Buster became an impressive senior at our high school. He was member of the football team. He joined the band. He became editor of the school newspaper. 

He was popular with the kids, as well as some of the teachers. But he was still the mayor’s nemesis. 

This really presented a problem for Buster. You see, he started dating Rosie. But they had to keep it on the sly. 

Normal dates were covered up. She would say she was attending functions by herself or with a girlfriend. Then she’d spend the evening with Buster. 

But prom season was its own beast. Prom had customs. 

For example, the girl’s date picks her up at her house. She’s given a corsage. The parents take pictures of the young couple. 

This would be impossible for Buster and Rosie. Her father would have had a heart attack if he knew she was going to prom with Buster. 

Buster finally came to me and said, “You know… 

“We could pretend to take each other’s girlfriend to prom. Then we can switch dates at the gym. I don’t think Rosie’s dad hates you like he hates me.”

I couldn’t refuse the request after the favors he had done for me over the years. I agreed, and the girls did too.

Rosie made sure her father only mildly disliked me.

“Isn’t he a friend of that Buster kid?” the mayor grumbled to Rosie. 

Rosie assured him that Buster and I had grown apart during high school and rarely spoke.

The kids in the school knew the two of us were inseparable, but that information was kept among the students. Nobody said a word.

None of us had a car. Luckily, my real date’s father, Mr. Chingall, had a six-year-old model A. It ran quite well. 

He agreed to chauffeur us to the prom and back. Buster and I each chipped in a dime for gas.

Both Buster and I did extra chores so we could come up with enough money to get corsages from the florist. The cost for a corsage was over one dollar. 

There were no inexpensive flowers in our little town. I had to save every penny I made.

I even borrowed a quarter from my folks to afford the corsage for Becky.

Buster had to give it to Becky at her house. I had to give Rosie her corsage at the mayor’s home.

It was an easy plan that should never have gone wrong. 

After getting out of the car and walking to the gymnasium, we looked back to make sure Mr. Chingall had left. When we were sure he was gone, we switched dates. 

We entered the dance and felt very proud of our accomplishment.

The feeling lasted most of the evening as we enjoyed the dance. 

The local band played top hits from the ’20s and ’30s. Everything worked out fine until the coronation.

One aspect we had not considered in our elaborate scam was when the ballots were read. Buster and Rosie were crowned as king and queen of the prom.

That might have been OK, except for the picture.

The photographer for the local paper snapped a picture of prom king and queen for the front page. 

The four of us knew there would be hell to pay the next day. It was hard for Rosie to even smile. 

Buster had that lost look I’d seen a couple of years before in the telephone booth.

Their dance that followed was both touching and ominous, like watching a dark storm cloud and knowing you could do nothing to keep it from coming.