Winter Formal. My first dance ever, an event I could have never imagined attending at the beginning of the year. The sheer look of consternation on my parents' faces, when I shared the news, was truly meme-worthy. They were so overprotective. It was only after explaining that my date - Misty Armstrong, was the same girl I'd been tutoring after school, that my dad relaxed. My mom, on the other hand, was unable to contain a tiny squeak of excitement.
I had never told them about any other girls I'd dated during high school. Mostly because those relationships had been fleeting, barely lasting more than a week, and of those girls, none were in the same league as Misty. If my parents were ever curious about that stuff they had not shown it. In my dad's case, I figured it was because when he was my age he attended an all-boys private school. He didn't even start dating or meet my mom until well after his studies at university.
My dad flinched slightly as my mom kicked him under the table. It was evident she wanted him to say something supportive.
"Well, that's quite a surprise," he finally chimed in. My mom rolled her eyes, then took my hand and squeezed it.
"You'll have such a great time with Misty at the Winter's Festival."
"Winter Formal," I corrected her.
****************************************************************************
Jump to the night of and there I was, outside the gymnasium, Misty to my right, waiting in line to get our photo taken as a memento for a future scrapbook. Misty playfully poked me with her elbow as she noticed the couple ahead of us - Andre Michaels and Niki Turner. It was the same Andre I told her was caught up in a steamy affair with our high school history teacher.
In the last week, I'd been compelled to share everything with Richie's sister. Not only because I felt I owed it to her, but also to unburden the weight of so many secrets with someone I genuinely cared about. It was cathartic, though obviously I omitted my responsibility in her brother's current coma. As for the dirty library of live-streamed affairs collecting on my hard drive, she didn't seem to mind, even skipping through some videos of Jada and Jordan. She seemed particularly interested in their blossoming relationship, no doubt since she'd facilitated it. Thankfully, I had never procured a video of her giving Richie oral, and I was glad that she didn't ask.
Since I explained that distance was the only way to keep the dark magic at bay, Misty had conscientiously avoided the hospital. Like an addict though, I could tell there were still triggers for her brother that clouded her mind from time to time, a dazed look of longing and desperation that took a while to snap out of.
I observed as Andre gallantly bent to one knee to help the camera adjust for the height disparity that came with Niki's petite 5'1" stature. I suspected Mrs. Watson probably wasn't too keen on his choice of date, but the married woman was sensible enough to realize that this outing provided a wonderful opportunity to keep the world in the dark and shield their festering immoral and unprofessional relationship.
I bashfully looked down and pulled my hands from my pockets. Where I was stuck donning one of my cousin's hand-me-down suits, Misty looked incredible in her black, faux off-the-shoulder style dress and sparkling emerald heels. The sleek outfit complimented her curves perfectly. Our arms intertwined as we moved forward and posed for the cameraman. I didn't want to jinx the moment by saying anything, but my heart was doing somersaults as I breathed in the delicious flower-petal-scented shampoo of my date's glossy chocolate-brown hair, and felt the warmth of her soft waist beneath my grip.
I froze in place, trying not to let my expression betray my love-struck nerves. The camera clicked sharply. The flashes momentarily blinded me as we were quickly ushered inside the gymnasium by the school PE teacher, turned bouncer for the night.
The whole court had undergone a whimsical transformation. Twinkling string lights hung down from the ceiling casting a soft glow that mimicked the starry sky. The indoor bleachers had been retracted to make room for the dance floor, and the surrounding walls were adorned with cut-out snowflakes, snowmen, and Christmas trees. Trays of bite-sized cupcakes, store bought cookies, and warm churros sat next to massive bowls of apple cider and punch. Kids, dressed to the nines, flitted about while the chaperones wandered the perimeter.
Beyonce music filtered through the overhead speakers and drowned out all other noise. The only challenge left this semester was finals next week, but for tonight, no one was letting that bog them down.
