Hilton Hotel: reserved. White roses: ordered. Dj: booked. Prom Dress: on its way. All there is left to do is finalize the decorations at our Monday meeting, today is Saturday, and then make sure everything goes according to plan. It is my last year at JD, Johnson David, and I refuse to have a crappy Prom. Last year Tyler vomited all over my centerpieces, full on bend over the stomach heaving. It went everywhere. We had to leave the hall for thirty or so minutes to have the floor cleaned before we could enter back. Even at that, the smell of bile and lysol stuck to the air like a crying child clinging to their parents after being dropped off at school. To say the least, Prom this year will be a night to remember.
I drape the worn leather strap of my satchel over my shoulder, the one I’ve had since middle school, and open the door to Ophelia’s, the little bell on top welcoming me. Coffee beans and pastries linger in the air of the Café. The little joint has been here ever since my Memaw was a little girl. She and the owner went to kindergarten together and stayed in touch over the years.
“Fannie!” In walks Ophelia from the back room, her hair pinned to the back of her head with one of those giant alligator clips, wiping her hands on her apron. “Would you like your usual?”
“I would love that,” I said walking over to my table. The small round table is against the front windows—a perfect spot for inspiration and people watching when I get bored. I set my bag on the chair opposite me, pulling out my laptop and sit on the other side. Booting up the laptop, I lean back, relaxing in the metal chair. The chairs have been upholstered, so no, my butt is not freezing or burning from the lack of or excess of heat soaked up by the metal frame. The seat has an inch cushion tied to the legs with red and white floral fabric covering it.
“Here you go, my dear,” Ophelia announces, placing a steaming cup of hot chocolate next to me.
“Thank you.”
“If my hot chocolate keeps you coming round, I’ll make a special batch just for you,” Ophelia responds, winking. “I miss seeing you. And, I know for a fact Brady misses you, too.”
Brady and I were childhood buds up until the ripe age of fifteen where boy and girl friendships were unheard of unless you were dating. We drifted apart and became apart of different social circles. I miss Wednesday dinner at the Heart house, but life moves on whether you want it to or not.
“I don’t think that’s true Ophelia.”
She waves me off. “I carried around that boy for nine months. Mothers know things before their child does,” she says. “That boy misses you.”
I really don’t want to be having this conversation right now. Brady and I were friends and friends grow apart—that’s it, end of story.
I opened my laptop, taking a sip of the creamy hot cocoa. The chocolatey goodness of Ophelia’s cocoa is enough to erase the tension building behind my eyes.
“Amazing as always,” I compliment.
“Enjoy it, dear.” With that, Ophelia flashes me a smile before going back behind the counter, busing herself with the latte machine.
Bringing my To-Do list closer, I look over the three bullet points:
- Create a color palette (gold with blue accents)
- Organize some kind of layout of the venue
- Send out confirmation email to the committee for upcoming meeting
With a goal in mind, I open the folder containing all the documents for Prom to run smoothly, and click on the dropdown bar to launch a new doc. Once the doc loads, I open Pinterest, and the work begins.
I was thinking white fabric chairs with gold ribbon tied around the middle. A medium brown toned wood for the circular tables, no table cloth. With the image of what I want in mind, I try to replicate the image. I find the pictures to display my idea and paste them onto the doc in front of me. I open another browser, searching for royal blue flowers. Clicking on the first link that pops up, I begin scrolling down the list. Bellflowers, too purple. Morning Glory, too big and not the right kind of blue. I continue scrolling through the list, yet nothing catches my eye. On my fifth page, I get to the middle and stop—a flower with overlapping petals is the color of the ocean in Aruba when the sun is shining. Perfect. The Himalayan Blue Poppy will be the staple centerpieces at the JD Prom.
Opening up the local florists website, I send a quick text to the committee with a picture of the Himalayan Blue Poppy, waiting for an ‘okay’ to order. Not a minute later, Sasha, sends back a picture of herself giving a thumbs up. That girl cannot type for anything. She claims her ‘chubby fingers cannot tell the difference between an A and S and a Y and J’. Half of our conversations over the phone are either calls, audio messages or pictures.
Win and Ethan text back with, what feels like a million, heart eyed emojis. An excessive amount of emojis, but nonetheless brings a smile to my face. Turning back to my screen, waiting for Harley and Ryenne’s response, I search the Florist website for the flowers. Clicking on the first image, the page loads before displaying beautiful Aruba ocean colored flowers.
My phone chimes, indicating two messages, just as the Café door chimes open. I turn my head around, taking in the tall, lanky male, around my age, walk briskly to the back of Ophelia’s. He is wearing the red and grey baseball cap that I could have sworn I have seen somebody wear before. Discarding my thought, I shift my focus back to the task at hand, I check my phone.
Harley: Those need to be bought! Buy them!!!
Ryenne: Love it. Get em’!
With the committees confirmation, I put multiple bouquets in my cart, ready to check out. Just as I am about to place my order, an error pops on my laptop. I try clicking the little x in the corner of the pop-up, but no mouse flutters around the screen. I click and click, then click some more on the keypad, hoping to get the mouse working. To no avail, the mouse is frozen. I try to reboot the device, but my laptop remains unresponsive.
