The past week had flown past in a flurry of excitement. Members of Student Council and the Freshman Formal Court had been staying after school in order to decorate the gym with crepe paper, colorful Chinese lanterns, and fairy lights. All of the girls were talking about their dresses and all of the boys were planning what sorts of contraband they would be sneaking in. “Dude, I’m so serious. I swear on my Xbox, my brother can get us three bottles of Absolut.” Liam had insisted, promising some guys on the soccer team and a couple of cheerleaders a full supply of vodka.
Dawson had been busy attempting to get me to go see a super gory horror film with him instead of going to the dance. I had told him that if there had been any other circumstances I would have, but I had to support Zooey. Speaking of Zooey, she was an absolute nervous wreck. She had convinced herself that she would be laughed off of the stage and a vat of pig’s blood would be poured on her just like in the movie Carrie.
In all, my world had morphed in to a frenetic mass of weirdness. My carefree bestie had morphed into a gigantic ball of nerves, my prince charming was acting strangely, and now for the first time in my teenage life I was anxious over some petty high school bullshit.
The dance was starting in two hours; yet all I could think about as I perched on the counter in Zooey’s bathroom, flatironing the bajeezus out of my hair, was Dawson. How could he skip out on Freshman Formal to go to some horror movie with king of the jocks, Hayden Bristoff? It filled me up with something bordering on anger. “Woah there, tiger!” Zooey ripped the flatiron from my hand. “You’re going to burn your hair off!” She giggled and continued to delicately rub on her neon turquoise eyeliner.
Zooey’s makeup was always flawless. Mine, however, needed work. That was part of the reason I had agreed to get ready at her apartment instead if mine. She had already done my eyes with swoopy cateye liner and painted my lips the most fantastic shade of deep purple. With my edgy makeup, pin-straight choppy hipster bob, lacey vintage slip dress, and army green military boots I was pretty much a Hayley Williams lookalike.
By the time we had finished our hair and makeup, my heart was going a mile a minute. We pulled on our winter coats and scarves, careful not to wrinkle our dresses. Just as we were about out to swing the door open, someone knocked. Zooey shot me a look. “Umm, who could that be?” I shrugged my shoulders as she pulled the handle.
I pretty much exploded at the sight of Dawson, in his best attempt at being formal (a tuxedo t-shirt under a blazer), standing in the doorway. Hayden Bristoff was there, too. They both were holding those cheap plastic-wrapped bouquets that they sell outside of the train station. I felt pins and needles all over, I couldn’t breathe, without a second thought I jumped into his arms. “You look… hot.” He muttered, running his hands through my hair.
“Well,” I bit down on my lower lip, smirking. “I guess we should head out.”