Enchilada Ed

22

Ed hadn't expected his Monday at school to be any different than usual. #EnchiladaEd, the (by that next morning) 204k Instagram followers, the WBNZ interview were all, in Ed's mind, the products of a black-hole weekend: gaping and angry and completely inaccessible to the weekday morning after.

As Ed soon realized, this was not, in fact, the way internet fame worked.

When he parked his Malibu in his usual spot in the commons building's lot, and trudged across the lawn to the humanities center for his English class, he was met by a crowd of fifteen or so underclassmen he didn't know, each holding a smart phone, snapping pictures. Ed hadn't combed his bedhead; he wore the sweatpants he had fallen asleep in. He thought he must have looked terrible.

"I'll go to prom with you, Ed!" One particularly ballsy girl shouted.

Ed walked a little faster than he had before. Once inside the humanities center, he was recognized in the hallway and on the stairwell and by his locker. For one of the few times since he was a freshman, Ed became aware of the sheer enormity of his school and the vast number of eyes staring at him. He felt like peeling off his skin and vanishing into the walls. When he snuck into his English class, Ed hoped things would quiet. The kids in the AP classes had known him for basically forever. They would certainly see how ridiculous- and undeserved- this fame was.

Ed slunk into his assigned seat, still next to Audra, who stared intently at her notebook. They hadn't as much as looked at each other for two weeks, but for all that time, he had been the one avoiding eye contact. Something had changed. Ed noticed the balloons dangling from her earlobes and felt his stomach turn. He tried not to think of his promposal. He flashed over other memories: a trip to Longwood gardens when his parents were still together; a spinning swing ride at the summer fair; a skiing competition he won last winter; Audra laughing at the bowling alley; the first time he jumped off the diving board at the township community center and scraped his knee on the cement pool floor; a garden gnome Mike gave him to keep away the monsters from under his bed; the balloon promposal, the balloon promposal, the balloon promposal...

"Did you hear me?" said a voice from behind Ed.

"What?" Ed looked over his shoulder. He saw Jorge DeJesus, linebacker on the football team.

"I just said you're famous, bro," Jorge leaned forward, "like, maybe you'll end up on Ellen or something."

"Yeah." It was apparent to Ed that most of the second row and half of the third listened to their conversation.

"Who are you going to prom with?" a nosy girl named Courtney interjected.

"I-" Ed began.

"Okay, that's enough," Miss Larsen appeared in front of the chalkboard. "We've got to get through Vaughan if we're ever going to end this unit."

Ed exhaled.

"But I have so many questions," Courtney slapped her hand on her desktop. "I won't be able to focus until I get them answered!"

The classroom clamored in agreement.

"Wouldn't you rather we finish the metaphysicals?" Miss Larsen asked, somewhat optimistically, "We might even have time to start the romantics for the last part of class? Huh? Lord Byron anybody? She Walks in Beauty?"

Ed nodded so vigorously he almost made himself dizzy.

"I got like two questions myself," Jorge lifted his left index finger, "Just two questions."

Ed set his head onto his desk. On most days, he wouldn't fault Jorge for hoping to sidetrack Miss Larsen. Ed just didn't want it to happen at his own expense.