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Description
If Leroy Pangle was a book, he'd be that crumpled, beat up paper-back in the forgotten corner of the classroom shelf. It wasn't to say no one knew that corner of the shelf existed; everyone in the classroom always knew about that one book laying alone there. It was for that reason, however, that whenever the teacher told them of the next assignment, the students' in one in a panicked madness would dash to the shelf, shoving people out of the way, as if the books were the last food reserves on Earth, and the last reserve was full of garlic. Of course, it was Leroy Pangle who always got there last and sure enough that book was waiting for him. Its spine was starting to peel and the print too faded to see next to the yellowed pages, and as Leroy picked it up, he felt the rest of the classroom quietly laughing, thinking to themselves, "Even the books he touches have problems."

He sighed, starting to strut back to his seat, when David stuck out his foot, tripping him. He crashed to the ground with a hard thud and this time the class burst out in laughter. Leroy scrambled back to his seat, noticing Tate whispering to the girl who sat next to her. The other girl seemed a worried, shaking her head. Tate smirked and purposely dropped her favorite glitter pen. It rolled its way right under Leroy's desk.

Leroy hunched his back, reaching for the pen from under his desk, and glanced at the love of his life. With wide eyes the color of the incoming tide and nappy red hair, she was just as darling as her name suggested. His hands trembled, a miniature tsunami swirling in his blood stream as he handed Tate back her pink glitter gel pen.

"P-prom is comin' soon," he stuttered as he tried to start up simple conversation.

"Yep," she said, snatching her pen back. Leroy held an embarrassed but hopeful glance,
like a Labrador retriever waiting to play fetch.

"Who are you going with?" She asked, still grinning.

"Uh," Leroy uttered. He tried several moments to let the words "will you come with me" out of his mouth, but instead, he stammered, "S-sorry. Can't go," and rushed into the restroom.

When Leroy got home, he dropped his book-bag in the middle of his bedroom floor and tore up the gold lettered prom invitation once meant for Tate.

"Not like it mattered anyway, of course she'd go for football-brained David Drew," he mumbled to himself, as the pieces fell into the trash bin. "Besides, I had other things planned."

Sighing, he turned to his book shelf. It was the only interesting part about his room, mainly because any moment, one of the shelves was bound to buckle over, like a dam opening its flood gates and force the books to flood his small bedroom floor.

"Maybe I should take some of my favorites out and put them on my desk, that way they won't get damaged if the bookshelf caves," Leroy said, stepping towards the bookshelf.

Leroy's hands instantly picked up Inkheart. Over the course of the nine years he had this book, he couldn't recall how many times he had read it. It was the first American hardback edition, still in mint condition and probably worth a good amount on Ebay, but Leroy had never checked. He never felt the need to sell it.
He smiled a bit, cracking open Inkheart for a quick moment, reading the page he happened to open it to. The expression on his face reflected a small child peeping out of the hallway, giddy from looking at all the presents under the Christmas tree. Instead of wonder, endearment filled his face. His lips twisted into a tilted smile as he revisited the world that he felt comfortable in. He treasured the few moments he was able to escape his own world for a while, and pretend it was possible to live inside another story's spine.

"If only," Leroy said, walking to his desk when he tripped over his backpack, causing all his binders and school books to spill out and slide against the beige carpet.

"Darn it," Leroy sighed, setting his book down on the desk and quickly scooping his papers up and shoving them into random binders and throwing them on his bed. Under all the papers, pencils, and binders, laid the worn out book of Oliver Twist, that forgotten book in the shelf corner. The front cover was now only attached to the book only by an inch.
Leroy bit the side of his cheek, scrambling around his room to find any sort of tape. On the bottom drawer he found some, and then started to carefully tape the cover back to the rest of the book. He looked at the weak spine of the book, and then how secure the front of the book was to it. Leroy started to tape the rest of the spine and lose front pages and a roll of tape later, the book was just as strong as the other books, and the words could still be seen if you looked hard enough.

Leroy opened up the pages of the book, reading each page slowly and with care, focusing on the story, in a daze until he heard the doorbell ring. He sat the book down, and walked to the front door. He opened it.

