romantic type. He may just surprise you.”

The bell rung and I made my way to Honors Literature on the bottom floor. As I went down the stairwell someone poked the sides of my waist.

“I do not understand.”

“A lot of the boys in the freshman class like tickling girls. Since many girls are ticklish on their stomach’s they poke them and they usually jump or squeal,” I explained.

“Strange,” she said. “Teenage boys have become fairly strange.”

“As if you’d know what they were like before,” I mumbled.

I turned around to see Garrett, “I’ve already told you that I’m not ticklish.”

“I believe that every person has a tickle spot. I just haven’t found yours yet.”

“Alright,” I admitted, “there’s one place where I’m ticklish…but you’ll never find it.”

“Never say never,” he said dramatically.

“Oh shut up.”

We walked side by side as until we passed through the doorway of the classroom.

We took our seats just as the bell rang again, signaling the beginning of first period.

“Well class, you guys are almost two months into your freshman year,” my Literature teacher
Mr. Garther always liked to start class by stating the accomplishments of our freshman year. He liked to talk about our upcoming tests and quizzes and other random things; it took a good ten minutes of every class. He was an old man and talked real suave. “Homecoming is this Friday. It’s your first Homecoming ever. Guys, have you started asking out the ladies?”

The boys in the class started shrugging and making incoherent comments and the girls shook their heads.

Mr. Garther started talking about the past homecomings and to past time I normally draw on my hand. I pulled on the silver zipper of my back pack to get out my set of Sharpies and saw a folded index card by my pencil pouch.

I knew who it was from and glanced over at his desk before I opened the card.

Dear Constance,

You’re allowed to go to Homecoming right? I really hope so because if not the next line would be a total waste of ink.
Will you go to Homecoming with me?
It feels a little weird asking but I don’t want to go without you so please ask your parents. I want you to be there.

Yours,
Garrett

I looked over at him with him smiling and took out a pen so I could reply. I flipped over the three by five and wrote ‘YES’ in big, underlined letters.