I’d never been to a dance. Many informal discos throughout primary school showed me that, as well as two left feet, I had an extra leg as well when I started to dance. So, naturally I thought I would spend this night outside nibbling on party sausages and talking to Regan, who also couldn’t dance. (I don’t believe ‘Dork Dancing’ counts as popular dance steps!)
Even if we weren’t going to dance, we could still have fun. He won the giant solid chocolate muffin, I climbed a tree (in my tight blue/gold dress) and we joined up with Kane to ambush the dance floor. Both of the boy’s eyes shined gold as the excitement of the evening grew until someone ran inside with the bowl of salt flavoured Pringles. They were soon scattered across the floor, being crushed under the feet of the sixty or so year 10s who came.
As Regan, Kane and I stood outside the hall panting and laughing at some crisps that were stuck in Kane’s afro, I saw a few other people drift out in twos and threes. Among them were groups of giggly girls in heels and boys in jeans and rock tour t-shirts.
Regan suddenly sobered up and stared at the door and, simultaneously, Kane and I looked too. A breathtakingly clingy black dress was all I could see for a few moments until I saw who was in the dress. Emma; an A* student, beautiful, funny and Regan fancied her; all understatements. He was a real jerk when she rejected him and he didn’t seem bothered but now I could see it pained him. I knew how he felt at the moment.
He tore his blazing orange eyes away. “I think I might go home. It’s getting late.”
“Ah man! Just ‘cause of her?” said Kane. “But then I’ll only have Wolv to hang around with!” I could see he was trying to keep him calm and casual but I could tell it wouldn’t work this time.
“Shut up!” I said jokingly. I studied Regan and I said sympathetically, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” He turned his glowing eyes towards me and I could feel an echo of his pain touching a ghost of the same pain inside of me. He felt trapped. He needed to escape. “Go.”
He strode to a teacher to tell her he was going and walked almost calmly towards the gates of the Sir Edward Boyd Grammar school (That’s what it proclaimed on the oversized placard there). But, as soon as he reached them, he ran into the night.
Kane and I just stood and felt him run further away.
“Wow,” breathed Kane. “He must be taking it badly.”
I couldn’t speak. His hurt was almost unbearable and my anger at Emma was almost as bad. I finally croaked, “It is getting late isn’t it? Let’s get out of here.”