by Susan Wu
Luckily my mom is enjoying a spa weekend in New York and that Sophia lives only about two blocks away from me. I was able to stumble home around 3:00AM and sleep the morning away. Sam and Liam were supposed to crash at my place but they were having too much fun with a pair of Lakeside cheerleaders to notice me sneak out. I’m sure Sophia had a lot of people that crashed at her place last night. By the way everyone else was partying last night, it would be a miracle if anyone else would have been able to make it home.
I pour myself a cup of coffee with a healthy serving of cream and sugar. The first sip is blazing hot and singes my tongue but still tastes amazing. I take a tub of strawberry cream cheese from the fridge. I rip off hunks of piping hot bagel and scoop up big hunks of cream cheese straight from the tub. The pounding in my head tells me I am going to need a lot of carbs and fat if I was going to get through the rest of the day.
I start scrolling through the text messages that came in late last night/early this morning. Sam asking me where I was and that he and Liam were going to crash at Sophia’s. Liam texting to say he and Sam were going to stop by around 6:30PM and get ready over here. And that as far as either of their moms knew, they had slept over at my house last night.
The party bus would be swinging by around 7:00PM. Not a lot of time to get ready but neither one of them knew how to tie a tie, so I imagine it won’t take them too long. The bus was going to pick up the rest of the group at Max’s house closer to the school and drop us off at the dance around 7:30PM. Mackenzie had also sent me a couple texts reminding me about the color of her dress and to not forget her corsage or that we were meeting at Emma’s house after the dance. I delete those and another dozen texts without fully reading them.
After a solid week of everyone around me talking about nothing but Homecoming, I am feeling relieved that the festivities were winding down after tonight. If last night was any indication, it promised to be an interesting night. The one person I was not looking forward to seeing tonight is Fallon. I knew she was going to be there tonight since Mackenzie had been complaining non-stop since she suddenly volunteered to join the dance committee.
After our encounter in the forest preserve next to the school, she had not uttered a single word to me. She would look right through me when we passed each other in the hall. She had given me the complete freeze out--like nothing ever happened between us. I wonder idly whether or not she would be at the dance alone.
I finish off my extra late breakfast and rinse out my mug and plate, sticking them in the dishwasher. It is now past two. I still have to stop by the florist to pick up the corsage. Then I have to shower and shave before the guys come over. I had my mom hunt down my good suit before she left for Paris earlier in the week. I never bothered taking it out of the garment bag until last night and it needs a good steaming. I don’t have my shirt and tie picked out yet.
I get myself ready to leave by brushing my teeth and putting some hair gel in my hair to tame it. I’m changing into a sweater and jeans to ride to the florist when my phone buzzes on top of the dresser. Another text message from Mackenzie. I hit delete without reading it.
Fallon
The decorations committee has spent all of Friday afternoon and evening as well as Saturday morning setting up. The rest of us arrive around noon to put the finish touches in place. Having never attended a single dance, I am surprised at how the space could be transformed. The bleachers have been folded up and pushed against the far wall. Huge bolts of navy fabric have been hung from the ceiling forming a tent inside the gymnasium. Round tables covered in navy silver tablecloths have been brought in and place on one end. A large banquet is setup on the other end, the empty silver trays gleaming against the navy tablecloth.
Gina Thomas is head of the dance committee for Fall Harvest and today she is in a frenzy, her normally neat curls are wild and frizzy to match. She begins barking out assignments to be completed in no more than three hours because everyone had to go home and get ready for the dance. I spend the early part of the afternoon making large bouquets of navy and silver balloons to place as centerpieces on the tables. At precisely 3:00PM, I place the last set of balloons down on a table and Gina dismisses us for the afternoon.
Exiting the gym in miscellaneous groups, the girls are squealing with excitement about tonight's festivities. I drift away from the others and take the long way home, unsure of how to spend the next four hours. I decide to make a detour at the grocery store to pick up some ingredients to make blueberry muffins. I am in the baking aisle scanning the shelves for baking powder when I hear an unmistakably nasty voice behind me.
“Excuse me.” Mackenzie is standing behind me in full make up with her hair in rollers, wearing a hot pink velour tracksuit that shows off about three inches of tanned midriff. She is holding a box of cake flour. Mackenzie's mom owns the catering company that is catering the dance tonight.
I inject some false friendliness into my voice as I reply, “I'm surprised to see you here, Mackenzie. I didn't think you ate refined carbs.”
She eyes my shapeless gray sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up and black skinny jeans. “We could all learn from my example.” She pulls a couple packets of silver cupcake foils off the shelf. “I guess I'll see you at the dance tonight. You won't be able to miss me, I'll be there with Ethan Hayes.”
