Signed, Sealed, Humiliated

Mr. Kincaid stroked his purple and emerald checkered tie as he sat on the edge of his desk as he took advantage of the hanging silence.

"I expect all of you to hand in your short stories first thing tomorrow morning."

The bell rang causing him to elevate his voice as he continued his futile plea of expectations,

"Two Thousand words, handwritten, with a plot and how the character plans to resolve or foil their objective."

The rest he mumbled to himself recognizing defeat to the screaming of the bell,

"Bonus points on the final exam for the most creative story."

His sigh was heavy, yet he managed a gentle smile when Ronni looked his way. Normally, she would flash a bright smile. Today, her expression carried the weight of Mr. Kincaid's sigh. Where a smile should have been, a fragile closed-mouth half smile emerged. She saw his brow wrinkle and eyes soften with concern. Before he could utter another word, she sailed swiftly through the doorway. The bell had frightened her. It was a reminder. No. A time to prepare. It was too soon. She wasn't ready. She only had five minutes to make it to the cafeteria. Even though the world blurred past her, her feet felt like they were tied to cinder blocks. Her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. She heard Mr. Kincaid call her name, but she was already in route to face her destiny.

The stairway leading down to the cafeteria was just a few paces ahead. Ronni slowed to take a breather and compose herself. A hand latched onto her left wrist and tugged her down the stairs. Now she had an idea of what animated characters felt like when they were yanked away by someone or something. A sudden shift in her get calm itinerary. Without warning, Ronni felt her armpits become moist.

"Come on girl! I have to tell you what just happened in Dr. Bremmer's Biology class," was whispered into her ear.

The voice belonged to Irene. She was taller than most of the girls and boys in school. Red curly hair bounced up and down as they trotted down the steps with the occasional swinging left to right when she emphasized just how important the news was. Irene shoved her out of the path of famished students into the corner of the landing midway of the staircase.

"It being Valentine's Day and all, you will never guess who asked who to the Spring Dance," she half-whispered.

Her "never" was exaggerated and wrapped in hints of amusement and disbelief. Bright hazelnut eyes locked with her own intensely dark-coffee peepers. Trapped and unexpectedly deviated from her mission, Ronni's neurons ping-ponged responses as she deciphered if an actual response was required or if Irene was going to spill the beans without a proper response. It was only a second or two, but it felt like a week. she could feel sweat sliding down the center of her spine. Was it odd that it felt cool? Chatter grew louder as the in-and-out lunch traffic exchange grew busier. So much for being one of the first to get a table. Gone is the opportunity to position herself to see what her bravery cost her. There was no means to prepare for a swift exit should things go awry. Her brain was on fire trying to focus entirely on Irene's inquiry, but the weight of what was to come transitioned from anxiety to nuclear panic level. Ronni parted her lips,

"Ummm...Pete asked...,"

"Yeah, duh!" Irene interrupted "Pete walked right up to the front of the class and stood on Dr. Bremmer's desk; he knocked over a flask, and it broke into a zillion pieces. Then he pulled out a box! Of course, his bestie made sure to guide Susie Keller...,"

The way she said Keller sounded more like killer. The chatter was beginning to die down. While Irene continued to share the greatest event to ever happen in high school history, Ronni was picturing herself sitting down with her lunch tray. Her face expressed interest, yet her body craved movement. Preferably, down the remaining stairs. Her left foot lifted and took the lead towards the path to the cafeteria doors. Irene continued while matching her pace,

"...stand in front of him. He wrote her a poem. I don't remember it. It was cheesy, but she turned beet red!"

Ronni grabbed the handle of the right-side door, and Irene the left one. The doors reminded her of medieval times. If the handles weren't there you would need a battering ram just to get through, she thought. She pulled. They were heavy. They felt three times heavier today. It was here. The dread had swallowed what little hope she started the day with. She could still hear Irene speaking, but she had no interest in the plot reveal. A thin sheath of fine sweat glazed her face, even thought it was incredibly cool in the cafeteria. Hungry students were still claiming their dining territories. Ronni scanned the room as she subconsciously placed her backpack on a bench just in front of the food service area. At least lunch will be decent. The aroma of pizza and fresh gooey chocolate chip cookies hovered in the air. She grabbed her Pink Panther wallet to pay for lunch. She jumped in line. A heavy shove met her shoulder. It was Irene, annoyed. Apparently, she had asked a question and it went unheard.

"...You aren't even listening to me!" She snapped.

"I'm sorry "I", I am a nervous wreck right now," Ronni whispered.

The whisper is what caught Irene's attention. There was something about the tone of the whisper. There was some juice behind it. And she loved juicy news. You don't make head editor in your junior year of high school without having a sense for gossip and news. So caught up in her gossip she didn't notice the signs that her friend was in distress. Irene softened her tone.

