PROLOGUE
High school dances are despicable. Horrible. Atrocious, even.
First, you've got the cliché decorations lining the walls and entrances. I can understand the photo booth because hey, memories right? You want something to keep to remind you of this perfect, beautiful night, when you're thirty and twice the width of the dress you're now wearing.
But the crepe arches, the cut out bubbles thrown on the walls, the foil stars hanging from the ceiling – are they really necessary?
"Mood", you say. "Atmosphere", you tell me. Yes, yes, I'm sure the sparkles in your eyes reflected from the fake disco ball on the ceiling really capture your boyfriend's attention and make him fall in love with you – all over again! But honestly, when have you ever gone home after a dance and said "Wow, those balloons really just made my night!" Or texted your friend later, "hey, did u c those epic streamers, man?"
Enough about the decorations, though. They don't hold a flame to the gaudy attire. The girls go out, they buy a fifty dollar dress that they'll wear once or maybe twice, and will most certainly feel uncomfortable in the entire night. They'll wear shoes that'll kill their feet, dresses that crush their diaphragms, and put their hair up in ways that will result in a headache within minutes. All this pain and they'll still be lucky if anyone looks at them.
Why? Because every other girl in the room put just as much effort and pain into it as you did. You're not special, even on your special night.
I'm sure the guys wouldn't even try to uphold the dress code if they didn't want to impress someone, though. This isn't a one-sided tragedy.
Which leads to the topic of one of my least favorite things about high school dances – the pining.
The girls whispering to each other in the corner of the room, or better yet, the second stall from the last in the lady's bathroom, and are absolutely sure no one will hear them.
Have you ever noticed how so very like a pine tree they actually are? Swooning and tossing their pine cones on the ground for some oblivious boy or girl to pick up, their expressions positively screaming "Smell my pretty leaves! I grew them just for you. And don't I look so festive?"
Couldn't they at least be a more attractive tree? A sensible one, like a maple or a birch. But no, they go on pining and swooning and swaying, while the birds land on their branches and peck them to insanity.
I'm not even going to get started on the dancing, other than to say there isn't even this much grinding in orgies, and that class died when chivalry did.
They tell me I wouldn't notice these things if I'd just get out there and do them, but that would be a little hard since it is my job to notice these things.
I let my camera fall back against my chest after I snap the same picture I've snapped for the last three years – a boy, a girl, a dress, a dance, a cup of punch, and a smile. What more could you want?
I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn around. I'm expecting it to be another group of friends wanting me to take their picture, probably hoping to land a spot in the yearbook. Instead, I see a boy. No girl, no dress (thank heavens), no cup of punch, but the smile is there. And then he asks, "May I have this dance?"
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