Status: Active...maybe
What Senior Prom Taught Me
Lesson 3: Dean Richardson Knows Girls
I grabbed a can; priced the can; and put it on the shelf; label front and center. I repeated this mantra to my self as I stood restocking the canned food aisle of Shore’s Grocery Store. The buzzing of the fluorescent light bathing the food market in a sickly greenish glow coupled with the easy listening quietly piped through the speakers really gave one the full-effect of being trapped in purgatory.
The minutes, no seconds, no nanoseconds of my life drifted away as I tried to focus on mentally outlining the English essay that was waiting for me when my shift was over. Getting lost in the repetitiveness of my task at hand, I blocked out the distractions of the store around me to hone in on how to best answer the prompt: How does the text in The Awakening use clothing and garments (or the lack thereof) to portray Edna’s rebellion against Victorian norms?
“Do you know what’s up with Laura?”
The question forced me back to reality.
I rolled my eyes, annoyed that I’m pulled from my mental essay prep groove. Something was always wrong with Laura. The sky was too blue; it wasn’t blue enough; a cloud blocked the sun for five minutes as it passed by. Basically, any small thing could be enough to ruin Laura’s day, and she didn’t take her bad days stoically. She didn’t take her bad days stoically and Dean was too dense to read her pretty obvious overtures to stay away so they fought at least every other shift. Unfortunately for me, being Laura’s classmate and Dean’s friend always somehow meant I had to be involved in their weekly scuffles.
“I dunno,” I answered with as uninterested as a tone as I possibly could. “It's Wednesday and days that begin with a W which reminds her of a boy that didn’t want to dance with her at the Valentine’s Day dance in seventh grade?”
Dean hunched his shoulders, his narrowed eyes scanning my face to see if I was making a legitimate claim to know the inner workings of Laura’s over-dramatic brain. Sensing that I was not being serious, he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with an bemused glare.
“What do you want from me? Does anything actually have to be wrong for her to be upset?”
“Well, sure, but like did something happen at school today? I was told to help her refill the produce section, but then she told me men were what was wrong with the world and threw a tomato at my head.”
I burst out laughing, bracing myself against one of the paint-chipped shelves. As my laughter subsided, I took quick notice of the appealing way his muscles flexed as he matted down his shaggy black hair. Forcing myself not to linger on his nicely sculpted limb, I instead focus my attention on his face to give him a scowl before turning back to pricing.
“Hey! It really hurt. She put a lot of passion into it,” he moved to hand me the cans, and we settle into a rhythm quickly.
“Oh, sure, okay,” I lowered my voice an octave to imitate him. “Prom tickets went on sale yesterday,” I stated after a beat.
“Ahhhhh,” Dean flashed a knowing smile baring an impeccably straight set of white teeth. “Now it make sense.”
“Oh, you’ve heard of prom?”
Dean paused mid action to give me another glare, “Yes, Lina. I’ve heard of prom before.”
“I mean obviously. I just meant do you have them?”
“Yes, because—and I don’t know if you know this—where I go to school is a high school,” he dragged out the words “high school”, ending the sentence a shade louder as if I didn’t understand the language we were speaking.
“Yeah, but, like, do you just take each other or what?”
“WE KNOW GIRLS!” He smacked his face into his hands.
I smirked quickly, knowing I annoyed him. Dean went to Hendricken, or as it was colloquially known as Mendricken, the only All Boys School in the state.
“Speaking of which, you’re a girl.”
“Me?” I questioned, placing a hand on my chest as if the statement surprised me.
He rolled his eyes and continued, “Are you doing anything Friday night?”
“Dude, it’s Wednesday. I don’t plan my life out that far in advance.”
“Wanna come to a house party? My buddy’s parents are out of town for the weekend and he’s throwing a rager.”
“Uhhhh…YEAH, I wanna go to a party!”
“Nice!” He smiled a wide smile that reached to his steel grey eyes.
“Can I bring people?”
“Sure. They just have to be girls.”
“Okay, I can make that happen,” I nodded slowly. “Huh...I just...didn’t you just say that you knew girls?”
“You can never know enough girls.”
“DEAN!” Mr. Richardson—Dean’s Uncle and owner of Shores—shouted from down the aisle. “Your supposed to be helping Laura over at produce! Not goofing off with Carolina!”
“Hey!” I turned to face our manager. “Only one of us is goofing off thank you very much!”