"Oh. My bad. Why didn't you say anything?"

Ronni grabbed a thick brown plastic tray. A bit of oatmeal clung to it. She grabbed another. It looked like Freddy Krueger tried his hand at grabbing it. the thought of food directly touching the haggard plastic turned her stomach. Disgusted, she just walked the line without one, and whispered over her left shoulder,

"Because you kidnapped me from my mission and vomited gossip about people I could care less about," she spat.

The sting lingered a little longer than Irene expected. they usually walk to lunch together, but she did have to run to catch up to her today. She did bum rush her with information. Genuine concern took over,

"Talk to me." It was gentle and sincere.

Ronni brought two pizzas and three chocolate chip cookies as she listened to Irene's plea to talk about her current anxiety woes. She was cool with the lunch ladies, and they were more than happy to place her food in a couple of red and white-checkered fry containers.

"Okay," she replied reluctantly.

"Do you want to go someplace where it is only you and me?" Irene asked, concerned tears may be involved.

She knew Ronni would never cry in public, but today is Valentine's Day and maybe she was being insensitive by sharing that news.

Ronni could not pretend that the business occurring in the pit of her stomach was not limited to the trays. It was a reason to give hope a chance to make itself tangible again. Her stomach churned raw hydrochloric acid, and a dull-heavy sensation seemed to linger. She whipped out her wallet, and the bell rang. It is officially lunch time. Wiping small beads of sweat from her brow Ronni responded to her best friend's concern.

"No." It was a strong, firm response. "It would defeat the purpose."

"Bitch, you did something. What did you do?" Irene asked with eager eyes.

Reluctantly she answered, "Do you know Michael? Michael Morowitz?"

"Blonde, blue eyes you could swim in all day, dimples that make you want to set up camp on his face Michael? What about him?" Irene's eyes beamed with excitement.

For a second she couldn't breathe. She was going to reply but as she took a bite of her first pizza, there he was. sitting three tables away with his closest friends. Lizbeth was the only female in the group. There was never any mention that they were seeing each other by any means. Michael was focused. Ronni recognized the paper. It was her stationery. She drew hearts with wings in the message. It was supposed to signify how he makes her heart soar. She glanced over at Irene. It was too late. Irene had followed her gaze and recognized the stationery too. Her mouth was frozen in the shape of a very large "O," as if she were holding the world's longest note. Her lips collapsed to speak,

"You didn't!" The giant "O" returned like a default setting.

"I did." The words were barely audible.

Without warning Lizbeth snatched the note from Michael's hands. The hands that have been responsible for the Cowboys to win every football game this season. His face was flushed. The redness clashed against the brown, white and orange of his letterman jacket. Lizbeth stood on top of the table and called the lunchroom to attention. She was olive skinned with thick wavy dirty-blonde hair. Her style was tomboy. She wasn't the catch of the day, but she was not scary to look at either. Lizbeth waved her hands in the air back and forth until the room gave her the attention she sought. You could hear the soft crinkle of the stationery as it fluttered in her hand.

"Attention! Attention!" Lizbeth yelled. "We have a love confession and since it's the day of love, I want to share it."

Her grin was wicked. It was similar to the Grinch's, just no good.

"Dear Michael," she began. ", I have sat across from you in homeroom and behind you in Spanish class. You always smell good and your smile makes my heart beat super fast..."

The cafeteria buzzed. Some chuckled. Some continued to eat their lunches and private conversations. A few decided to go outside and ignore the scene altogether. His friends were laughing and slapping him on his back. None of this distracted Lizbeth.

"You are an amazing athlete. I have been to every game cheering you on, hoping you can hear and see me. I wanted to let you know that I think you are very handsome as well. I hope you like the hearts..."

At this point Lizbeth could not stop laughing. One of the lunch ladies attempted to stop her attention-seeking behavior. She began mocking Michael. He laughed, and his face turned beet red. He glanced over in her direction and their eyes met. Was there a tinge of regret in those baby blues? Time was funny. It felt like minutes when it was just a few seconds. Did he know it was her who wrote it? Was he aware of her presence after all? She had only had a single bite of pizza, yet she felt the need to purge whatever was flip-flopping in her stomach.

"...I am in love with you and would like to know if you would like to date. If yes, you can sit next to me at lunch so we can plan a date together. I will be wearing white jeans, and a red shirt with giant lips in red sequins..."

