Chocolate-Covered Marshmallows

November 25, 2012
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“Monkey, a letter came for you!”

“For me?”(int.) Sophie raced into the kitchen, yanked the card from her mother’s hand, and read it aloud, “Ms. Sophie Nagle, you are cordially invited to attend the 7th grade Twinkle Twinkle Ball from 7’oclock to half-past 9 on May the 26th. Please arrive in formal attire. RSVP no later than May the 24th.”

“That’s wonderful, Monkey! You can wear that new dress that Nana gave you!”

Sophie pictured herself wearing the floor-length, floral, Oklahoma-looking frock, surrounded by the stylish majority that made up her 7th grade class. “Sounds great, Mom.” Sophie murmured, as she slouched back up the stairs to her lair.

The days passed by, and all too soon, it was May the 26th. Sophie sat, reclined in the back of her mom’s Subaru, picking at the seams of Nana’s dress.

“ Monkey! You’ll tear the dress, if you keep that up.” said Sophie’s mother, looking anxious and wide-eyed through the rear-view mirror.

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” (int.) Sophie whispered, as she stared disgustedly into the clashing floral patterns that Nana liked so much.

The strobe lights flashing, the music blasting, the 7th graders boogieing; the Twinkle Twinkle Ball had reached full swing by the time the clock struck 7:30, once all the kids—including those fashionably late—had arrived.

Sophie wandered around the outside of the mash pit, stopping every two minutes or so for a snack-break at the chocolate fountain. She particularly enjoyed dipping marshmallows into the chocolate, but encountered difficulty when it came to fitting the whole bite into her mouth. After what must have been Sophie’s tenth stop at the fountain, as she leaned in for that next marshmallow, her chocolate-dipper collided with someone else’s chocolate-dipper. Startled, Sophie dropped the marshmallow and looked up to see the famed Henry Little staring back at her. He was the most popular boy in the entire 7th grade, played soccer and football, and looked like he could be in a boy-band.

Henry flipped his golden mane, said, “sorry about that”, flipped his gold mane one more time, and swaggered back into the mash pit. Sophie didn’t even want her marshmallow anymore. She wanted to dance with Henry. She mulled over his, “sorry about that”, some fifty times in her head, until she reached the conclusion that what he really meant was, “I love you.” That was all it took; she pranced into the mash pit after him, forging through a sea of grinding hyenas, awkward Frankenstein-dancers, and disco-tech wannabes, until her eyes fell upon that magnificent golden mane once again.

Sophie inhaled, and began poking at Henry’s shoulder. He turned. “Henry? Hi, I’m Sophie. We bumped at the chocolate fountain. Remember?” Her cue was well supported by the splotch of chocolate above her lip.

“Uh…yeah. Hi, Sophie.”

“Do you maybe want to dance?”

Henry sighed. “I guess.”
Sophie thought nothing of his lack of enthusiasm, and began dancing immediately. The only dancing she’d ever done was in her French class’s performance of Frere Jacques. After nearly ten seconds of side shuffling, Henry zoomed out of sight. Sophie stood alone, puzzled for only a second, reckoning that he probably had to pee. She happily returned to the chocolate fountain.

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