Page 133 of Spark

In a sudden fit of nerves, I brush my fingertips against my pocket, yet again ensuring I can feel the outline of the ring box there. When I do, I clear my throat and will the words to come out of my mouth, as I’ve practiced them, again and again. But, suddenly, I feel tongue-tied. Obviously, my excitement in this one-of-a-kind moment is getting the best of me.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Ruby calls out playfully. “I feel like I’ve waited half my life to hear this freaking poem!”

Everyone in the room bursts out laughing with her, but nobody more so than the handful of people with a full understanding of Ruby’s joke.

“You can’t rush a masterpiece,” Savage says. “Take your time, KC.”

He’s right. You definitely can’t rush a masterpiece.Or a marriageproposal.

“Spank, spank, spank!” C-Bomb begins chanting, and the mantra catches on like wildfire, until, soon, the whole place is energetically demanding my recitation like a mob going after a hunchback in a Disney movie.

“Okay, okay,” I yell, waving my hands to quiet everyone down. “The bard is ready to perform now. I just needed a second to gather my thoughts.”

“Quiet down, you animals!” Savage booms, and the crowd dutifully pipes down.

I return my gaze to Ruby’s sparkling eyes, and she unknowingly calms me down. “‘Spank,’” I manage to say. “A dramatic, erotic poem by Kendrick Cook.” After brushing my fingertips against the ring box one last time for good measure, I finally begin in earnest, “There once was a man from the South Side.”

A tidal wave of laughter and cheers slams into me—one that would surely drown out my voice, if I tried to continue speaking. Obviously, a classic limerick set-up for my “dramatic and erotic” masterpiece isn’t what anyone expected.

I wait for the noise to die down before starting again. And when the volume in the party simmers down enough for me to hear myself think, I start reciting the poem from the top, once again, this time determined not to stop till I’ve reached the end:

“There once was a man from the South Side

Who fell in love with a gem at first sight.”

Ruby makes an “aw” face that sends butterflies into my belly, and I flash her a broad, beaming smile in return. Emboldened, I continue:

“He couldn’t have her, he thought

So he spanked his monkey raw

And bided his time till he got her.”

The crowd roars its approval, apparently thinking my limerick called “Spank” is now over. But, baby, I’m just getting started.

“Once he got her, oh my

How the spanking intensified!

But not with his monkey

With her backside.”

Ruby giggles and blushes. But there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s now looking at me with the same kind of energy she had at Reed’s party, when I unexpectedly wailed her name instead of Shaynee’s, during my performance of Red Card Riot’s famous song. Again, I wait for the noise to die down a bit. And when it does, I forge ahead, determined to make Ruby my fiancée:

“Oh, how he spanked his ruby-red gem,

Till she screamed his name and came undone!

Till she turned his life upside down

Making him happier than a simple best friend

Until, lo, to a birthday bash he went

With a ring in his pocket and a prayer, heaven sent

That the question he’d devised to ask her tonight

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