Two Corsages: The Best Friend I Should Have Gone to Prom with and the Boy Who Actually Asked Me

Marco was one of my best friends in high school. We had bonded during the 10th grade drama class that he didn’t even want to take. We talked about his racist parents, my over-protective father. He was a farm boy; tall, green-eyed, on the football team. I was the eccentric yearbook committee editor who wore Chuck Taylors all year around. Several of my friends thought he was cute; said I could do worse. I wasn’t interested. A year later, as I watched my friends get wrapped up in elaborate promposals, I automatically assumed that I was going with Marco.

It was late April when he asked me to describe my ideal promposal. I said that the only thing I cared much about was being surprised. I spent the next two weeks listening to Marco asking me for his opinion on every girl in our grade who didn’t have some sign of a significant other that he was aware of. For all his good looks and athleticism, Marco wasn’t very social, and didn’t have a clue that most of the people in our graduating class were. I patiently informed him of boyfriends he didn’t know about, promposals he had missed, and unfavourable character traits that overshadowed the “she’s kind of cute” cases he was making for the names listed on his roll of potential dates. Meanwhile, I began to formulate my own list, as I became increasingly dumbfounded as to why he didn’t just ask me.

Two weeks before the prom, I was leaving the library at the end of lunch hour and see Ty, who sat in front of me in English class, also heading towards the door. Ty was quiet, chunky, a little awkward. We’d probably had two conversations ever. I wasn’t planning on initiating the third one, but as the distance between us closed, he began to slow down, uncomfortably half-stumbling towards me.

“Hey, Heather, could I talk to you for a second?” His voice cracked as he spoke. I gave him the go-ahead and what came out of his mouth was more or less:

“Okay, well, I know we don’t really talk… But you seem really chill, and I was just wondering if you would maybe want to go to prom with me?”

My response: “Oh. Uh, yeah, sure.” Sure.

“Okay, great! I was gonna do something cool, to, like, ask you to prom… I was thinking about writing a song or something.. I’ve just been so busy though, with school and stuff. Sorry about that.” Thank goodness he didn’t write me a song.

We left the library, muttered awkward goodbyes, and parted ways. I ambled through the halls in a daze and walked into French class with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. I hastily recounted the details to my classmates over a chorus of pitying mumbles and coos that cemented my already prevalent regrets.

Early the next week, again in the library, Marco pulled a plastic chair up beside me. In his very drawn-out, circular way of speaking, he informed me that he caught word through mutual friends that Ty had stated his intentions to accompany me to the after-prom festivities that were taking place the weekend following the big night.

“I know,” I said, trying to decipher what part of it Marco thought was such a big deal. “He already invited me.”

“Heather… Cole told me that Ty said he’s gonna have sex with you at after prom. He’s been telling all the guys you two are sharing a tent.” He sounded upset, but there was a hint of smugness in his voice; he was pleased with himself for uncovering this information. Despite Ty’s impression of me, I was generally very unchill. Unchill, incredulous, and suddenly furious.

“He thinks that he’s entitled to sex just because he’s taking me to prom?! That’s… that’s ridiculous.” Marco shrugs and looks at me apologetically. I had nothing pleasant to say in response.

I crossed paths with Ty later that day.

“Hey, Ty, I need to talk to you.” I noticed the harshness in my voice but I let it stand. “Marcus told me you think we’re having sex at after prom? I don’t know what gave you the impression that that was how things are gonna go, but I just want to let you know that’s absolutely not happening.”

I glared into Ty’s eyes as they moved from confusion to hurt.

“I… I never said that,” he began. He told me that Marco had gotten in his face about asking me to prom, as if he should have known not to ask me. This made no sense to me, since I was the last person Marco wanted to take to prom anyways. I apologized to Ty, admitting that the tale Marco had told me did seem a bit off, finding myself suddenly very willing to take his word over Marco’s.

It was a couple days before I was able to catch him at a time when he wasn’t making a point of talking to other people. When I finally encountered him alone in-between classes, he awkwardly attempted to act casual as I pushed for the rest of the story. I stared him down for a good 30 seconds before told me that yes, he had confronted Ty about asking me to the prom. He had also, however, caught wind that Ty was considering going with me, and as preventative measure, Marco requested that he hold off and let him ask me first. Ty decided to go ahead and ask anyways, Marco, pissed off, got in Ty’s face about it, and here we were. Except:

“Marco, when were you planning on asking me?? All you talk about is the other girls you’ve been thinking about asking. I don’t get it.”

