Absent (Katie Williams)

Everyone around me claps sarcastically. The lunch ladies sigh as I reload a fresh tray, but they don’t make me pay twice.
    When I slide my tray onto our table, the ponies stare at it.
    “Hungry?” one of them ventures.
    They share looks.
    “That’s brave,” another notes.
    “You trying for bulimia? Induce the urge to vomit?”
    “What do you mean?” I take up a forkful. “Looks good to me.”
    They watch me eat the tray’s contents with big eyes and repulsed mouths. But when I take the last bite of the last piece of cake, they start applauding, this time in earnest.
    No luck with rudeness. No luck with clothing. No luck with food. On the way to art class, I’m racking my brains for what reputation-killing move to try next when I literally run into my pony escort, which has halted in the art room doorway.
    “Oh, God, look,” one of them whispers.
    I peer over their shoulders and see Wes Nolan sitting at his table, sketching. “So what?” I say.
    “So his nose is practically touching the page.”
    “Page. Paige!” the other one squeals, hitting her friend. “Funny!”
    Both Usha and Harriet look over from where they stand at Mr. Fisk’s desk. “Shhhh!” the other pony says, managing to be even louder. “Do you think he you knows to it?”
    “Ew! Gross!” They begin jostling each other over the grossness of this.
    I look from one pony to the other. “I’m going to ask Wes Nolan to prom,” I announce. I wait for resistance from Kelsey, but this time, there’s nothing.
    The ponies, however, react. “You’re what?”
    “Asking Wes to prom.”
    “Right?” one says, eyes glittering. “He can give you a corsage of weeds from his backyard!”
    “And you can spend the dance outside watching him smoke pot!” adds the other.
    “But”—the first one makes a mock-sad face—“you’ll probably never live up to the memory of Paige Wheeler.”
    “No, seriously. I’m asking him.” I slide between them and up to Wes’s table, which yes, carries the slight scent of smoke. Wes looks up at the sound of my approach. I wait for him to grin and say something smart-ass, as usual, but he offers only a blank stare.
    “Hey,” I say.
    “Hey.” Still no grin, and I wonder what is wrong with him.
    Now that I’m here standing in front of him, my heart is clomping as loud as Kelsey’s stupid boots, even though it’s not me standing here. It’s Kelsey and Wes Nolan. Who cares?
    The thing is, I’ve never asked a boy to a dance.
    Or anywhere.
    “Wes?”
    “Yeah?”
    I take a breath and say, loud enough to carry, “Would you like to go to prom with me?”
    By the end of my question, the already quiet room holds not even a pencil scratch. I glance over my shoulder. Everyone is staring, including Mr. Fisk, who doesn’t even bother to tell me to get back to my seat. The ponies are gawping. Wes mumbles something.
    “Prom is kind of stupid, I know. And we don’t have to do the corsage thing,” I barrel on. “Or the dinner.”
    “I said no,” he repeats quietly, and I vaguely realize that he already said this a second ago, but I talked right over him.
    It seems like I’m standing there forever. “But I’m Kelsey Pope.”
    He nods. “You are.”
    “But, but . . . ,” I stammer, “I’m not joking. Did you think I was joking?”
    “Why would you be joking?”
    I put a hand to my face. My skin is hot. I can’t turn around and face all of those people staring at me, though a blush on Kelsey probably looks rosy and inviting, unlike the splotchy skin disease of my blushes.
    But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s not me who Wes said no to. It’s Kelsey. And, wasn’t this what I wanted? To embarrass Kelsey Pope? To ruin her? And then I realize, Wes saying no is way better than if he’d said yes.
    “Guess it was a long shot.” I smile. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll still be available.”
    “Um, sure.” Wes’s blank expression clouds with puzzlement. He drops his eyes to his sketchbook, leaving me to walk the entire length of the room back to the ponies.
    “What was that?” one of them asks. “Some kind of joke?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Yeah, right.” She nudges the other. “Who would want to go to prom with Wes Nolan?”
    “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe I would.”
    The ponies become suddenly and intently focused on their art projects. They’re the only ones, though. The rest of the class bubbles with whispers and glances. I smile around the room,