Mr. Richardson rolled his eyes at me before beckoning Dean to follow him. I giggled at Dean as he trudged behind Mr. Richardson like a puppy that had just gotten caught chewing up the furniture.
“She threw a tomato at my head!” I heard him argue once the two turned the corner.
The minutes, no seconds, no nanoseconds of my life drifted away as I tried to focus on mentally outlining the English essay that was waiting for me when my shift was over. Getting lost in the repetitiveness of my task at hand, I blocked out the distractions of the store around me to hone in on how to best answer the prompt: How does the text in The Awakening use clothing and garments (or the lack thereof) to portray Edna’s rebellion against Victorian norms?
“Do you know what’s up with Laura?”
The question forced me back to reality.
I rolled my eyes, annoyed that I’m pulled from my mental essay prep groove. Something was always wrong with Laura. The sky was too blue; it wasn’t blue enough; a cloud blocked the sun for five minutes as it passed by. Basically, any small thing could be enough to ruin Laura’s day, and she didn’t take her bad days stoically. She didn’t take her bad days stoically and Dean was too dense to read her pretty obvious overtures to stay away so they fought at least every other shift. Unfortunately for me, being Laura’s classmate and Dean’s friend always somehow meant I had to be involved in their weekly scuffles.
“I dunno,” I answered with as uninterested as a tone as I possibly could. “It's Wednesday and days that begin with a W which reminds her of a boy that didn’t want to dance with her at the Valentine’s Day dance in seventh grade?”
Dean hunched his shoulders, his narrowed eyes scanning my face to see if I was making a legitimate claim to know the inner workings of Laura’s over-dramatic brain. Sensing that I was not being serious, he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest with an bemused glare.
“What do you want from me? Does anything actually have to be wrong for her to be upset?”
“Well, sure, but like did something happen at school today? I was told to help her refill the produce section, but then she told me men were what was wrong with the world and threw a tomato at my head.”
I burst out laughing, bracing myself against one of the paint-chipped shelves. As my laughter subsided, I took quick notice of the appealing way his muscles flexed as he matted down his shaggy black hair. Forcing myself not to linger on his nicely sculpted limb, I instead focus my attention on his face to give him a scowl before turning back to pricing.
“Hey! It really hurt. She put a lot of passion into it,” he moved to hand me the cans, and we settle into a rhythm quickly.
“Oh, sure, okay,” I lowered my voice an octave to imitate him. “Prom tickets went on sale yesterday,” I stated after a beat.
“Ahhhhh,” Dean flashed a knowing smile baring an impeccably straight set of white teeth. “Now it make sense.”
“Oh, you’ve heard of prom?”
Dean paused mid action to give me another glare, “Yes, Lina. I’ve heard of prom before.”
“I mean obviously. I just meant do you have them?”
“Yes, because—and I don’t know if you know this—where I go to school is a high school,” he dragged out the words “high school”, ending the sentence a shade louder as if I didn’t understand the language we were speaking.
“Yeah, but, like, do you just take each other or what?”
“WE KNOW GIRLS!” He smacked his face into his hands.
I smirked quickly, knowing I annoyed him. Dean went to Hendricken, or as it was colloquially known as Mendricken, the only All Boys School in the state.
“Speaking of which, you’re a girl.”
“Me?” I questioned, placing a hand on my chest as if the statement surprised me.
He rolled his eyes and continued, “Are you doing anything Friday night?”
“Dude, it’s Wednesday. I don’t plan my life out that far in advance.”
“Wanna come to a house party? My buddy’s parents are out of town for the weekend and he’s throwing a rager.”
“Uhhhh…YEAH, I wanna go to a party!”
“Nice!” He smiled a wide smile that reached to his steel grey eyes.
“Can I bring people?”
“Sure. They just have to be girls.”
“Okay, I can make that happen,” I nodded slowly. “Huh...I just...didn’t you just say that you knew girls?”
“You can never know enough girls.”
“DEAN!” Mr. Richardson—Dean’s Uncle and owner of Shores—shouted from down the aisle. “Your supposed to be helping Laura over at produce! Not goofing off with Carolina!”
“Hey!” I turned to face our manager. “Only one of us is goofing off thank you very much!”
Mr. Richardson rolled his eyes at me before beckoning Dean to follow him. I giggled at Dean as he trudged behind Mr. Richardson like a puppy that had just gotten caught chewing up the furniture.
“She threw a tomato at my head!” I heard him argue once the two turned the corner.