“This. Stupid. Dumb. Laptop! Come on, work!” I furiously tap on the keyboard, in vain hopes that my tapping will make the laptop magically work again. “I have stuff to do, you can’t be doing this to me right now,” I growl out, whispering to the device as if it can hear me.
Shaking my laptop a couple of times, the latte machines sound of death breaks me out of my frustration fueled by dumb technology. The machine sputters and gurgles before grounding out one final squeal. Soon after, the music stops playing, and just like that, the lights flicker off. I can hear Ophelia’s voice over the hushed conversations between customers.
“It seems we blew a fuse, folks!” Ophelia projects to the crowd. As a customer walks up the counter, the same guy I saw walk in a little bit ago, rushes out the door, papers haphazardly shoved into his book bag. His feet shuffle across the hardwood, making a hasty retreat. The little bell on the door waves goodbye to its customer. I know that awkward gait. Before I can chase after the guy, my laptop beeps, letting me know it is still broken and wants to remind me of that fact. I groan.
I check the clock on the wall—9:36. Brady should be home. I shove my laptop and notebook in my satchel, crushing some test paper in the process. Slinging the satchel over my shoulder, I rush to the counter, my satchel bouncing against my hip.
“Ophelia!” Catching her attention, she faces towards me, confusion etched between her eyes. “Is Brady home?”
“Yes he is, dear,” she says.
Before she can say anything else, I’m out the door, heading towards my car and to the place I thought I would never visit again.
⧫
Parking along the curb, I leave the car running. “Come on Fannie, you can do this. It’s only been four years since you’ve actually talked.” My self-talk does nothing to ease my nerves. Why am I even nervous? I shouldn’t be, this is Brady for Pete’s sake. The Brady who was my childhood best friend, and the one who was there when Mom left, the one who cradled my heart in his hands and didn’t even know it. The boy I left.
Blinking away the memories, I turn the engine off, my feelings fading away as the car powers down. I swing my legs out of the car and walk up the driveway.
The front door swings open before I make it to the walkway. He looks good. Better. Puberty was good to him.
“Look who it is!” Brady leans against the open door, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“I need a favor,” I announce, looking him in the eyes.
He tilts his head, brown hair falling across his eyes. He pushes the strands back. “What kind of favor?”
“I need you to fix my computer.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I throw my hands up. “You don’t have to sound so accusatory.”
“I was asking a question, Fannie.”
I roll my eyes. “Will you help me or not?”
He stares at me, his glare unwavering. “Alright,” he concludes, pushing his glasses up and extending his arm to the open door, inviting me in. I walk the rest of the walkway, up the steps and through the door. Brady sighs and follows me in, shutting the door softly behind him.
“What do you need?”
I glance around. A lot has changed in four years. “You painted the wall?” The tangerine orange of the kitchen catches my off guard.
“Yeah,” Brady answers, stuffing his hands into his jeans. “You know how Mom always wanted to paint the wall that color. So, one day she went to the store and came back with a gallon paint can labeled tangerine. She walked through the garage and told Dad and I to put our ‘crap clothes’ on.”
A smile creeps onto my face as a laugh bursts from me. “That sounds like something your Mom would do.”
“Yeah,” Brady trails off. Like a switch, his posture straightens and he claps his hands together. “What can I do for you?”
“I was at your Moms Café when my laptop went bezerk. An error popped up and then the whole device became unresponsive.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” I reach into my satchel, taking my laptop out and place g it on the dining table. Brady eyes my bag.
“You still have that thing?” He comments as I look at my bag.
“Yes.”
“I remember you wouldn’t take it off when I gave it to you for your ninth birthday. You even slept with it around your shoulder.” He shakes his head in delight, remembering the good days. It was my last birthday I shared with my Mom.
I shove the laptop in his face, showing him the error and demonstrating the broken mouse pad.
“Okay, okay,” Brady says, brushing my hands away. He stares at the screen, typing whatever Brady types. He gets another window to appear, this one full of codes and numbers that make my head spin and my eyes cross.
“What is that?” I point at the window.
“This is what is going to save your behind.”
“Huh?” He doesn’t answer me, only continuing to click against the keyboard. After the big hand has made a full rotation, I try again.
“Will you be able to get my laptop working again? I have to buy these flowers for Prom and make the venue layout … I need my laptop.”
“Give me a second, Fannie.”
“I gave you a full minute.”
That seems to get him. A chuckles shakes his chest. “Yeah, a full sixty seconds is so much time to give a person who is trying to combat a computer hack.”
“What do you have to do?”
He doesn’t respond. I lean against the chair, tilting my head towards the ceiling.
“Here you go.” Brady slides my laptop over. The Florists page is blinking at me, but that is the only tab open.
“Where is everything else? I had other tabs open.” I frantically click on the browser and try to locate my folder labeled Prom on my doc. It isn’t there. It isn’t there.
“It’s not there,” I voice aloud. “Brady, my folder isn’t where it’s supposed to be.”
“Maybe it got moved,” Brady counters, taking my computer back and searching for the folder.
“Nevermind,” he concludes.
