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:Ah! It's good to be back!

Hope you all didn't miss me too much. So glad to get back into writing this!

Enjoy!

Chapter Five

Pidgeys, Rampage and an Outlandish Mike

"It was like -," Ashley cringes mid sentence, making an incredibly unappealing and very unladylike face. The kind that your parents' cameras catch just as you're about to sneeze. And then they post the photo on facebook. And tag you. Scarred for life."Like wearing the ripped skin of a rainbow unicorn that had just crashed into a Skittles factory. On steroids."

She convulses. The scratchy, slimy fabric of the prom dress still ghosts along her skin. She shivers, trying to itch the feeling away. There was a reason Ashley had stopped letting her Mom choosing clothing for her as soon as she'd turned nine.

Clack! The gum snaps in the assistant librarian's mouth as he chews down on it again. And again. Clack clack clack. To the blasting beat of the old school Nirvana pounding through his electric blue headphones. Boom boom boom. Clack clack clack.

Ashley sighs bitterly, thumbs biting into the plastic cover of the book she's holding. Lovely.

He slides further into his leather, swivel chair – squeaak – and throws his dirty, conversed feet onto the counter. Completely oblivious to her existence.

"Well," Ashley exhales, reaching for the date stamp and stamping her own library card. Somebody should pay me for this. "I'll just take this then," she slides away from him, the book in hand and her ego very much falling apart. Like life had just picked up a cheese grater and shredded the hell out of it. Not that she'd had much of an ego to begin with.

You'd think you'd have to be Harry Potter with a cloak passed down from his father to be invisible in a library. Turns out you can be an Ashley too.

"I thought I'd find you here," a rumble of a voice smiles beside her ear.

Ashley yelps, jerking away sharply, her book flying victoriously out of her palms. It does that triumphant, flapping thing with its pages before cracking its spine against the floor.

She glares at it in shock. And then at her palms, as if they just killed somebody.

Okay, nobody attacks her books. Nobody hurts books in general. It's a basic literature right. She's pretty sure it's in the United States of America's Constitution.

Ashley seethes. The only thing that will stop her from slapping this attacker is if he has a conveniently styled blonde faux hawk, stylish back rimmed glasses and an impossibly handsome grin.

Ashley snaps her eyes to him.

Nope. Just Matt.

"Ow," Matt winces as her palm connects with his cheek, just as he ducks to pick up the fallen book. "What was that for?"

"Oh, you know," Ashley stares at him pointedly. "Just protecting the endangered species of the undamaged book." You go girl! Kill 'em with sarcasm!

Matt, still crouched on the floor, just narrows his eyes up at her, amused, as if she's some undiscovered creature – probably some tiny insect or one of those squidgy, fanged, deep sea creatures that no one wants to look at – that he's about to uncover. And she can't tell if he wants to catch her and squish her under a microscope for scientific testing. Or set up a 'SAVE THE ASHLEY' campaign, complete with posters, website and incredibly overused, dare-you-not-to-cry, TV ads.

Either way, both options sound terribly unappealing. Not to mention uncomfortable. Netflix and popcorn any day, please.

"You're weird," he simply chuckles, picking up the book and bouncing it in his palm as he straightens his legs to tower over her again. Stop showing off. With great six foot one million inches comes great responsibilities. Like reaching the super cheap and super tasty chocolate from the top shelf at a supermarket.

"Thanks. I try," Ashley sarcastically mutters under her breath as Matt's eyes skim the obviously-foreign-to-him book cover and Ashley tries to determine whether it would be socially acceptable to slap him with it.

It's not that she hates Matt. He's kind of impossible to hate – although being irritated by him is highly plausible. He has this effortless way of making her feel acknowledged and isolated at the same time. Like the way he always purposefully looks at people when they're talking – that there's no doubt he's fully committed to listening to what they have to say. Cough cough. Hint hint Mr. Librarian Assistant.

But that's the thing. Everybody likes him. He's popular. It kind of comes with the jock thing.

And Ashley? She's really just... not.

It's never more obvious than when she's with him. The invisible 5ft 1 and ¾ girl.

"Top tips," Matt mouths out the title slowly like he's never seen a book before. He's probably never even seen a library before. 'So this is what a library looks like!' "On how to deal with prom."

He glances up at her then, trying not-very-hard to stop himself from laughing. And then he does that irritating quirk thing with his eyebrow. A question in itself.

"Yeah, well..." Ashley stumbles over her words – embarrassment running her sarcasm dry – before settling with just snatching the book out of his hands and pushing past him.

Matt's feet spark into a skip as he catches up to fall in step with her. "Does this mean," his eyes sparkle teasingly as Ashley steps out into the school corridor and the swell of students, "You're actually going to go to prom?"

Ashley scoffs. "No," she glares at him, catching that borderline-arrogant look on his face when he think he's achieved something. "Don't look so smug. I'm just borrowing it to," she groans unenthusiastically, rolling her eyes as students tumble past her to reach their lockers, "Prepare myself."

And just like that, like fate – or it's far more evil cousin – had planned it, the perfect exhibit of what Ashley was dreading stumbles right across their path.

Emily, who could easily have steam billowing out of her ears any second now, tugs on a smouldering Mike's arm. He might as well be auditioning for an Old Spice commercial with the way he's casually leaning against his locker. You know, minus the shirtlessness.

Ashley grimaces. Please. No one wants to see that.

Though judging by the crowd this is gathering, mainly consisting of frothing, under aged girls, that might not entirely be true.

Ew.

Emily, that smug look tugging at her lips – the one she always gets when she knows she's got the most popular guy in school – brushes away all eyes pinned on her and bluntly says, "Let's go to Prom, dumbass."

Ashley's pretty sure she just audibly groaned. If the sound wasn't clue enough, the rude looks shooting in her direction is a pretty clear sign. Ashley smiles sheepishly, bowing away.

Matt shifts beside her. Ashley can't tell if it's a reaction to her or to the couple in front of them.

Promposals. They're literally popping up everywhere like Pidgeys on Pokemon Go. If Ashley hears another high pitched shriek along these school corridors, she might have to admit herself to A&E for a burst eardrum.

"Oh. Em. Geeeee!" Mike suddenly squeals, fanning himself like a crazed, hyper schoolgirl. Mike is evidently acutely aware of his audience. "I thought you'd never ask!"

Okay. She blinks. That was a shriek Ashley wasn't expecting.

Matt groans beside her. If she hadn't looked at his face then and seen the amused smile on it, she would have thought Matt had some kind of vendetta against the famous Michael Munroe.

Mike grunts as Emily elbows him in the stomach. "Alright, alright," he breathes, winded, holding his stomach dramatically. "Whatever you say."

But before Ashley can hear Emily's response – not that she's even bothered – Matt suddenly spins in front of her and catches her by the forearms. Something has spurred him on like a mento dropped into coca-cola.

"Ash," he looks into her with those attentive eyes of his. He's crowded by people, swelling congregations blurred behind him. But she can't help but look back at him.

She makes a face. She wants to bat him away, whether by force or with sarcasm. 'Hey. You're blocking my view of Mike's ass'.But there's something programmed about Matt's face which makes it really hard to hurt him.

And even if she wanted to, she can't. When Matt wants her attention, he somehow always knows how to get it. Seriously, who tipped him off? She's guessing the Secret Services.

What? She has connections.

Matt looks at her. Ashley grimaces back, screwing up her nose. His fingers grip onto her arms just a little bit tighter and he says, like he's the most confident person in the world, "Go to prom with me."