Prom Night

This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives: Prom night. Jackie was as excited as Joe. Until blood was spilled. This was their senior year and the classes were about to end. 

In the student lounge, Jackie Fang was sitting in the green armchair, by the left corner of the lounge, right in front of the door. The girl had straight black hair, with the tips dyed green like poison ivy, and her lipstick was dry blood red. She was reading an Edgar Allan Poe short story collection. She was moments away from the catalyst of her breakup. 

“Miss Fang,” called Roger Golding. The most handsome heartbreaker of the entire high-school, and also the literature teacher. “To my office please.”

Jackie got up off the armchair, with a sassy smirk, and followed Mr. Golding to his office. At the office (the literature classroom), with the blinds closed, and the door locked. Jackie was sitting on Roger's lap, and he was grabbing her by the butt cheeks. Saliva strips would stick to Jackie’s lips when they got apart every now and then.

“Is this enough for my final credit?” asked Jackie, in between kisses.

“Not yet.”

Someone knocked on the door, strongly and with a sense of authority. It was Principal Susan Joy who persisted on the knocking. The school was very strict with the locked doors, since the incident of sixty-seven. 

A teacher tried to lure a senior to his office, with suspicious intentions, she refused; the teacher proceeded to grip the student by the neck and squeeze until her innocent soul left her eyes; in plain sight, during school hours. This man was sent to trial and incarcerated for forty years (He was fifty-eight at the time, so for him, this meant the rest of his life). The event was successfully erased from the school archives, and the entire town pretended this crime had never been committed; never to be spoken again.

“Mr. Golding,” called Principal Joy, with thin glasses, and a brown blazer and skirt. “Open this door, immediately!”

Jackie got off from Mr. Golding’s lap in agitation. Filled with goosebumps, and sweat slipping down her forehead, Jackie pulled Roger’s brown coat with shoulder patches. He pointed to a closet across the room, in the far back, behind the last line of desks. Jackie ran towards the closet and she barely fitted (if she weighed five pounds more, they might have never got away with their affair). 

“Mr. Golding!” insisted Principal Joy, knocking on the door.

Mr. Golding opened the door, with shaggy hair, and breaking quite a sweat. The Principal went inside the room and inspected every detail: Under every single desk in the classroom, including Mr. Golding’s, and even checked outside the window.

“I’m sorry, I-I was just resting,” said Mr. Golding nervously, “and d-didn’t want any students bothering me. Taking away the very little time I have of rest.” 

Inside the closet, Jackie pressed her palm against her mouth while tears ran through her cheeks, as she had never felt such fear in her life. Being caught with the teacher probably would have ruined her life; her parents would’ve sent her away to a boarding school, and all her friends would never look at her the same way.

“Zip it, Roger,” said Principal Joy, opening and closing her fingers in a motion, like the one of a mouth being closed. “You, of all people, know what this institution thinks around locked doors. I mean—wasn’t that your aunt who died that day?” Joy paused for a moment. “There are rules, and they must be followed. If not then what are we left with? The school won’t survive another incident.”

On the next day, the one before prom night. Jackie met with Joe, his all-time bestie, at her house. Jackie’s room had posters all over the walls and ceiling of different band covers: Ghost, My Chemical Romance, and The Ramones. Joe was tall, blonde, a math athlete, and the captain of the football team. Jackie’s face was pale, her nails looked bitten, her nail polish was wearing out, her scleras were red and she had eye bags. 

“Is everything alright?” asked Joe, swallowing saliva, expecting the worst words that could possibly come out of Jackie’s mouth.

“I just went through a breakup,” said Jackie tearing up, “you don’t know the guy, but it was something special—and I was going to take him to prom, but—”

“Jackie... are you asking me to prom? Because I’d love to escort you, you’re my best friend, and you deserve a good night after you dumped that scumbag. J and J forever.”

Jackie broke into tears, and she hugged Joe like he hadn’t seen him in a very long time, sobbing on his shoulder, and cleaning her tears with his jersey.