“Nevermind? Nevermind what?” My voice rises.
“Somebody has gained access to your folder,” Brady replies calmly, my hysteria not fazing him.My clammy hands shake as the thought of losing all my plans for what is supposed to be one of the most special nights for a girl, overwhelms me. Maybe I am incapable of doing anything right. Mom was right. My head falls into my cupped hands, my back shaking with labored breathing.
Brady’s hand rubs mindless circles onto my back, sending electricity through my body and goosebumps to appear on my arms. He doesn’t stop and I’m grateful for his silent comfort. The warmth of his hand disappears, leaving my back cold and missing his touch. Snap out of it, Fannie.
“I might be able to retrieve the folder, but I need to double check if this method of retrieval would be successful.”
“That sounded very smart, Braids,” I comment, picking my head up to look at him. He winks.
“I know,” he responds. “We would need to go to the library. That’s where my cross referencing needs to happen.”
“Well, let’s get a move on!” I hop up from the chair, grabbing my stuff and shoving them into my bag. “Hurry up!” I practically drag Brady from the chair.
He pulls himself up without much help from me and grabs his coat. “You’re driving.”
“I know”
⧫
I plunk my stuff down on the blocky wooden library chair. Brady sits across from me, folding his hands together on the table.
“What?” I question, staring back at him.
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
“Okay,” I trail off, diverting my gaze to what’s around us, taking in the library goers. There is a mother and two children sitting around a circular table, coloring. An elederly man reclining on the sofa reading the newspaper. On the table across from us, sits the same boy I saw in the Café, wearing his red and grey cap. I eye the male uneasily, wondering if he had a part in my computer hack.
His head lifts and his brown eyes meet my blue ones. I know those eyes. That’s Steve Goodhold—the kid who always sits in the back of my history class, typing away at his computer. Even at lunch, he has his computer open and is laser focused on whatever he has up. What on earth does that kid do?
I wave my hand in his direction, greeting him. “Hi Steve.”
He sends a close-lipped smile my way, but doesn’t wave. “How’s the Prom planning going?” The sneer in his tone makes me take a step back.
“What do you mean?”
“I think those Himalayan Blue Poppy flowers would look really nice as centerpieces.”
“What are you talking abo—what did you do?” I glare at him, my voice hardening.
“Why the accusation, Fannie?” My blood begins to boil at his snarky response.
“Look Steve, I do not have time for whatever games you’re playing. If you have my Prom folder, give it back.”
He looks at me innocently, a glint flickering in his eyes. That look is never good. He was at the one at the Café, sitting in the darkest booth in the back and then cutting out as fast as possible when the fuse blew. He did all that.
“You were the one who messed with my laptop and blew out the fuse at Ophelia’s.”
He looks taken aback. “Wow, Fannie, I didn’t know you had it in you to figure something out so well,” he sneers.
“Can it, Goodhold,” Brady pipes in. He has my laptop open in front of him and a book flipped to the middle besides him. He turns the laptop towards me and I see all my documents.
“You got it back?” I ask in disbelief.
Brady responds with a nod as Steve sputters in front of me.
“Wha—how—you shouldn’t have been able to access it!”
“Don’t underestimate me, Goodhold.” Brady sends a pointed look at Steve. “Now if you don’t want your mother to find out about all of this, you better not to do something like this again, to anyone,” he adds.
“You can’t tell my mother. She already thinks I’m a disappointment. She can’t find out,” Steve grinds out, running his hands through his hair.
I know Steve has an older sister and a younger brother, and I know middle children often feel left out, but parents should love their children no matter what. Yours didn’t. The little voice in my head whispers. One. One didn’t. I remind.
“Steve,” I try to talk to him, but he is already yanking his cap on and throwing his bag over her shoulder. With that, he strides to the entrance, his rush turning the pages of the book Brady had, and leaves.
“Well,” Brady begins. “That was interesting.”
I plunk down across from him. “Yeah, yeah it was.”
2 Weeks Later
“You have the boutonniere on backwards.” I walk over to Brady, pinning his boutonniere on correctly. “There,” I exclaimed, resting my hands on his chest.
“I missed this,” Brady says. I lift my head up to look at him, questions swirling in my iris. He brings his arms around my waist, pulling me closer towards him. “This. Being with you. I missed you.”
Pink spreads across my cheeks as I ducked my head. Before Brady can expand upon his answer, Ophelia comes bouncing through the living room archway.
“My two favorite people!” Ophelia gushes, tearing up. “My,” Ophelia breathes out. “Fannie, you look beautiful! Come, I want a hug too!”
Laughing, I untangle myself from Bradys embrace, much to his dismay. A pout evident on his face as I face towards his mother who sweeps me into her awaiting arms.
“I am so glad you came back, dear. This house hasn’t been the same without you.” Ophelia crushes me against her. I tighten my hold on her, hoping she knows how thankful I am for her.
I step out of Ophelia’s comfort and face the two people who were missing from my life for longer than they should have. This is where I belong.
“Come on, miss Prom planner. Your chariot awaits.” Brady extends his hand towards me. I glance at his outstretched hand, take a step forward, and lace my fingers through his.
“Let’s go.”
