“Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention, please?”
Dr. Morrison was standing up on the stage with a microphone.
Dr. Morrison has been the principal at Westfield for twelve years. He’s a tall Black man in his late fifties with gray at his temples and reading glasses he always wears pushed up on top of his head. He used to be a math teacher. He still talks like one. Slow and precise. Like everything is a proof.
He looked out over the whole ballroom.
He took in the circle. The phones. Chad’s face. Noah standing next to me.
And me. In the green dress. Which I suddenly had never been more aware of wearing in my entire life.
Then he looked straight at us.
“Damien. Noah. Would you both please come up here?”
The crowd parted. Like the Red Sea.
“We’re in trouble,” I whispered.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Noah whispered back.
“Does that matter?”
Jada squeezed my hand.
“Walk like you planned this,” she said.
“I absolutely did not plan this.”
“Walk like you did anyway.”
So I walked.
Every single eye in that ballroom followed us. Noah walked right beside me. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t try to hold my hand.
I think he was waiting for me to decide if I wanted him to.
We climbed the little stairs at the side of the stage. My heels caught on the top step. Noah’s hand shot out to catch my elbow. Then he let go again.
From up on that stage, I could see everything.
Jada, right in the front row, with her arms folded across her gold dress like a bodyguard.
Chad, near the edge of the dance floor. His jaw tight.
Two hundred faces. All looking up at us.
Dr. Morrison waited until the whole room settled down. Until it was dead silent.
“Prom Court voting closed before tonight’s event began,” he said.
A murmur moved through the ballroom.
“The votes were counted by the student council and two faculty members during dinner,” he said. “This year’s Prom Court winners are…”
He paused. He looked at us.
“Damien and Noah.”
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.