"Hey," Marge said, twirling her peanut brittle hair between her fingers, "I saw what happened in English class."

"Oh, well," Leroy shrugged, "It's okay, I mean...the book is fixed now."

"What? Wait, you were the one that Tate was talking about? Leroy right?" she asked.

"That's me," he said, a dumb smirk appearing on his face, "I'm Leroy."

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I mean, I don't think that your face would be better off
if you glued that book to your face, and I don't think you're a spineless freak either. You're just, soft-spoken."

Leroy's face grew pink, then pale, "O-oh. Thanks."

"So, um, I came to just sorta," Marge looked up at the sky, "Well, I dunno."

"What?" Leroy asked, defeated.

"Well, I personally hate dances or anything that involves me in dresses," she started, "but I know that on prom night, that new Marvel movie comes out at midnight."

Leroy's eyes opened a little wider, and he blushed. "How did you know I wanted to see that movie?"

Marge laughed, "I didn't. I was just hoping you were as much as a geek as I was."

"Whoa, really?" Leroy smiled for a moment, but then fumbled, "I mean, you don't look like a geek or anything."

"It's fine. I am a geek. No shame being someone you're not. Anyways, want my extra ticket?" she asked.

Leroy's stomach felt as if it had been filled with sharp rocks, cutting him from the inside out. He knew that he wanted to say yes, but he couldn't even nod his head. He just looked at her as he awkwardly bit his lip.

Marge shook her head, "Alright, maybe you are a little spineless. Here's your ticket. I'll see you at the front of the movie theater at a quarter to twelve."

Leroy watched her leave, getting back into her burgundy, beat-up truck. Leroy blinked, and looked at the movie ticket. He thought about what Tate had apparently said earlier, and then recalled all the times David had always knocked him around and mocked him. It became clear that he wasn't that type of person, the one most people his age are or like, but that was okay. As Marge drove off out of the driveway and back into town, Leroy shook his head.

"Yes, I'll go," he sighed, "Marge, I'm sorry I didn't ask you."

Description
If Leroy Pangle was a book, he'd be that crumpled, beat up paper-back in the forgotten corner of the classroom shelf. It wasn't to say no one knew that corner of the shelf existed; everyone in the classroom always knew about that one book laying alone there. It was for that reason, however, that whenever the teacher told them of the next assignment, the students' in one in a panicked madness would dash to the shelf, shoving people out of the way, as if the books were the last food reserves on Earth, and the last reserve was full of garlic. Of course, it was Leroy Pangle who always got there last and sure enough that book was waiting for him. Its spine was starting to peel and the print too faded to see next to the yellowed pages, and as Leroy picked it up, he felt the rest of the classroom quietly laughing, thinking to themselves, "Even the books he touches have problems."

He sighed, starting to strut back to his seat, when David stuck out his foot, tripping him. He crashed to the ground with a hard thud and this time the class burst out in laughter. Leroy scrambled back to his seat, noticing Tate whispering to the girl who sat next to her. The other girl seemed a worried, shaking her head. Tate smirked and purposely dropped her favorite glitter pen. It rolled its way right under Leroy's desk.

Leroy hunched his back, reaching for the pen from under his desk, and glanced at the love of his life. With wide eyes the color of the incoming tide and nappy red hair, she was just as darling as her name suggested. His hands trembled, a miniature tsunami swirling in his blood stream as he handed Tate back her pink glitter gel pen.

"P-prom is comin' soon," he stuttered as he tried to start up simple conversation.

"Yep," she said, snatching her pen back. Leroy held an embarrassed but hopeful glance,
like a Labrador retriever waiting to play fetch.

"Who are you going with?" She asked, still grinning.

"Uh," Leroy uttered. He tried several moments to let the words "will you come with me" out of his mouth, but instead, he stammered, "S-sorry. Can't go," and rushed into the restroom.

When Leroy got home, he dropped his book-bag in the middle of his bedroom floor and tore up the gold lettered prom invitation once meant for Tate.

