They had already cancelled two, which was stupid. 'Not enough ticket sales', your ass. After all, it was your last year of socials. Next year, there would be balls, and then things would really get serious. You weren't ready for floor-length dresses, fake spray tans and fussing makeup artists yet. So you enjoyed the cut-off shorts, the black singlet and the swoop of mocha lip gloss while you still could.
You had musical rehearsal that day, long and tedious, full of eager but untalented children, and it was already quarter to six when you arrived at Sylvie's house. Meg was there and already getting ready. There was pizza, and more pizza. There were a few niggling thoughts at the back of your head about how good you would look with a bloated stomach bulging over the top of your cut-off jean shorts, but you pushed them back and shoved the point of the pizza slice into your mouth. The sweetness of the pineapple soon overpowered the oil of the cheese. You discovered an eyelash curler for the first time. The lip gloss was dropped down the toilet once or twice and, with a finger to the lips and a quick rub under the running tap, was replaced on the counter.
And the three of you trooped over to Keira's house. More pizza there, along with Lisa and Emma. Keira literally had no eyebrows, so you helped fill them in. There was laughter and incredulous shouts as you stroked even, soft lines, and you could feel the nervousness tinting your smile as she looked into the mirror. Although she declared she would never do it again, she seemed happy enough, and that was good enough for you. Wasn't the first time you'd put makeup on someone else, but this time it felt different. This time, you weren't going on stage for a performance or going out to dinner. This time, you would be free. The drive to the hall was quiet, but not quiet. The incessant chatter was a buzz, and you talked loudly with flying hands, and your body twisting so you could face the people in the back seat. The moment you stepped outside the car into the damp grass that over clung the edge of the curb, you couldn't remember a single thing you said. All you could think about was how the soles of your three-dollar shoes were wrinkling uncomfortably around your toes, and would that affect how you danced?
The usual cautious flittering gazes at the beginning. After all, it was an only girls’ and an only boys’ school social. Awkward and clumsy around the opposite gender, subject for more than a few laughs. Once the music was playing, once the songs flowed smoothly into one another, it rolled off naturally. A few songs with your friends. It was always like that, and you always caught up a few times after and by the end of the night, so you could go home together. You didn't mean to leave them halfway, but there was always someone else, someone new that was worth two hours away from the people you saw five days a week.
He was short. Very, very, short. It was kind of cute in a way and also kind of funny. He had a few friends, friends that were taller, and you thought were way cuter, but you couldn't deny there was something about him, something that drew you to him. It was after the dance off, and you were pushed to the edges. It was hopeless to try and get through the walled circle of boys the size of men, so you stayed on the outside, feeling the music and jumping in sync with the rest of the group. You turned around. And he was there. Your eyes met, and one, two, three steps and you were in front of each other, dancing like nothing had changed. You were dancing maybe a metre from where you were a few seconds ago, and yet now you could smell the spark in the air and see in between you two an invisible rope. You didn't believe in love at first sight. Intrigue, however, that was a different matter.
Soon enough, you dragged, or were dragged, you didn't know which, into the outside foyer. There were two of them now. It was cute, because he pointed to the door, and you grabbed the hem of his T-shirt in order not to get lost in the massive crowd of people. Near the edges, when the crowds started to thin, you let go of his shirt. He whipped his head around immediately, tense face relaxing when he realised you were still there. You laughed silently at him.
Out in the foyer. Where the air was cool – not as cool as the dark night, but not as hot as the dance floor either. An uncomfortable lukewarm-like water that had been spat out again. Three more boys soon flocked over to join the current two, and you easily angled your body out slightly to include them in the circle. After a few minutes of standing around, you against five of them, full of coy smiles and chuckles and sharp nudges to the ribs, the tallest boy wraps his arms around the short boy's waist – which caused no reaction from the others, so none from you – and said to you ‘Give him your number’.
You shrugged nonchalantly, and the chuckles were raised to whispers of congratulations and laughter. You laughed along with them and pulled out your phone. It was almost funny.
They acted like it was a big deal, like they had never done this before. And true, maybe they hadn't. The energy of achieving something around your friends would have fuelled the fire as well. But all the same, the only difference between you and them was gender. You were still the same species and nothing to be marvelled at. You weren't something to be treated differently.
After phones were returned and texts were tried out to see that numbers were correct, he gave his friends a not-so-subtle glance that sent them scuttling away. You were sad to see them go. Sure, it was obvious he wanted some alone-time, but you weren't here to get to know someone really well, or to even give them a suggestion of taking it further. You wanted to learn about everybody; you wanted to know everyone's story. You wanted to look at everybody and listen to them laugh. Because truly, that was the only thing in the world that you found beautiful: the people and the laughter.
Maybe you could make him laugh. And he might be able to make you laugh. If a few things clicked, maybe this would be better after all. Something’s happened by chance, but you believed that things like chance and inspiration and everything lucky only happened if they found you working.