“There, there…” said Joe while he patted her back.

Joe was always there for Jackie, there is not a single moment in her life where she felt alone. Once they tried to form a band, it didn’t work out, but that taught her that they could try everything, and it’ll be okay, even if they fail.

When Jackie fleed home, at the age of sixteen, she stayed at Joe’s. His mother welcomed her and she slept in the garage, but Joe insisted on accompanying her so she wouldn’t be scared at night. Jackie's parents never understood her. For example, last summer; Jackie wanted to go to a concert, a new band that was debuting at Riley's Bar.

“A concert?” asked Judith, Jackie’s mom, “Ridiculous, your dumb to think I would let you go. And even stupider for even asking me that question.”

“But mom I’m going with Joe. Her mom gave him permission”

Judith slapped Jackie, so hard that it didn’t hurt at first but the pain would appear thirty seconds later. “I don’t care what that bitch does with her son. You are not going. Now go to your room young lady. And you better not be listening to those wrongful bands you hang on your wall.”

Jackie went running up the stairs, crying and sobbing silently. She shut the door of her room and jumped to bed; laying his face against her pillow, and screaming at the same pillow, so Judith wouldn’t hear her. Jackie, still crying, just looked out the window and Joe was standing in the house next door.

Joe held a piece of paper in front of his window; in green marker, he wrote: “I won’t go if you don’t go.”

Jackie grabbed a piece of paper and a black marker. She wrote: “Thank you.” Jackie kissed the paper, leaving her lips in dry-blood-red printed on the paper. Then she held it in front of her window.

That same day Jackie packed the essentials she could fit in her backpack, she walked down the stairs; Judith was just sitting there with her red pointy glasses, her nun skirt, and her flaming red hair, she just came back from the salon. And Jackie ran away. Judith never noticed, of course, when she found out thirteen hours later she was furious. She went to the house next door in the middle of the night, with a vein standing out in her forehead, demanding her daughter. Jackie was terrified of her mother; she didn’t want any trouble for Joe’s family, so she went back home and Judith beat her to sleep. The next day she had to attend school, walking with a limp and with a bruise that covered most of her left cheek. That day she met Mr. Golding.

It finally happened: Prom night. Joe, in his tuxedo, went to pick up Jackie in his green ford mustang fastback. She had the same hair and lipstick, but instead of shorts and sneakers, she had a beautiful black dress and heels. She got in the car with a smile from ear to ear and a shine in her eyes. They drove to Prom with tunes of the bands from the posters in her room.

The gym was crowded, with students and teachers slow dancing to a ballad blasting from every speaker. The whole set was winter-themed, and there was no sign of Mr. Golding. 

A feeling of relief and comfort wrapped around Jackie, she knew that if Roger assisted to prom he wouldn’t enjoy seeing her with another man. Their last conversation wasn’t pretty:

Principal Joy had just left the room. Mr. Golding opened the closet doors, breathing rapidly, just to find Jackie with her make-up smeared and terrified of what just happened. She got out of the closet and passed through Roger’s side. Roger stopped her by squeezing her wrist, which would later become a painful bruise.

“Let me go!”

“I’m afraid I cannot.”

Jackie threw his arm against a desk.

“Screw… you.” Jackie walked away, but Roger gripped her nape and pulled her towards him.

“Who do you think you are Miss Fang?” Roger whispered in her ear.

Jackie’s face looked ghastly, and she started sweating in every part of the body, some parts where she didn’t even know she had pores.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” continued Roger licking his lips, “if you leave this classroom you’ll lose me forever and we will never speak of this ever again. But if you get me in trouble young lady, the consequences will be severe.” Roger released Jackie and pushed her aside.

“That’s fine for me.” Jackie left the classroom, walking as fast as she could, trying to hold her tears in her eyes to not raise any suspicion.

