Synopsis: Ashley isn't a fan of Prom. Not when it's advertised as this big, celebratory party exclusively for those at the top of the pecking order. But when Chris and Matt both decide to compete with each other to see who can win Ashley a Prom crown, who will succeed? And will that change her mind about the whole thing? A very short story about Prom, romance and obligatory long words.

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Friendship

Ending: Pre-Game

Rating: T

A/N: Thanks for all the positive feedback from the last chapter. It really does mean a lot and motivates me to write more, knowing you're all enjoying it!

Chapter Three

Pigs, Ridiculousness and an Overrated Matt

Ashley snorts so loudly, anyone would think she had turned into a pig. If she'd been drinking anything in that moment, it would have come spurting right out of her nose. Attractive.

"A prom crown?" She shakes her head, almost making the phrase 'laughing your head off' a reality. "Like I'd ever be prom queen!"

"Well," Matt cringes, readjusting his words. "I wasn't suggesting that exactly-"

"Hey," Chris lurches in, arms firmly thumping on the table. This means business. "She could totally be prom queen."

Okay, Chris is disarmingly cute. And his eyes sparkle like those delicious, Ferrero Rocher chocolates (those Italians sure know how to do their chocolate). But it sometimes makes him – despite his 4.0 intelligence – comically stupid.

"Chris," Ashley blinks at him, face slack and sarcastic. Chris' eyes snap to her like they're magnetic. "Do you see this face?" She waves her finger around her general facial area. "Does this face look remotely popular?"

Chris quirks an eyebrow at her, something suspiciously funny tugging at his lips. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Ashley scoffs, instinctively grabbing a handful of fries from Matt's tray – accompanied by his whine of "Hey, those are mine!" - before throwing them at Chris. Who swiftly ducks, the fries landing limply on the cold, cafeteria floor. Matt looks as if he's about to mourn them.

"It was a rhetorical question," Ashley pouts, glaring and wrinkling her nose at Chris. Ha ha. Funny. "My point is," she finally breathes. "Nobody's going to vote me if they don't even know I exist." Or if I don't even go.

That's thing about Ashley. She isn't exactly somebody who stands out. Especially when her height is only 5 ft 1 and 3/4. And yes, the three quarters does count.

Ashley's just one of those girls who dresses to fit in. Who acts to fit in. Who blends to fit in. Yes, she contributes to that hugely inflated 94% of students across America who just go along with the crowd. Trying to stand out is so exhausting. Plus, it's so overrated.

A wallflower. Like in that book – which was so much better than the movie (they always are. Just saying.)

"But," Matt finally speaks, tipping his chin on his hand. He looks like he's up to something. Not sure Ashley trusts him, "They know I exist."

Is he drunk?

The disbelief on Ashley's face – and the amused confusion on Chris' – is enough to make Matt rearrange his words.

"I," he finally says triumphantly, "Could win Prom King."

Okay, he's definitely drunk.

"Not that I care about any of that stuff," he corrects, acting the whole modest type. Pfft, as if. Then he leans forward like he's Lord Sugar, about to offer me a billion dollar job on The Apprentice. You're hired! "But I could get you that crown."

I want to slap him across the face with one of his rotten oranges. What the heck?

"Hey!" Something finally sparks Chris, his body jolting into position. Determination has suddenly darkened his features. It looks good on him. "I could do it too."

Ashley stares at him like he's just offered to wear a tutu and prance all the way up to the White House. "What?"

"I could win that crown for you," he finally says, eyes connecting with hers. It's like one of those stares in those Nicholas Sparks movies, where the hero would do just about anything for the heroine. Even if that includes embarrassing himself in front of a whole school.

Where did these guys get their alcohol?

"Are you challenging me?" Matt raises his eyebrows, entertained, at Chris just as a voice shouts across the cafeteria.

"Hey! Matt!" One of the baseball players – a guy from Matt's regular table - waves his head across the crowds of unsuspecting heads. "When are you going to get over here?"

"Just a sec," Matt calls back, raising a finger and half climbing out of his seat. Then he swiftly pierces his gaze at Chris. A challenge. "If you think you're up for it, you have one week."

"One week till what?" Ashley panics, flipping her gaze between the two of them. "Hey, I haven't even agreed to this yet. This isn't a contest! I'm saying no!"

"May the best man win," Chris, ignoring her, grimly smiles. Determination sets his eyes and fear creases his mouth. What has he gotten himself into. He sticks his hand out firmly, offering a handshake.

"This isn't a presidential campaign, guys!" Ashley whines. Not like they ever listen to me anyway. She's the wallflower. Remember?

Matt decisively shakes Chris' hand back, "You're on."

And he picks up his tray and weaves his way effortlessly through the crowd to his table of endearing fans.

What just happened?

"Whoa," a familiar, Washington voice finally cuts in, clattering his tray next to Chris. "What happened here?"

Josh the mind reader strikes again.

"Don't ask," Chris and Ashley glare at him at the same time. Simultaneously. Now that takes skill. Ashley's adding that to the list of reasons why Chris is to die for. Minus the Prom King nonsense.

Josh grins – that infectious, all-knowing smile – and finally, smugly, says, "And you haven't banged each other yet?"

Josh.

Shut up.