She turns around and disappears down the aisle without another word, leaving me standing there in stunned silence. A mix of anger and jealousy form a knot in my stomach. I knew I had no right to either of those feelings, but Mackenzie has a gift for knowing which buttons to push.
I abandon my shopping list and make a beeline to the cosmetics aisle. I haven’t really worn makeup since middle school, but I have done enough dance recitals and school plays that I was familiar with the logistics. There are so many options, I just start pulling any packaging that attracts my eye off the shelf.
With my purchases in hand, I rush back back home. It is now well past 4:00PM and I am sweaty from lugging my bags on the long walk home. The streak of unusually warm temperatures combined with my interaction with Mackenzie has left a sheen of moisture on my forehead. I head to the bathroom to wash away the afternoon.
I slip out of my t-shirt and jeans and jump into the warm shower. As I shampoo my hair, I question the sanity of my actions. I know I can’t be with Ethan. I just wanted to get back at Mackenzie. Show her that she couldn't push people around. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I shove those thoughts of out my head to concentrate on the task at hand—looking amazing at tonight's dance.
I flip through my mental Rolodex of the dresses I own and it is limited. Why hadn't I thought to buy a dress for Homecoming? Right, because I hadn't cared until, oh, thirty minutes ago. Too late for that now. I rinse away the rest of the conditioner and turn off the water. I towel off and put on a fluffy plaid robe. I quickly towel dry my hair and painstakingly blow dry it straight. I don't know how to operate anything to make my hair do something fancier. I pad over to my closet and walk into the very back of it, groping in the dark until my hand hits chiffon.
I pull out one of the dresses I had bought for my 8th grade graduation. It's a simple black dress with a delicately beaded, fitted v-neck bodice held up by thin spaghetti straps. The skirt consists of several layers of draped chiffon. I take off the robe and wiggle into the dress, slipping the spaghetti straps over my shoulders. The zipper slides up easily. It still fits though I have grown a significant amount since I bought the dress and the hem grazes mid-thigh. I am showing way more skin than I normally would in my t-shirt and jeans.
My usual array of beaded bracelets, vintage cuffs, and the watch that belonged to my grandfather are sitting on a silver tray on top of my dresser and I slip each one on. I untangle the necklace my mom gave me on my thirteenth birthday. My birthstone, the amethyst, cut into a teardrop and threaded on a delicate silver chain. I never wore it after what happened that summer.
With shaking fingers I secure the clasp, the cut of the ne
ckline frames it beautifully. Pulling on a roomy black t-shirt over my dress so I won't get any make-up on it, I sit down at my vanity and dump out the contents of my cosmetics raid. I was amazed by the vast selection as well as the apparent improvements made since I last shopped for cosmetics.
I have chronic dark circles because of my sleeping issues but the concealer instantly brightens my eyes. Dabbing on a little bit of tinted moisturizer and sweeping blush onto my cheeks, my usually pallid skin comes alive. I carefully rim my eyes with black eyeliner and sweep on pale silver eyeshadow on my eyelids and the inner corner of my eye. I sweep on a couple coats of black mascara and dab on a some lip gloss to top everything off.
When I evaluate myself in the mirror, I hardly recognize my own face. I pull off the t-shirt and the whole look reflected in the mirror is overwhelming. The black dress makes the snowy backdrop of my pale skin glow. The thin straps show off my slender collarbones. My green eyes look sultry under the dark sweep of lashes and my lips look like I’ve been sucking on a cherry popsicle.
I go back into the back of my closet and find the two pairs of heels that I own—a pair of strappy silver sandals that cut into my heel and a pair of classic black pumps that pinch my toes. The prospect of walking to the dance in either is daunting. Instead, I opt for my favorite pair of worn in, harnessed motorcycle boots.
I rummage through the high shelves of the closet and find a small black beaded evening bag—a gift from my grandmother that I wore to a wedding once upon a time. I fish out my keys, wallet, and cell phone from my book bag and cram everything into the tiny bag along with a compact and lipgloss for touchups.
Knowing the unpredictable nature of fall weather, I want to grab some sort of cover up. But I have no shawl or even a dressy coat, so I just drape my leather jacket over my shoulders and leave. A breeze has just started to creep in, but the night is still otherwise warm by October standards. I walk at a brisk pace toward the school. The dance doesn't start until 7:00PM, but I was supposed to report back half an hour early to help set up the ticket table.
I arrive with minutes to spare, but Gina is already there atwitter about last minute disasters. Her blonde coif is now perfectly blown out and falls in soft waves that bounce with her agitation. She is wearing a tight red dress with a dramatic low back and a slit up to her thigh. She is standing barefoot, her matching red peep toe heels are slung on her right hand which she is using to gesture angrily at the catering table.