Mr. Golding locked himself in his office and cried. He started sobbing and boogers were dripping down his nose, which he cleaned by passing the back of his hands under his nostrils. He then opened the first drawer in his desk, full of papers but with a fake bottom. When he removed the bottom with all the papers, he took out a picture he had: It was in the outdoors, his arms were wrapped around Jackie’s waist, and they both were smiling; his large piercing blue eyes gleamed affection, and Jackie’s eyes did too. Mr. Golding’s lips were pressed against each other, and while he was breathing heavily, he took out a letter opener and stabbed Jackie’s face in the picture.

At prom, even though she wasn’t with Roger, she felt as happy as she was in that picture. Jackie always glowed when she looked behind her and Roger wasn’t there. She was free from her mad-love-adventure.  

“I’ll bring something to drink,” said Joe, “Do you want anything?”

“Punch is fine.”

Joe went to get the punch, unfortunately, when he got back Jackie was gone. 

She was standing in a corner next to the emergency exit, with streams of blue foil paper and white paper shaped like snowflakes hanging from the ceiling; no one noticed when Mr. Golding took her. He covered her mouth with a cloth and gripped her nape once again to pull her out of the gym without much effort. He walked Jackie to his office, and released her nape, thinking to spice up the night.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Jackie frightened.

Roger was sweating, his eyes were wide open, barely blinking, and wrapping his hands around Jackie’s arms. “What do you mean? I’m bringing us back together. I-I know we had a complicated conversation last time w-we met. But now we’re alone,” Roger slowly slid his hand up her thigh, ''no one  will interrupt us now, and no one will find out about our little secret.”

“Let me go!” demanded Jackie, pulling Roger’s hand off her thigh, “you’re nuts! It wasn’t a ‘complicated conversation.’ It was a breakup. I dumped you.” Jackie took a step back, her chicken legs were shaking, and she had the feeling of a void in her stomach. 

“Don’t you see it?” asked Roger. “We belong together.”

Jackie slapped Roger, only leaving a red mark, no pain involved; at least not for him. He grabbed Jackie by her neck, lifting her one foot from the ground, and pressed her throat with his thumbs. Jackie’s face didn’t take too long until it turned purple. 

Jackie spat in Roger’s face, and with a hoarse voice she said: “You have a small wiener.”

Roger squeezed tighter and tighter. Pressing his teeth against each other, almost breaking them, and some saliva came out of his mouth when exhaling.

Joe kicked down the office door and tackled Mr. Golding. Jackie was dropped, hitting the back of her head against the rock-hard floor. Joe was sitting on top of Golding’s lower belly and he began to punch him with his fists, left and right. Drops of blood were coming out from Golding’s mouth. Then, Joe got thrown to the side. Golding got up, dizzy, and kicked Joe in the stomach. He coughed and shrunk into a fetal position, grabbing his gut. 

Golding lifted Joe from the collar of his suit; proceeded to throw a punch which missed and made him fall to the ground. Neither of them was able to move at all, but after a few deep breaths, Joe straightened. He then grabbed a textbook from Mr. Golding’s desk, and smashed his face with it, breaking his nose, making a large amount of blood leak. 

Golding crawled towards the window, gasping for air, and Joe stepped on his calf, making him howl.

“Please... please,” begged Mr. Golding, crying, “don’t hurt me, I-I’m sorry.”

“You had your chance.” Joe struck Golding’s face with his knee.

He tried to knock out Golding, once and for all. But, from the top of his desk, Golding reached for the letter opener and sliced Joe’s bicep. Joe growled with pain, blood splashed flying, and the teacher started laughing hysterically. He went down with a blow to the gut.

Roger was laying on the ground, laughing while he tried to catch his breath, then, Joe stepped on his balls, causing unbearable pain, and finally knocked him out with a jaw-breaking punch, with his bloody arm, in the face.

Joe was relieved, but he forgot about one important thing, what was it? His date was laying on the floor without speaking a word or lifting a finger. 

“Jackie, are you okay?” 

There was no response.

Joe, in a frenzy, went to check her pulse, but there was none, he tried to pound Jackie’s chest with his palms and blew air into her mouth. Joe howled and carried Jackie out of the classroom. He couldn’t do anything else. By then it was too late.