A/N: This actually happened. Every last little bit. One of these guys is DreamBoy - yes, the one who features in every other story. Seriously, anyone who knows me in person, would say that I'm the last person that they'd pick as a hopeless romantic. If one of you tells them, you shall be chased down with a pointy stick. Clear?

One of them steps off the dance floor and offers an outstretched hand. She declines, insisting that she wasn’t a slow-dance person, and never would be. He flops down beside her, and her heart leaps, before being automatically beset by doubts. He probably just pitied her partner-less state. Or something along those lines. In the next thirty seconds, she’s asked several times by several guys and threatened perversely by one of them, and still she refuses, delaying it, putting up a fight. Ne even goes as far as to say that they needed to ‘play it out to her’ and bowed ridiculously. She planned to give in eventually, when the right one asked. Or asked again.

The song fades into silence, and all the pairs break apart, laughing at their stupidity, trying to ballroom dance to a dingy couples song.

Over the speakers, a voice from the soundbox announces that the next song will be the last, and she gets up, wanting to make the most of her last three minutes. All her friends have either left or are leaving, and she’s alone with them, seven or eight boys from her year, all of whom have never seen her like they’ve seen her tonight – all inhibitions gone, dancing because there was music, dancing like there was no-one watching...

Banishing the last thoughts of that one from her mind, she dances, as ‘Hey! Baby’ plays in the background, that classic timeless song from god-knows-when, with the catchy lyrics and distinctly Mexican tones that everyone seems to know.

They surround her, and one says ‘You’re not going to escape, and you’re surrounded by guys!’

She weaves through them, to the edge of the circle, and laughs at them, declaring that it will never happen, not now, not ever. She wants it to though. As much as she hates to admit it.

After the chorus, in what must have been the smoothest move of the night, another asks, in jest, ‘Will you? Will you be my girl?’ In that split second, she notices several things at once. The first being, he was actually very, very cute, the second being that his eyes were beyond description, and the third being that he was moving closer than she would like, even though, she had to admit, being held by him wouldn’t really be so bad.

She only just manages to stop herself saying yes and taking his outstretched hand, and ducks past him, back to the seats, hiding burning cheeks. Sure, you couldn’t see a blush on her skin, but she could feel it, and that in itself was making her more nervous than ever.

Rejoining the circle, they dance to the last refrain, and the song fades to silence, the same voice from the soundbox telling them that the night was over, and less than subtly hinting that parents should be called.

She steals a last look at her would-be admirer and retrieves her bag and jacket from high up on the tiered seats. Walking out, one of them – the one who was first to ask her to dance – offers her one of the paper flower decorations he’d taken off the wall. She hesitates, and takes it, pressing the still tacky memento onto her hip.

Walking to the car park, the threatener strikes again, declaring that she would dance with him on Monday, and an ‘Are not! Are too!’ war ensues.

She doesn’t know what happened to the two boys who had made her heart flutter so dangerously, and wishes she’d said goodbye at least to the one with gorgeous eyes, and makes her way, by herself, to her mother’s waiting car.

The temptation to break out into mindless giggles is almost overwhelming, but she manages to contain herself. Still, she if full to bursting and her sister can’t help but remark that she is in a strangely good mood.

She tacks the flower to her bookcase, where she can see it every day, and every day, she thinks and regrets. One question plays on her mind, the simple answer to more than a dozen questions she’d been asked that Friday night.

What if she’d said ‘yes’?