Holding Ronni's now-public love confession in her villainess hands, Lizbeth turned and hopped onto the next table towards her. And then the next, interrupting the peace of those students who just wanted to enjoy a decent lunch for a change. Her gleeful eyes sparkling with spite latched onto the terrified stare on Ronni's face. The room was silent as Lizbeth's feet touched the tiled floor. Ronni hated attention. Right now, she was getting a whole lot of it. Her head began to throb, and she could feel the tickle of a cough as stress and anxiety ebbed and flowed in her stomach. Lizbeth was looming behind her now.

"Hmmm. White jeans. Check!"

It was loud and crisp, the word "check." Everyone was leering at Ronni now. Some laughed loudly, many displayed looks of empathy. Ronni corrected her perception, maybe it was pity.

"This certainly looks like a pair of giant red lips, Check!

Lizbeth cackled uncontrollably for a minute. Tears began to well up in Ronni's eyes. Michael stood up. Irene swiveled in her seat to face Lizbeth. Lizbeth spoke.

"They look like the size of your real lips!" hysterical laughter burst from Lizbeth's body

A surprise move stirred the room again. Whispers snuffed out the food aroma in the air. They were tangible, and damaging to Ronni's soul. Michael walked over and dragged Lizbeth away. She was clearly not thrilled about it. She did not understand why he was suddenly upset with her, when he was just laughing about it. She crumpled the peach stationery into a tight golf ball-sized ball and hurled it at Michael's face. The whispers grew softer and aimed at a new target. Ronni could feel Irene rubbing an infinite circle onto her back. It was not bringing the emotional relief Irene thought she was providing. Ronni was stuck in a mental soup of fear, shame, regret, and sadness. She wasn't prepared for this. While they were off fighting, Ronni stood up after dodging lingering gazes. As if things couldn't get worse, five fundraisers walked in with valentine boosters, roses, and balloons. As she was beginning to walk away, one of the lunch ladies placed her hands on her shoulders and eased her back into the chair. She told her to wait. While she waited, she watched Lizbeth storm off in a huff. Michael walked toward the main cafeteria doors, stopping one of the fundraisers.

The seconds dragged by like an anchor along an ocean floor. Her life was now a joke. Meanwhile, Irene didn't say a word, she was quietly nibbling on her pizza and fries like she was entranced in a UFC match. I bet this trumps her gossip about Pete and Susie. She loved her friend, but she knew before the day was over, majority, if not the entire school, will know what took place here today. She could not help herself. Her abdomen was just pure pain now. Ronni cradled her stomach and rocked back and forth. Maybe she just needed a really good fart.

"Oh Shit!" Irene was surprised by Michael's presence.

Ronni looked at Irene. She turned her head to follow her surprised gaze to meet Michael's orbs of swimming pools. Mesmerizing. He dragged an empty chair and sat next to Ronni.

"Hi." It was soft. Unexpectedly kind.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. I didn't think she was going to do something that dumb." His gaze dropped to his hands. Ronni's eyes followed.

"I'm no good at Valentine's Day gifts and such, but I wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciate what you wrote.

Out of the side of her eye, she could see Irene beaming an enormous smile of hope. Ronni knew it was more pity and a means of saving face for Michael. There was no declaration of love coming. No, desire to date and see where things go. This wasn't for her. It was for him.

"I think lions are awesome, so I picked this card because it has a lion on it. And this balloon. It kinda matches your shirt," he was struggling to find the right words.

The balloon was a bright pink circle with brilliant, red-glittered lips. Ronni could only think, was this so everyone could identify her once they heard the tale. Where was poison when you needed it. She wouldn't hesitate to pull a Juliet if it would make the day disappear.

"It took a lot of courage to do that. If it were any other time, I think I may actually like going out with you. But..." he paused. His eyes lost a bit of their brilliance for moment. Perhaps, there was some genuineness in his words.

"But my family would not approve. But I hope we can be friends." He leaned forward and quickly kissed the crest of her right cheek.

And just like that, the event was over. But the cherry on top came when the lunch lady returned with a jacket and the urgent request for Ronni to wrap it around her waist. Ronni did as instructed, and started following her into the staff kitchen to the restroom. She offered Ronni a clean towel and some sweatpants. Her cycle had started. Shuffling into the single-stall bathroom behind the kitchen, Ronni locked the door and leaned her forehead against the cool, chipped paint of the wall. She looked down at the borrowed oversized sweatpants, the giant sequined lips mocking her from her chest, and the metallic pink balloon bobbing silently against the ceiling tiles.

Tomorrow morning, Mr. Kincaid wanted two thousand handwritten words with a clear plot and how the character resolved or foiled their objective. Whispering to herself,

"Well, how about a twist, Mr. Kincaid."

Ronni reached for a small box of toothpicks and removed one and tugged the balloon to her chest and popped it. Ronni let out a breathless, hollow laugh and reached into her pocket for a pen. She didn't need to invent a tragedy; she already had the opening line.