"Not like it mattered anyway, of course she'd go for football-brained David Drew," he mumbled to himself, as the pieces fell into the trash bin. "Besides, I had other things planned."

Sighing, he turned to his book shelf. It was the only interesting part about his room, mainly because any moment, one of the shelves was bound to buckle over, like a dam opening its flood gates and force the books to flood his small bedroom floor.

"Maybe I should take some of my favorites out and put them on my desk, that way they won't get damaged if the bookshelf caves," Leroy said, stepping towards the bookshelf.

Leroy's hands instantly picked up Inkheart. Over the course of the nine years he had this book, he couldn't recall how many times he had read it. It was the first American hardback edition, still in mint condition and probably worth a good amount on Ebay, but Leroy had never checked. He never felt the need to sell it.
He smiled a bit, cracking open Inkheart for a quick moment, reading the page he happened to open it to. The expression on his face reflected a small child peeping out of the hallway, giddy from looking at all the presents under the Christmas tree. Instead of wonder, endearment filled his face. His lips twisted into a tilted smile as he revisited the world that he felt comfortable in. He treasured the few moments he was able to escape his own world for a while, and pretend it was possible to live inside another story's spine.

"If only," Leroy said, walking to his desk when he tripped over his backpack, causing all his binders and school books to spill out and slide against the beige carpet.

"Darn it," Leroy sighed, setting his book down on the desk and quickly scooping his papers up and shoving them into random binders and throwing them on his bed. Under all the papers, pencils, and binders, laid the worn out book of Oliver Twist, that forgotten book in the shelf corner. The front cover was now only attached to the book only by an inch.
Leroy bit the side of his cheek, scrambling around his room to find any sort of tape. On the bottom drawer he found some, and then started to carefully tape the cover back to the rest of the book. He looked at the weak spine of the book, and then how secure the front of the book was to it. Leroy started to tape the rest of the spine and lose front pages and a roll of tape later, the book was just as strong as the other books, and the words could still be seen if you looked hard enough.

Leroy opened up the pages of the book, reading each page slowly and with care, focusing on the story, in a daze until he heard the doorbell ring. He sat the book down, and walked to the front door. He opened it.

"Hey," Marge said, twirling her peanut brittle hair between her fingers, "I saw what happened in English class."

"Oh, well," Leroy shrugged, "It's okay, I mean...the book is fixed now."

"What? Wait, you were the one that Tate was talking about? Leroy right?" she asked.

"That's me," he said, a dumb smirk appearing on his face, "I'm Leroy."

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I mean, I don't think that your face would be better off
if you glued that book to your face, and I don't think you're a spineless freak either. You're just, soft-spoken."

Leroy's face grew pink, then pale, "O-oh. Thanks."

"So, um, I came to just sorta," Marge looked up at the sky, "Well, I dunno."

"What?" Leroy asked, defeated.

"Well, I personally hate dances or anything that involves me in dresses," she started, "but I know that on prom night, that new Marvel movie comes out at midnight."

Leroy's eyes opened a little wider, and he blushed. "How did you know I wanted to see that movie?"

Marge laughed, "I didn't. I was just hoping you were as much as a geek as I was."

"Whoa, really?" Leroy smiled for a moment, but then fumbled, "I mean, you don't look like a geek or anything."

"It's fine. I am a geek. No shame being someone you're not. Anyways, want my extra ticket?" she asked.

Leroy's stomach felt as if it had been filled with sharp rocks, cutting him from the inside out. He knew that he wanted to say yes, but he couldn't even nod his head. He just looked at her as he awkwardly bit his lip.

Marge shook her head, "Alright, maybe you are a little spineless. Here's your ticket. I'll see you at the front of the movie theater at a quarter to twelve."

Leroy watched her leave, getting back into her burgundy, beat-up truck. Leroy blinked, and looked at the movie ticket. He thought about what Tate had apparently said earlier, and then recalled all the times David had always knocked him around and mocked him. It became clear that he wasn't that type of person, the one most people his age are or like, but that was okay. As Marge drove off out of the driveway and back into town, Leroy shook his head.

"Yes, I'll go," he sighed, "Marge, I'm sorry I didn't ask you."