It was understandable. Quarter exams had just ended, college acceptance letters were going out, and people were making plans to move on with their life. Prom was on the way. So was graduation. Everything was progressing so quickly, but ironically enough Zachary felt stagnated by all the new activity. There was so much to be done--but where to start? So much deserved his attention, he felt, that he fell short on the one thing that truly needed him, and that was his girlfriend.

It was still weird to think that he was dating Tate, Tate from math class, Tate who always got that little gleam in her eye when she was thinking of something far-off and romantic. Sadly, Zachary wasn't much of a romantic, but he did care for her in his own little way. Sadly, that came down to calling her every couple of days in between homework and lacrosse practice and DCPS patrolling to make sure she was okay. He thought about sending her flowers once, but it occurred to him that he didn't know if she was one of those girls who loved roses or hated them, so the sentiment was nipped in the bud. He might have noticed that Tate seemed distant, if only he could have noticed that he seemed distant himself. Whether or not he realized it, there was a lot on his mind.

Nevertheless, it occurred to him one late spring day that he should do something special for Tate, something to reconnect and a way to feel out if she was up for going to prom. It had never been much of a thing for him, but he knew that Tate would want to go, and that it would be up to him to make the move. So, doing what he felt would be mysterious and suave, he sent the girl a text that said, "Shufflepucks @ 7. My treat.", mostly because Shufflepucks was a familiar place for them, somewhere the both of them could relax.

He sat at the same booth from before, fidgeting with the collar of his maroon shirt. The boy smelled like a recent shave, his hair actually brushed, and a small bouquet of wildflowers sat neatly next to him, a paltry gift but the best token of affection he could provide on no salary. He rapped his knuckles against the table anxiously, half worried that she wouldn't show, and half worried that she would. What was he supposed to do? What was he allowed to do? It had been a while--were nicknames allowed? Under a furrowed gaze, he contemplated the cute levels of calling his girlfriend 'Tater Tot', but ultimately decided against it. If she wanted a pet name, she would let him know, right...? Right.