You talked. You talked as if there was a tomorrow, when you knew very well there wasn't. After all, when tonight was over, when everyone had driven away, and all was silent except for the cleaning of the spilled drinks and empty cans, how could you talk to him? Forget seeing him in person, even if your parents did allow it – he was a boarder. And how? When? Texting could only reach so far, and you remember not so long ago, another boy, smiley and giggly, who your parents forced you to drop contact with, so you could sing and dance and maths and English and science and everything else that would make them proud.
So you talked. He talked. You both talked like you were nineteen and free, not fourteen and desperate to get out. You looked around in the foyer and giggled at the awkward couples standing too far away from each other, keeping count: thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. He added 16 on the end, and you raised your eyebrows in question. Had he miscounted? He grinned cockily and pointed at the two of you before you both dissolved into chuckles. Of course, you were one of the awkward couples too. Just because you were the leaders of the game didn't mean you could escape the rules. He told you of the school musical he was in earlier this year, and you retaliate by bursting out into the hook of one of the main songs. He gives you a quizzical look at first, before bursting into laughter. You ignore the too-wide smile and harshness of the sound.
You feel a tiny flicker of disappointment when you list off a few of the bands and TV shows you love. He shakes his head to all of them, and he lists off all of the video games he plays. You laugh softly and tell him you don't play video games. There's a slight ‘Oh’ that should offend you, but you can't bring yourself to feel hurt. A moment's silence and then an outstretched hand – an invitation to dance again.
He is much more eager than the one at the social last year. That one had danced with you once, then sat outside and munched on gummy worms, one after another disappearing into his mouth. True, you had laughed a lot, learnt things you weren't sure you had ever known about anyone else and shared drinks and chips, but you wanted to dance. You wanted to feel the beat of the drums and the heat of the closely packed bodies. This one wasn't as good at dancing, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. It was innocent, the way he smiled at you as he lifted his arms up and did nothing but jump up and down. And because of his height, you couldn't do anything you usually did. It was refreshing, in a way that you'd never felt before. You'd always danced like you didn't care, and you didn't care. You still didn't care, but now, you felt guilty pulling your usual moves. And now, you danced like you were 12 and 13 again, a year and a lifetime ago, like you only had your friends and nothing else mattered.
It was the booming of the bass, and halfway through dancing, he stopped suddenly, and knelt down next to one of the hulking speakers. After a second, he grabbed your hand, and you pretended a tingle shot up your arm, just like in the stories. He pressed your hand against the speaker, gesturing to feel the air. You nodded, agreeing, knowing that talking would be futile over the music. You were grateful for the wind blowing from the speakers. It was hot in the hall, under the sweaty, sexy lights, despite you only wearing a singlet and shorts. And the speakers covered up the singing too. More accurately, the caterwauling. All the songs had been mashed up so that they were either dubstep or electronic pop. None of you could sing. But you liked to think it added to the atmosphere. Somewhere where it didn't matter how good you were at singing or how good you were at anything. You were here to have fun, not to be a choir.
A drink later, free for the girls. You felt slightly guilty. If women were arguing for equal rights, why did you get privileges? But you swallowed the thought and washed it down with the Coke in your hand. Tonight was not the time, and not the night. Your opinions would be swept up into the air vents, unheard, unseen.
Out here in the light, you felt small. All your friends were fully grown and proud, while you were still mewling and weak. In the darkness, with the music, you were smooth and delicate instead of weak. Suave and confident, and ready to snap at any time. But with only chatter as a background noise and garish naked bulbs instead of psychedelic strobe lasers, you were drowning.
Back into the dance room, leaning against the doorway, catching your breath. Watching the ever so slightly moving darkness. It was strange, being so close to the world you knew so well, but not being in it at all. You were so near, but so far.
Everyone looked like an idiot. They were screaming and jumping and laughing and shoving their friends, and it was beautiful. It was the most gorgeous mess you had ever seen. It was everything that was shown in the movies, said in stories and more. So much more. Because now you could taste the electricity in the air, like a storm, and you could feel the sheer heat in the room. You were a part of the chaos, and you were alive.
He said he would wait for you there, but he was nowhere in sight. Five minutes, ten minutes, nothing.
Actually, he was in sight. Far too much in sight.
He's dancing with another girl, someone prettier, someone with long, tanned legs, perfect hips and a tiny waist. They're laughing together, and you wonder whether you looked that happy when you were with him.
And you felt nothing. There was no rush of black envy that's supposed to curl in your stomach and tint your vision red. Your head wasn't filled with what ifs and maybes and could haves. You felt no different than you did ten minutes earlier.
And really, nothing was different. He wasn't yours. He was never yours. And there was still the flashing lights, the heavy drum beats, the laughing bodies. There were still dances waiting to be danced. There was still the night, watching, waiting for you.
So you held your head high and walked into the hall. Final count: fifteen.