“You said that you wanted to be surprised when you got asked to prom. So I thought that if I told you I was gonna ask someone else, you’d be extra surprised.”
What. An. Idiot.

“Marco… I was waiting for you to ask me before you started saying all that stuff! I wanted to go with you! I only said yes to Ty because I figured that no one else was going to ask me! Dude…that’s such a stupid idea!”

“I know, it was dumb.” He was clearly aware of his error but I was too shocked to be compassionate.

“So dumb! Ugh. Okay, so I’ll talk to Ty. I would rather go with you, Marco. Maybe he’ll be cool about it? It was kind of a dick move for him to ask me first.”

“Okay. Let me know how that goes, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course.” I laughed. “But dude, you’re actually such a frickin’ idiot.”

Marco chuckled.

“Yeah… sorry about that.”

I spoke to Ty briefly in the hallway a little later that day. I reiterated what Marco had told me.

“Honestly, Ty, I’d really rather go with him,” I mumbled. “He was gonna ask me but you decided to go ahead and ask me before he got to.”

“You said you weren’t going with anyone, so I had assumed that Marco already asked you. That’s the only reason that I went ahead with it.”

I was confused. When had I told him that? Ty reminded me that I had mentioned to Cole that I didn’t yet have a date. Ty wasn’t being a jerk; he thought I had already turned Marco down.

“But, if you want to go with Marco, that’s okay, I guess.” Ty looked like he was about to cry.

I felt like a terrible person.

“You know what, Ty… I said I’m gonna go with you, I’ll go with you.”

“Are you sure?” He looked incredibly relieved.

“I’m sure. I gotta go though, I’m late for class. See you later.”

About three days before the prom, I got a phone call from Marco.

“Hey, how’s it going?” This was weird; he never called me.

“I’m good. What’s up?”

“Are you home right now? I’m in your driveway.” What?

I walked outside. Marco has parked his burgundy Jeep Cherokee at the end of the driveway and was leaning against the passenger side. I noticed that he had a small box in his hands. As I moved closer, Marco waved and took a few steps towards me. I covered most of the distance between us before realizing that he was holding a plastic clamshell housing a large yellow corsage.

“I know you said you were going to go with Ty, but I just wanted to give you this.” He handed me the box. The rose was open wide and attached to a stretchy band of cheap plastic silver beads. I knew that he didn’t understand it wasn’t really my style.

“Oh… that’s really sweet of you.” I was unsure whether or not to conceal my confused surprise. He was playing martyr and I was struggling to respond sensitively. “You know that I can’t really wear it though, right?”

“I was thinking you could wear one on each wrist, maybe.”

“Given the beef between you and Ty, I don’t really think that’s a good idea. But thank you.” I tried to imagine walking around at prom in my floor-length black gown with a sunshine-coloured flower on one wrist and a deep-purple bloom on the other. Did he not see how awkward this was?

“Alright, well, I gotta go. Hope you have a good time with Ty, if I don’t see you before Friday.” He’d see me before Friday. He was being weird.

I stuck the box in the fridge and gave limited details to my mother when she asked about it. Marco had meant well; he was sorry he had messed things up. But mostly sorry for himself.

All in all, prom night itself was a bit of a mess. I smiled through pictures, Ty’s hands adhered to my waist as I awkwardly arched my back away from him. Prolonged trips to the washroom (which I mostly spent complaining about how miserable I was) helped me avoid Ty, who, despite being a musician (apparently), had absolutely no rhythm. When I couldn’t avoid him, I found myself constantly redirecting his hands as they creeped lower down my back. Marco ended up spending most of the night with a girl in our drama class who he ended up dating for a year.

The yellow rose wilted in the fridge while the petals of the orchard I received from Ty were slowly demolished as I clumsily maneuvered my way through the crowded dance floor on my many trips to and from the ladies’ room. At the end of the evening, with the first genuine smile of the night, I thanked Ty for the company and the pricy corsage (which had lost two petals over the course of the night).

I later heard later that he complained about me for most of the weekend. I didn’t blame him.