The Most Popular Boy in School Asked My Daughter to Prom – Then He Walked Over to Me During the Slow Dance and Said, ‘I Did My Part, Now You Do Yours’
The prom was in the high school gym, dressed up as best a small-town budget could manage. Parents lined the walls, pretending not to hover. Teachers smiled too hard. The DJ was doing his best.
I stayed because Elsie asked me to.
Some old, bruised part of me thought: maybe this is where the story turns.
For the first hour, everything looked good.
Mason held her hand and got her punch. He bent down when she spoke, listening like every word mattered.
Once, I saw Elsie laugh without covering her mouth, and I had to look away before I embarrassed her by crying in public.
Then, the slow song started.
For the first hour, everything looked good.
Mason led Elsie out with one hand at her waist. She looked nervous, but pleased.
Then Mason leaned down and said something near her ear. Elsie stiffened. He said something else. She pulled back and stared at him.
Then she yanked her hand out of his.
She spun away from him and marched straight to me.
Her face was red and blotchy. Her eyes already spilling over.
My stomach dropped. “Elsie? What happened?”
She yanked her hand out of his.
She stopped a few feet from me, breathing hard.
“How could you?” she said.
I froze. “What?”
“You paid him, didn’t you?” Her voice cracked so loudly that conversations nearby cut off in the middle. “You felt sorry for me, so you got Mason to pretend he liked me.”
People turned to stare at us. I felt all the blood leave my face.
“No,” I said. It came out thin and useless. “Baby, no. I swear to you, I didn’t.”
“You paid him, didn’t you?”
Her mouth trembled. “Then why would he say that?”
I reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Elsie, listen to me.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was shaking so hard it barely sounded like her. “Just don’t.”
She turned on her heel and walked away. I was about to follow her, but then Mason appeared at my side.
For one wild second, I thought he was going to apologize.
She turned on her heel and walked away.
Instead, he said, low enough that only I could hear, “I held up my end of the deal. Now it’s your turn.”
I stared at him. “What deal?”
His jaw tightened. He glanced toward Elsie, then toward the hallway by the stage. “Don’t make a scene. Come with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
But he had already turned.
I should have called for the principal right then, or dragged him back into the middle of that gym and demanded an explanation in front of everyone.
Instead, I followed him.
“Don’t make a scene. Come with me.”
