A prom pickle

I found an incredible dress in December and worried more about someone else wearing the same outfit than about who would be my date. A few weeks after my clothing coup, I started to help plan the prom. I learned how to decorate on a budget, Googled "cheap flower arrangements," and organized our rainbow-colored candy bar. If careful planning and effort counted, I deserved a great time.

The prom only grew in importance when I sheepishly acknowledged that the February semiformal dance had been a dismal failure. My then-boyfriend had used the night to hit on other girls, and I burned with fury and betrayal when I saw him dirty dancing with someone else. Needless to say, that was our last date, and we began avoiding each other in the hallways at school.

I decided my dream prom date would be a college guy I had had a crush on at performing-arts camp the summer before. My nerves derailed my usual organized style and delayed me from actually asking him out. Yet, convinced that he would be the one, I had managed to ignore the fact that during prom weekend he would be taking finals at New York University.

Reality finally set in when, two weeks before the dance, Guy No. 1 rejected my invitation with mangled text-messaged lines from Gone With the Wind: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn about finals, but they beckon me to stay in the Big Apple."

Now anxiously finding myself dateless just before the prom, I chose the path of least resistance: I decided to ask someone from my junior class. I didn't think getting to yes would be a problem, since I am outgoing and generally well liked by guys.

I chose Guy No. 2, a friend who always makes me laugh. "Sorry, I would have loved to" -- but he had just asked his best friend's younger sister. Great, now a sophomore girl was going to my junior prom! I gloomily imagined myself putting the final touches on the flower arrangements at the Royal Sonesta the afternoon of the event and then trudging home in defeat.

Guy No. 3 was also amusing, though sometimes annoying, but I was in no position to be picky. "Umm, I'm going to be out of town prom weekend." Translation: He was afraid to tell me that he was taking my old best friend who had left our school two years earlier. Whose prom is this, I began to wonder, frustration churning in my stomach.

You don't need a high score on the math SAT to figure out that Guy No. 4 and Guy No. 5 turned me down. To add insult to injury, each had just asked a freshman.

A week before the prom, I stood in front of a glass case of photos of juniors in my school lobby, looking closely for any missed opportunity. I mentally crossed off each guy I had already asked or who I knew had a date. Miserably, I tried to come to terms with missing the prom after all.

Checking for privacy, I glanced surreptitiously at photos of the sophomore guys. At first I thought it wasn't cool to take a younger guy, but I knew other girls were doing it, and maybe I could, too. The photo of Peter leaped out at me, bringing with it memories of his humor and kindness. I remembered how we had joked around in choral practice. He once wore fluffy slippers to school, which he offered to me when I was wearing unfortunate shoes clearly chosen for fashion over comfort. Suddenly, I saw Peter in a different light. It wasn't obvious, but just maybe Guy No. 6 was a perfect fit for my prom date.

Six is definitely my lucky number. That's how many tries, on prom night, it took to pin on his boutonniere properly. After that, everything was easy. Peter couldn't have been a more attentive, thoughtful, sweet, and fun date. He knew that he wasn't the first person I had asked, but I'm glad he was the last. I'm planning to ask Peter to my senior prom, and soon.

Julia Berkowitz is a rising senior at Buckingham Browne & Nichols School in Cambridge. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.

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