Robyn Hoodie, the Virgin Diary - Chapter 28: Prom-Misses
Created | Updated Aug 17, 2024
Chapter 28: Prom-Misses
My teacher called me to congratulate me because I had scored 5.6 out of 10 for my History exam.
That'll do. The diploma only states whole numbers, so it is straight sixes all around. I even could have scored a 5.5 out of 10, so there was still a margin left. (I am not going to ask whether the rating system would have allowed for this margin or that the next lower score would have been 5.4 (fail!) because that would be too much effort, which is what I have been vigorously trying to avoid so far).
That leaves the graduation ball / Prom thing and the diploma ceremony. Oh, and still the stuff related to what I will be studying after this summer.
At least there is no issue in finding someones to take to the ball. Star and Portia have been on shopping sprees from the day they finished their last exams (they were confident that they had passed, even without confirmation over the phone). It now turns out that they had secretly taken my measurements while I was distracted and as soon as I confirmed my own graduation they came over to my house with a fancy tailcoat and all trimmings to match their dresses. Now I know how sardines must feel.
During the fitting process I did notice some trigger words in the chatter that hinted towards holiday arrangements, but when I tried to find out more they kept their collective mouths shut and just exchanged meaningful looks. Well, we'll see about that later. As long as they don't tie me to a palm tree on a Caribbean island it will probably be fine. (given certain boundary conditions, even that might be enjoyable).
To get to the Prom / Gala / Ball thing in style, the Twins had managed to persuade their father to borrow a Government motorcade with Secret Service escort. When I asked Robyn how she was planning to get there with her date, she told me that she would arrive by helicopter. She hasn't told me who her date was going to be. I wonder. We'll see on the day.
Given the transport arrangement, I was not going to pick up the girls from their ancestral home but they came over to pick me up instead, blocking our street in the process. Half the neighbourhood came out to watch. (the other, less law-abiding half probably stayed inside, scared away by the amount of blue flashing lights). Mr. Micelli came in first to see if everything was clear, straightening my bow-tie for me in the process. He murmured 'Sparrowhawk is coming in' into his lapel (How does he know?) as he escorted me to the dark armoured stretch limo, covering my back. Once inside I got the full hug treatment before settling into the comfy leather couch for the second bow-tie readjustment. Getting the limo to turn around in our dead-end street turned out to be a thing. We eventually managed. While covering the roughly 1200 metres to our school, we had a look at the special features panel next to the well-stocked minibar. It did contain the obligatory oil slick and smoke screen options, but strangely missed the missile launch, death ray and ejection seat options. Sitting back again, I saw a sheet of paper with the Prime Minister's notes and decided that I didn't want to get politically involved. There were some juicy details which would be devoured by the press if they ever came out, but I'll keep those to myself. For now.
When we were about halfway our pretty slow tour, I noticed we were overtaken by something making loud chopper sounds. Are we under attack? The noises did not come from the air. Looking out of the RPG-proof (not Role Playing Games, if you wondered) privacy glass, we could see Robyn cycling past, together with Joan. The chopper sound came from a large Bluetooth speaker in Robyn's bicycle basket and Joan had provided two metal signs stating 'Heli' and 'Copter', which she duct-taped to the frames of the two bikes, together with flashing coloured LED-strips. Well, that's ten point for creativity.
It took some time before we were able to get the motorcade parked and the area secured for our Grande Entrée. While parading to the door I noticed that my sister had managed to chalk a helipad on the playground tarmac, which now contained the two parked bikes. The speaker was still making idling jet engine noises to show that the helicopter was standing by for departure.
Looking back from the garishly decorated entrance of the school building, we saw a horse-drawn carriage in Cinderella style drop off Allana and Chris. She was even wearing the trademark transparent fibreglass slippers with extremely high and sharp-looking tungsten heels and was followed by a swarm of drone birds tweeting and chirping along. Chris didn't look particularly happy in his Prince Charming full plate armour though, as he came clanking up the red carpet. It didn't help when the teacher on door duty told him he should leave his two-handed Greatsword in the wardrobe because of OSHA regulations. (he was allowed to hold it for the obligatory mugshot on entry)
Once inside we met up with Curious Mary and her date Frank Steinmann, whom she referred to as a 'self-made man'. I believe her. He did look a bit of greyish-green around the extremities, but proved to be an accomplished dancer later on, lifting Mary off the ground with ease (and some blue electric sparkles around the joints, to be fair).
After the first waltz, the Ball defaulted to massive dance beats, dividing the crowd into a small number of actual dancers (including Star, Portia and myself), a large group of mostly boys filing out to go vaping and boozing and mostly girls taking selfies and ruthlessly rating prom dresses. You could pick out the ones who had been shopping online against the ones that actually went shopping in real life. The online dresses mostly didn't look as good when compared to the pictures. Some were dreadful (that says a lot, when it comes from someone with the dress sense of an inebriated porcupine, or so I'm told).
The teachers were doing their best to control the crowds, but given the ordeal of teaching us into graduate students they didn't seem to have that much energy to spare. Except for the Drama teacher, who is generally unaware of what stage of the academic year it is, and who joked around as always. (it is whispered that summer holiday takes him by surprise every single year, when he arrives at a closed door most times)
A large bell failed to announce midnight, so that Allana and Chris could safely keep waltzing, only slightly scratching the wooden auditorium floor with his metal spurs and her tungsten heels.
At one o'clock the ball was ended unceremoniously by playing Schlager music and turning on all the fluorescent lights, forcing some downward modifications to the earlier dress ratings.
We got out first by virtue of the Secret Service guys who had cordoned off our escape path to the limo. Apparently our parents had been in contact, because I saw that the bikes of Joan and Robyn were mounted on a bike rack at the back of the limo and that both girls joined us inside. (never knew that Government vehicles were required to have a tow bar, but come to think of it, how else would the Prime Minister go on holiday with his caravan). The presence of my sister did rob me of the opportunity to get much more intimate with my girlfriends in that limo. She partly made up for that by playing our favourite songs on her speaker at full blast and by helping me make some useful additions to the aforementioned Prime-Ministerial paperwork. (it felt a bit like making a wish list for Sinterklaas in the hope that you would get anything for real).
We annoyed the neighbourhood one more time by asking the driver to turn on the sirens when entering our street. When we finally arrived at our front door after extensive good-night kissing, Mr. Micelli came to me to shake my hand with an approving nod, leaving a silver business card with just a phone number in the palm of my hand. I put it in the inside pocket of my waistcoat and went inside to have some sleep.
