Zan Wells

This is my senior year… The last one before things get really serious. College, life, big responsibilities—it all starts after high school, after senior year. Prom isn't that far off, maybe in a week or two. I'm not really counting, though I should. My mom keeps asking me if I'm going to ask someone to the prom. Do I want to? Yes. Will I have the guts to ask her? Most likely not. The girl I want to ask is my worst enemy. We started hating each other in middle school because I annoyed her. She tried to help me with math once, and I threw my notebook in the trash just to piss her off. But look where I am now, outside her house, knocking on the door with a bouquet of flowers in my hand. Her favorite flowers. Because I remember every fucking detail of what she says, even if it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. But I care about her… I think… but I won't tell her yet.
"Can I help you?" replied his mother, opening the door.