All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
*This is totally fictional, don’t attempt to reproduce or reenact: drugs and alcohol are bad.*
“Hey man, what time is it?” I grunted at Andre.
“Awe dude, it’s like the afternoon…” Andre said in a clueless manner. I looked at my phone and shrieked;
Andre’s face had a puzzled look on it, “Dude. We slept like thirteen hours.”
“You’re telling me,” I then paused and looked around Andre’s gnome-sized bedroom, “Man, my head is killing me.”
“What a great prom night.” Andre said proudly reflecting on the night before.
I thought to myself; damn, last night was pretty fun but there’s NO way that the school is going to turn a blind-eye to the actions we made. There we were lying on the two twin-sized mattresses stacked parallel to each other in a ten-by-ten room.
[Flashback-the night before]
Andre and I were looking good; after all it was the night of prom. I was decked out in a white tuxedo with a pink-paisley button-up, ivory-white shoes and a grey-pinstriped white fedora with a long purple feather sticking out of the side of it. Andre was wearing a black suit, powder-blue button-up, with a white tie. He looked better than his slant-eyed, six-foot-four, skinny, sloth-self. We looked like Harlem pimps rolling up to a high school dance with tunes blared, and a car that reeks of burning herbs and Newport’s. The only dates we had was a night full of misconduct and inappropriate actions that could negatively reflect on our reputation.
“Dre, you ready to do some crazy s***?” I asked with a straight face. He grinned at me and opened his little slits for his eyes as wide as he could;
“Oh, you know it, Jack.”
Andre and I both walked our way across the once-great, now cracked and rigid, pot-hole filled Ceape street to the convention center with a crazy plan in mind. We were going to crash prom night. Our plans were to spike the punch with four bottles of UV Cherry and a bottle of Grenadine to cover up the overbearing aroma of alcohol. We put fifteen different thirty-packs in ten different coolers for any kid to have. We brought variety from Pabst Blue Ribbon to Beer 30, from Rolling Rock to Miller Highlife: we wanted everybody to have a good time so we stocked the ballroom 25 minutes before anybody was let in, by walking through the main street overpass that connects the Park Plaza Hotel to the City Convention Center, first we placed the coolers strategically around the banquet’s floor. There were three different bowls of punch, each one turned 50 proof in the matter of minutes. Once we were done we dipped out the back door to the river front, removed our latex gloves, and started a journey to my rusting ruby-red ’92 Silverado Step-side. We went for a quick cruise around the urban south-side.
“Damn dude, I feel so good right now.” Andre said as he puffed a drag off of his mentholated, fiberglass-filled cigarette.
“Yeah, it’s stunts like this that really gets your adrenaline pumping.” I then looked off in the distance and thought for a second, “We probably shouldn’t tell anybody this was our idea.”
“Why not, man?” Andre looked puzzled, “We put so much effort into this whole prom-bust, we should show pride in our work…”
I cut him off, “Pride is what screws people over. Pride is the kiss of death.” I stared at Shawn, “We have three-hundred to four-hundred under-aged kids about to get intoxicated, do you know how much s*** we would be in if we were held responsible? We can’t tell anyone. End of story. Now let’s go and tear the dance floor up like its 1983.”
We approached the front doors of the Convention Center, and my gut just dropped. “Oh s***, man.” My face turned pale, “I’m trippin’ broski.” I looked around, “We should get the outta here while we can.”
“Why you sketch’n, man? There’s no way they can prove who brought the beer or punch. Just let it go.” Andre said without a gram of worry in his face. I thought to myself how could Dre stay so chill? I’m a worrying warrior sent to slay the prom. I swallowed my worries down my throat, the lump was dry and bulky and it went down harder than an acme anvil. I kept walking without a positive thought in my head.
I walked up to the ticket-checking lady, showed her my School ID and my ticket, Andre did the same, afterwards she looked up at both of us and said, “Enjoy the beverages!” in a superficial, hyper tone of voice. Andre just looked at me with the cockiest grin I’ve ever seen him wear on his face.
“Oh, we will.” His cocky grin grew stronger. “It’s pointless to worry when you don’t have to, man.” All of a sudden Andre became insightful like an experienced-mastermind in the art of prom-crashing.
I gazed over at Andre, “Time to kick it with some punch.” We headed over to the big crystal bowl laughing about our disruptive accomplishments. The DJ started playing some bizarre crunk music. Suddenly a school dance turned into a lively night club. Hands were flying in the air and of course they were waving like they just don’t care. Everybody was having a ball. Hell, we even saw our principal, Mr. Manchild, tossing back brews left and right. Everybody was messed up and I couldn’t help but think that something bad was bound to happen.
“We gotta assign Designated Drivers or something!” I spontaneously shouted at the Prom Queen, Debbie Davis. She just looked at me with the blankest face I’ve ever seen.
“You can take me home, Jacky” her alcohol drenched breath said it all. “That is if you want a piece of this.” Debbie smacked her butt and kept staring at me expecting me to commit to lust. For a second I thought about it after all she was looking so scandalous in her tight black dress that doesn’t even meet the half-way point of her thighs. Her legs were long and lustrous; they were a gleaming bronze sensation that were more awesome than Jesus Christ himself in the flesh.
“What the f***!?” I yelled out of shock, I just kept thinking; how wasted does Debbie Davis have to be to try to get on me? She’s the Prom Queen and I’m just a burn-out. During one point of the night I felt I was reliving the movie Sixteen Candles. “Maybe another time Debbie.” I walked away with my hand in the shape of a phone up to my ear and lipped the words “Call me” to her, completely forgetting about my designated-driver idea.
“Where the Hell is Dre?” I was asking everybody from Jocks to Scrubs, Preps to Geeks. I was on a mission to find Andre and after a half hour of searching I found him in the Girl’s bathroom with two of the Prom Queen runner-ups. I started laughing as soon as I saw him.
“Andre! My boy!” I dipped out real quick. What a weird night!
The night went on and so did we, learning one, and only one thing: This world is a corrupt place, where kids play and adults control the kids. This transition was the end of our reign but the beginning of reality.
* This is totally fictional, don’t attempt to reproduce or reenact: drugs and alcohol are bad.*