by Malcolm Spurlock
Dashing through the halls, I waited for the precise moment that a large mob of students would pass before me, so I could throw myself against a locker, melt to the ground, and cry in a pool of my own tears. As dramatic and flamboyant as this staged act sounded, I could protest that the emotions behind these actions were very real. Even the waft of chicken basket from the next hall over couldn’t soothe my sorrows after not being nominated Homecoming King 2012.
My senior year dreams had been crushed flatter than a plastic bag of Doritios in the bottom of a lunch bag. Since freshman year, what has been most important to me than any grade or college acceptance letter has been the idea of being WHS Prom King 2012. Only, I never told anyone of this aspiration because I did not want the rest of mainstream society to go for it.
Somewhere between all the joke ballots and people voting for their friends, I had only received only one vote. (Please note: I only voted for myself once to keep the integrity of the ballot box.) While the students in the hallway surrounding me had started to step over me, at an attempt to reach their lockers before the 5 minute bell rang, I lay lifeless on the ground stewing in my own emotionally trauma of being crownless. I suddenly sat up with the epiphany that what I really needed was revenge.
Entering math class, I sat staring out the window, I imagined how I would get could get back at those who stole my glorious title. Revenge would never be cheaper; with $7 I would be able to secure my towards this evil plan. Under the alias name “Nicki Minaj” I would be able to sign up for the parade undetected. With a little poster paper, glitter, tape, streamers, smencils and my ‘92 Honda Accord, I would be able to create a chariot fit for a king…. a Homecoming king. All I must to do is wait for the fateful Wednesday of Homecoming.
At 3 p.m., all the people will arrive outside the library as planned and the parade will begin moving at a glacial pace of 5 mph down East Broad. Suddenly, as the parade passes Mindowaskin pond, my rouge parade float will dart onto the scene. I will hear the gasps from the thousands of onlookers when my fourth float entered the 3-car parade, blasting the hit single “Can’t Be Tamed," a personal favorite. With the toe strength given to me by going to one of Ms. Hauser’s YMCA classes, I will be able to steer with my feet as I waved to my adoring fans out my sun roof. I know that when these on-lookers see my charm and class, they would award me on the spot with the title of Homecoming king. The only thing that could stop this dream of vengeance would be if I hit a proverbial pothole out front of Hunan Wok III.
When the homeroom bell rang, I awoke from my fantasy. I found myself back in my math class listening to announcements. The next announcement caused my heart to sink; Homecoming would be canceled. With a heavy heart and and glancing out at the even heavier skies, I knew that it was time to give up on being Homecoming king.
Since then I have devoted myself to my second dream...Prom king ‘12.