The scents of cinnamon, fried butter, and frosting lured me toward the food table. However, Misty had another plan. She entwined her fingers with mine and pulled me toward the herd of teens on the dance floor. I had misguided myself into believing that as a non-conformer, dancing to the clean versions of the Top 40 playlist wouldn't appeal to my date. But my error in judgment was soon realized as we squeezed into the mess of rowdy teenagers.
Burning right through the confidence potion in my bloodstream, I unsuccessfully sought not to embarrass myself. With the pulsing music thrumming in my ears, I urged my body to move to the beat, but my limbs had a mind of their own. Despite an encouraging smile from my date, whose movements were as fluid and natural as a seasoned partyer, my awkward steps felt woefully inadequate in comparison. After three songs, I was thankful when I lost Misty to the crowd, giving me an excuse to escape the kaleidoscope of lights as well as the sticky human blob of kids and their raging hormones.
I passed Jada and Jordan on the outskirts of the floor. The blondes were liplocked, in matching white dresses, each adorned with a pair of fake plastic angel wings. It hadn't taken more than a day or two after the events of the football game for both of them to come out as bi to the student body. They weren't the only kids snogging, but they certainly provoked the most attention from onlookers seated at the surrounding tables. I scanned the room for Braxton, Jada's ex, and wasn't surprised not to see him despite being one of the most popular kids on the football team. Brent and his entourage occupied the largest table. We locked eyes for a moment, but then I averted his gaze. Unlike Andre, the blonde bully had come stag. He'd also cum in his mom like ten minutes before showing up this evening. Mrs. Young was insatiable.
I grabbed a cup of chilled cider off the beverage table and drained it.
"Refill?" A girl asked from behind the big bowl of sweet juice.
"Uh-sure..." I held my cup up unsteadily, surprised it took me so long to recognize the girl who spoke was actually a full grown woman and history teacher, Mrs. Watson. I guess the chaperones were observing the drink area to make sure no one spiked the trough.
The tawny haired mother was not dressed like a normal chaperone. For one thing, she looked really fucking good. Instead of sporting some form of faculty khaki or even a traditional muted dress, Eva Watson had opted for a fiery number that would surely have called more attention if the room were brighter. Her strapless, rich burgundy gown exposed the entirety of her long and creamy neckline. The form-fitting fabric descended into a daring thigh-high slit, which revealed a glimpse of her long, slender legs. To finish off the festive ensemble, the MILF sported high heels, a diamond pendant necklace, and lacy black gloves that encased her otherwise nude forearms. I couldn't help myself, gawking at the exposed top half of her large breasts, but it didn't matter.
Something caught Mrs. Watson's attention behind me, causing her mouth to pop open ever so slightly. I turned my head to see who she was suddenly focused on, but I should have known better. Andre and Niki were situated near the DJ booth, the short girl was twerking and grinding up against the dark skinned boy. They weren't the only couple flaunting their sexuality and testing the patience of the older adults, but knowing Andre's reputation, I didn't blame Mrs. Watson for being jealous.
The ravishing woman ladled a small portion into my cup, placed the dark cider in my hand, winked affectionately, and then made a swift beeline toward the DJ stand. Before I got to see what was about to unfold, my attention was drawn away by a tap on the shoulder.
"Hey, man!" A dorky-looking kid with wild, tousled curls and wire-frame spectacles called out over the thumping beat. Spencer Kress was one of my closest, and perhaps only, friends during our freshmen and sophomore years. We had bonded, in typical nerd fashion, over our love of television shows and lack of any real social life. Though both of us were on the scrawny side, I had always dwarfed him by a few inches.
"Bruh, how have you been? Feels like I haven't seen you all year," he professed.
It was true. Starting last year and continuing into this one, our schedules were split up, and we no longer even shared the same lunch period. Seeing him now brought back a rush of unexpected happiness, but also a tinge of guilt. Though I didn't have a lot of friends to spare, I had spent the last few months pretty isolated, focussing on taking down Brent and dealing with the aftermath of my actions. Considering neither Spence nor I were regulars at high school functions, I was surprised to see him.
"Spencer, wow. What are you doing here?" I blurted out.
