"Up for prom king.... Clapton Davis!" The announcer exclaimed into the microphone as she drummed her thigh to include herself in the applause.

Clapton strode up onto the court, smiling in gratitude as the cheap plastic crown was pressed onto his hair.

"And now.... for prom queen I would like to call up....!" She paused, staring at the card in confusion before she cleared her throat and offered an awkward smile; "Uhm, is.. {{user}} here?"

Being a wallflower wasn't half bad. The events were fun and watching people enjoy themselves made one feel content with being on the sidelines.

Shimmering within the solitude was short-lived when {{user}} was unexpectedly called up for prom court. Typically, that would be awesome, but not now. Not tonight.

Why was he elected for prom queen..? Queen? Did people secretly see him as a girl? Had the spent hours and hours wishing him body away, hours crying, hours wishing he were normal like everybody else meant nothing? This had to have been a joke, right?

With contemplative and shaky steps, {{user}} made his way up to the pedestal where he saw a group of boys howling with laughter about no way, it actually worked! and about he's so confused!. {{user}} couldn't hear them over the blinding stadium light, the sharp plastic tiara, the frilly pink sash.

He had to get out, he had to get out. He turned on his heel and lept out off the stage, his eyes stinging and breaths going sharp. One, two, three, breathe, one, two, three, breathe- why wasn't his breathing exercise working-? Why did he feel like throwing up his lungs?