Chapter 1

Maybe it was because in elementary school she would sneak six Chocolate chip cookies in her lunchbox when her mother only allowed her three. Or because in 9th grade she did Mona Wright's biology and math homework in exchange for not getting pelted with balls in PE. Maybe because hidden under her pillow was A Lover's Affair, a steamy French romance novel that she'd secretly read once the house was asleep.

Amy Farrah Fowler reviewed every blemish on her life's record to understand what heinous deed she'd committed to get to this moment. What had she done to deserve standing in front of a sea of students, each one with wide mouths, fingers pointing, all toppling over with laughter? The sounds of their cackles snaked around her body and squeezed tight paralyzing her to her spot.

"Woohoo!" Christian hollered, hugged around his meaty friends. "Speech, speech." He rallied behind a toothy smile. A 'my Dad's lawyer has it handled' smile. A dangerously perfect smile. The same smile he paraded when he stopped at Amy's locker two weeks earlier asking her to prom.

Amy noticed Christian sauntering down the hallway like a peacock. She always noticed him. She expected, per their usual encounters, for him to continue past her but he stopped just beyond her locker door. She didn't look up, he was probably standing at her locker because he is getting something out of his shoe or perhaps he is hanging up another poster of himself. When she didn't acknowledge him, he closed her locker door shut startling her. She looked up and was hypnotized by his Summery blue eyes. His lips opened to release the slightest hi, but what he said was of no concern to her. All she could focus on were his pink lips that looked as smooth as pebbles. Or the way his tongue lightly caressed his bottom lip. The way his saliva glazed his lip like a hot, fresh donut.

"Yum!" Amy accidentally said aloud. "Umm, no! I-i mean... Hello! How are you?" She reddened like a baked apple and buried her face in her locker hitting her head with a loud thud. He reached for her warm face checking for any cuts or bruises.

"Better, now" He said with a sly smug. Amy couldn't tell if he was referencing her head being better or he was better that they were together. Either way she choked out a weak,"O-okay."

"Your name is Amy, right?"

"Amy Farrah Fowler. What's yours?" Christian Wesleyan Phillips. 18 years old. Born May 8, 1980. But she needed to be coy.

"You haven't seen my posters?"

"Oh! That's you, I never even noticed." She lied.

He guided her eyes to the wall beside her locker that had a larger than life poster of him with the soccer team. "Really?"

"Oh, well... umm, I couldn't see that. I've been...umm meaning to get a new prescription in my glasses, but you know how it is it with optometrist, right?" A pregnant pause scooted between the both of them. And sat. And sat.

"No." He said pointing to his glasses-less face.

"Right."

"So listen, prom is coming up and would you believe it, I don't have a date. Well, I have gotten quite a few offers, from freshman, seniors, even a few faculty members. But they are all saying the same used up lines. 'Christian, I'll do anything you want' or 'Christian, I'll let you do anything to me' or 'Christian, I'll give you an A for the rest of the year.'" He mocked. "But I want to go with someone who is different. Which is why I was wondering if you would want to go to prom with me?"

This is a dream. This is one of my over the top daydreams that prove I am absolutely delusional. He's not actually standing here. I'm just imaging the entire thing and I'm actually talking to myself right now. Or what if he is here and I'm having an entire conversation with my conscious and looking like an idiot.

"Think about it," Christian continued when Amy said nothing "it would be us, the guys, and their dates. We'd get a limo, we'd have snacks and drinks and a-"

"Yes, yes, yes a thousand times yes!" Amy squeaked so loudly that other student began staring. She rummaged through her locker finding a pen and the edge of a ripped piece of paper. "Pick me up at this address, at this time!" She punched the paper into his chest "Do you want to have matching outfits? I secretly read in a Seventeen magazine that matching is the new trend. My favorite color is blue and I know that will match your eyes, but we can wear whatever you'd like. Oh! We should have a theme! You know in old English courts they would wear masks at balls. There is a place on Main that specializes in English mask making, maybe we could"

"I'll just see you then" Christian shouted over her ramble. "Goodbye Amy Farrah Fowler"

"Goodbye"

Maybe if Christian knew how overjoyed Amy was, or how much she'd done to prepare he would have reconsidered making her night hell. If he knew how many Seventeen magazines she read pertaining to a girls first prom, how many hours she spent painting her nails, or how high her hopes were for tonight, maybe he wouldn't be standing there laughing. Maybe he'd feel sorry for putting her through this, or maybe he wouldn't have done it at all.

Amy removed her eyes from Christian and stared at the ceiling hoping it would stop her tears from falling. She desperately tried to remain strong. That's what her father diligently reminded her, 'Charge the mountain with a smile!' She lived by that every day but this was proving her loyalty to the motto weak. She wanted to prove she could still have a good prom despite the student body's effort to destroy it. But this wasn't one of her books or a perfectly wrapped up 30 minute drama, this was reality. And in reality Amy couldn't take any more humiliation. 17 years of being a social outcast, ridiculed, and bullied was finally taking its toll and she had no more energy left to fight, so she ran.

She pushed through all of the laughing students and faculty and ran through the door.

But outside was more daunting than the gym. She was faced with a world of darkness and had no idea what to do. Where should she go? Home? Just to be berated by her mother. A park? To be left alone with her thoughts. A friends house? Ha! All she knew was that she no longer wanted to be here. In more ways than one.

She ran idly turning down different streets and stopping when her chest felt like it was caving in. Her feet were blistering with pain from her shoes and she felt like she was suffocating. Great! I'm so un-athletic I can't even run away properly. Before she could steady herself Amy collapsed in a patch of nearby grass listening to the deafening pounding of her heart and watching her chest violently rise and fall. She wasn't lying there long before she felt a tear fall sideways down her face. She swallowed the threatening lump in her throat and closed her eyes shut. She would not give in. Be strong. Sadly, her strength betrayed her and an army of tears barged their way from her eyes. She submitted to the emotion until she was wracking in sobs.

Why does this happen to her?

She was so thrilled that Christian asked her to prom. Never in her lifetime did Amy think anyone was going to ask her to a prom. I mean, she hoped, God, she hoped. But she was also realistic and was aware not many people at her school appreciated her or even liked her. So when Christian asked Amy to prom she rightfully freaked out. Her mother, on the other hand, was far more cautious than excited.

Yes, she was very happy for her daughter. Amy was seventeen years old and hadn't been to a dance or had friends but she was aware of Amy's social differences and she didn't want anyone hurting her daughter.

Her mother's apprehensiveness didn't falter Amy's excitement. She went to the library every week reading through every issue of Teen Beat, Seventeen, and Cosmo she could find. She spent her afternoons at the makeup counter in the mall seeing which nail polish matched her eyeshadow. She'd done everything right. So why did the night become such a horrible mess?