Before I begin this, I’d like to thank Ashley Jackson and Steven DeVries, who ultimately gave me the idea for this. I hope they find that I’m totally not ripping off their ideas. But anyway, I hope they, and you, enjoy this piece of romantic humor.

David lived in GaGa City. At least, that’s what all his friends told him. 1069 Love Street, GaGa City, in the State of Distraction. David had no idea what they were talking about. He wasn’t too keen on geography, but he fancied he knew enough to know there weren’t any states in the US named “Distraction”. Anyway, he had always thought that he was from Missouri.

Of course, geography really didn’t matter. There were only two locations in the world that mattered: The House of Miranda, and Miranda’s School. Technically, this was also the school David attended, but his friends would argue that he didn’t so much attend there, as be there in bodily form, like a zombie or possessed person who’s spirit is far away. And, naturally, Miranda was his necromancer.

Miranda was a goddess in human form. She had flowing brown hair that, every time it swished through the air, it took away David’s breath. Her eyes were like looking deep into the horizon, bright blue and serenely beautiful. Her lips had kissed roses, and her smile shattered David’s mind every time he caught a glimpse of it. She had a body – well, he wasn’t going to go there. It was too pure, too virtuous to describe.

For some time, David had viewed Miranda from afar, watching her and her attendants walking through the hallways, staring at the beautiful back of her head when they shared classes, all while writing her lovely name in his notebook in his best cursive, enshrining her name with pencil and ink.

When he was home, he wrote poetry, played his guitar, desiring so much to be her minstrel or to be the Orpheus to her Eurydice. If he had to go into the underworld to retrieve Miranda, he would probably fail even worse than that famous poet, not because of his mistrust for Hades, but because he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye off of the beautiful Miranda for even a moment. He had written an entire album of songs for her, but he wasn’t ready to unveil them yet. They must be perfect for his goddess Miranda.

The worst time of the year was summer. That was the only time he didn’t see Miranda on a consistent basis. Sometimes, he would sit in his room for days at a time, agonizing and despairing over the possibility that he might never see her again, because he would have died of starvation from her presence. The best time was the spring, when he had basked in her for so long that he was almost brave enough to ask her out. Not that he had any idea what he would do if she said yes.

However, he had made a deal with himself. He was going to ask her. For Homecoming. Girls couldn’t say no if you asked them out to Homecoming, right? He asked his best friend Alvin about it shortly after school began again.

“If you’re talking about Miranda again, you’ve never even spoken to her!” he said. “I doubt she knows you exist!”

A typical response from the unbeliever. Not that David hated his friend, or thought his friend worth any less for it; his was a message of love.

By the end of September he had picked out a date to ask Miranda. On Fridays, there was a small window of opportunity when, after Miranda’s English Class, she would go to The Locker of Miranda and exchange her books for the next class. None of the Priestesses of Miranda would be there, and he could ask her in total privacy.

Finally, after weeks of talking to himself in his room and reciting notecards on what he would say in front of the mirror, the day arrived. His heart ran faster than a loose chainsaw and those people who loosed it as he watched the clocks in each class tick slowly on. Could time really slow down this much?

But time couldn’t stop, it could only slow down. And, at last, the glorious moment revealed itself. Ten fifty, and the bell rang. David was out of the door, hurrying toward The Locker of Miranda, before reminding himself that he needed to play this cool. He needed his sunglasses. It was a pity that he had forgotten them in his rush to get out the door that morning. He also couldn’t get there before she did – that would be disastrous.

Fortunately, he arrived on time, turning the corner to see her standing before The Locker of Miranda, holding Miranda’s Books, concentrating on opening The Locker. The Locker of Miranda was blue, like most of the other, more common lockers, but it itself was no ordinary locker. It was The Locker of Miranda, and its blue was to the other lockers as marble is to that ugly brown color found in apartment wallpaper.

David approached The Locker of Miranda, unnoticed so far by her Grace, Miranda herself. He was able to get into just the right position, before speaking to grab her attention.

“Hey, Miranda,” he said, carefully reciting the weeks of notecards in front of the bathroom mirror, displaying the face of confidence he had practiced over years for when he would finally speak to her. Now she would turn and, oh, it was beautiful! Her hair swished back over her shoulder as her head turned, her blue eyes making contact with his own, reaching down into his soul and vaporizing any trace of anything we was planning to say next.

His mind went blank in an instant, the pure glory of Miranda’s beauty quickly filling the vacuum and leaving no room for the long-practiced notecards from the bathroom. His heart did a flip – not one of those cool flips one sees freerunners doing, but rather a flip done by a fat kid trying to imitate them in his backyard – before sinking down into his stomach, bringing his jaw down with it.

“Oh, hey,” replied Miranda with a sweet voice that would have made Orpheus jealous. “David, right-”

“Doyawannagotahomecomingwithme?” he blurted out, cutting short the divine Words of Miranda. As soon as they were out of his mouth, he regretted them, and he closed his eyes in contortion and turned, slamming his head into the nearest locker.

“What?” the gentle Voice of Miranda wavered, its divine Mistress unsure of what was happening.

David tried again, more slowly, and more painfully this time.

“Would you like to go to Homecoming with me?”

“Oh.” Her Voice was like pure water cascading over smooth stones. “Oh.”

He stood, waiting for her sentence.

“I don’t know you,” she said. “You’ve always been that kid who never talks and always sits in the back. I’d be more willing to, but I don’t know anything about you.”

She gave him a compassionate look, and then returned to The Books of Miranda, before closing The Locker of Miranda and walking away. David watched her go, his heart melted by her last look, and broken in two by Miranda’s Words. He vaguely heard footsteps behind him.

“Well, I’m impressed!” said Al, putting an arm around David. “You finally asked her out. Don’t worry about this – you still have Valentine’s Day!”


4 thoughts on “Miranda

  1. Ashley says:


    I’m seriously rolling over here. I saw House of Miranda and nearly died. What makes it even better is that one of my best friends name is Miranda. XD

  2. Rob says:

    That would be so hilarious if it weren’t so true (but only in my memory). Reminds me of some of my most humiliating moments of high school

    • Ashley says:

      My rejection was in 7th grade, and you guys know part of it. The first story I ever brought in to KWC was based on my humiliation experiences. Haven’t asked a guy out since, lol.

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