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((Ramona Shirley: Pre-Game Start))

As she stumbled out of bed that morning, bleary-eyed and tired, Ramona heard the trademark ding of her phone. Going over to check it, Ramona feared the worst. Someone on the basketball team got injured? Last-minute adjustments to the play? Another link to a list of the most profitable college majors from her dad? Ramona would've loved to be more hopeful, but experience dictated that when she got a text at 6 in the morning, it probably was not to tell her that she had made the starting lineup.

As she read over the text while eating her cereal, Ramona instead discovered something far worse.

"SHIT," she exclaimed, praying that no one could hear her.

Well, whoopee. It turned out that Jonathan Macmillan couldn't come to that pumpkin dance thing after all, leaving a short Sorry, a family thing came up, wanna talk later? Ramona sighed as she looked over the entirety of the text, scrolling with her finger. Of course, something had to come up. Not that Ramona was angry, because if Ramona got angry, that definitely meant shit was going down. It still stung, though. Her momma didn't raise Ramona to be no delicate flower, but it still hurt, even if it was just a tiny bit. She'd move on, like she always had, but it still would've been nice to have someone with her.

She was still going anyways, so who cared?

Well, it turned out that other people cared, as Ramona discovered while standing in line to get tickets for the dance at lunch. Endless questions about dates turned into torture for Ramona, who ended up just smiling politely at people when they began to ask yet again if she was going to the dance with anyone. Was it that big a deal to be going alone? Really, it was a tiny dance to help fund extra chairs for the cafeteria, it wasn't as if it was prom.

Of course Ramona was still into that whole school spirit thing, but she wondered if that had been a poor life decision as she continued to wait in line. Seriously, who knew people were so enthusiastic about a "Pumpkin Festival Dance"? Not Ramona, that was for sure.

Finally, Ramona made it to the front of the line, carefully adjusting her hair to make sure it was all in place.

"One ticket, please," Ramona said, while her eyes flickered with recognition at the guy manning the table, looking as if he would rather be any place other than here. B....Brandon, wasn't it? Brandon Baxter? Football guy, jokester, but it seemed for now as if all life had been drained out of him, as he lifelessly shook the mug.

Ramona scrunched her face up. "Wait, you're Brandon, right? Brandon Baxter? On the football team?" Always best to be polite, and Ramona was as always, interested in making some small talk.

"You doing okay? Because it sure doesn't look that way," Ramona said, full of concern. While Ramona would hesitate to call herself nosy, she definitely would agree that she loved to involve herself in other people's situations, and perhaps help them. Like Oprah or something, but without the T.V. show. That probably was the most elusive part, actually.
Edited by Somersault, Feb 15 2017, 01:19 PM.
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Torn Jeans and Prom Queens · P.J. Hobbs Senior High School
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