I hear something about mismatched linens as I sneak past her and head to the entrance of the gymnasium. The only thing left for me to do is to secure balloons to the table and hang a sign advertising the price of the tickets for those who hadn't already purchased their tickets. After everything is in place, I head back inside to man my station. My official duty during the dance is to make sure the punch bowl is full and that it doesn't get spiked it did last year. Like it does every year. I guess Gina didn't trust me with the general public, but the punch was manageable.
People, mostly underclassmen, start trickling in 15 minutes after the doors open. 30 minutes later, I am sitting next to the punchbowl, my face resting on my propped up arm. More than an hour into the dance, I hear a familiar giggle at the entrance.
The first person through the doors is Mackenzie, followed in quick succession by Chloe, Sophia, and Emma. The theme for the evening is, of course, navy and silver. Everyone but Mackenzie is wearing a variation of a navy bandage dress that hugs every curve and grazes midthigh. Chloe’s dress has two triangular cut outs at the ribcage, giving the illusion that she is wearing a bra top with a skirt attached. Sophia’s dress features a cut out in the back that curves down so low it just covers her butt. Emma’s dress has a trapezoid shaped cut out at the neck, her cleavage dusted with glitter.
Mackenzie is poured into a backless silver dress that dips low in the front and has a flirty, short skirt. The molten color shows off her tan skin which she has carefully buffed, moisturized, and bedazzled. They're all teetering on strappy four inch heels as they shuffle into the gymnasium. I mentally pat myself on the back for not subjecting myself to that.
Mackenzie’s eyes meet mine as she makes her assessment around the room. The lower classmen that have already fill up most of the outer tables look at them with reverence. Mackenzie’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of me in my dress, but an impassive expression falls over her face once again like a mask she’s slipping on. She sneers and leans over to whisper something to Emma. Emma laughs briefly before her eyes dart guiltily in my direction.
Ethan
I arrive on the party bus with the rest of the guys and their dates. Mackenzie had refused to ride on the bus and instead chose to rent a limo with her friends. She has been radio silent most of the afternoon since I once again affirmed that I preferred riding with the boys and their dates on the bus instead of in the limousine with her and her friends. But the closer we got to the dance, the more she thawed out. She had text messaged me about a thousand times throughout the afternoon as she was getting ready at the salon with the girls.
We enter the gym, I follow behind Sam who is dateless by choice. He is followed by Liam and brunette Julie, who is decked out in a low cut, navy corseted dress with silver ribbons threaded through the back. Julie is gripping onto Liam for dear life as she takes tentative steps in her silver sandal heels. Chris is holding an all white corsage with a navy ribbon for his date Sophia who opted for the limo. Max is with a sophomore girl whose name I had already forgotten, wearing a simple pale pink dress.
The rest of the guys are wearing the standard jock uniform for special occasions—khakis with a white dress shirt and navy tie and their letterman's jacket. I feel overdressed in my slim cut navy suit and light blue oxford shirt. I had even picked out a skinny silver tie to match Mackenzie’s dress.
Mackenzie waves eagerly at me from across the gym. I’m surprised she has that much range of motion. She’s wearing a very tight, very sexy silver dress. As I get closer, it appears that her skin is covered in a million particles of glitter. She quite literally gives the impression of a sparkling trophy.
I’m not really sure what the new dress code all the girls bemoaned actually banned as I walk through a sea of girls in equally revealing dresses. My eyes continue to scan the crowd as I approach Mackenzie and her friends. Fallon’s not here. I don’t know if I should breathe a sigh of relief or feel disappointed. Instead, I put on my happy face as I greet my date.
Mackenzie’s blond curls are trembling with excitement as we make our approach. She eyes my suit and her glossy pink lips break into a huge smile, revealing her perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth. “EEE-than, you look so amazing in that suit.”
“Thank you, Mackenzie. You look....” I rack my brain for an adjective. “...dazzling,” I’m not sure if it’s a compliment.
She does a slow spin to show off all angles of the dress. The very brief skirt flares out as she moves, showing off her long, slim legs. She is almost as tall as me tonight in her towering silver heels. The dress is backless, showing more of her tan, glittering skin.
“Uhm, here. I got this for you,” I show her the white peony and silver ribbon corsage my mom had picked out. She squeals with delight and unexpectedly throws her arms around me leaving a light dusting of glitter on my suit.
She pulls back and sticks out a bronzed wrist to accept it. As I attach it she gushes, “It’s perfect! You have great taste. Thank you, I really really love it.”
I shrug modestly, she can really overdo it, “Your welcome.”
Sam’s booming voice echoes through the room, “Fallon Pierce! As I live and breathe... Am I really witnessing this? You? At a dance. I didn't think I would see the day.”
I follow the sound his voice to over by the refreshments table, just in time to see Sam pick Fallon up in one of his signature rib cracking hugs. Half the room is openly staring at them as he sets her back down on her feet. Fallon grimaces, her face flushed with embarrassment from the sudden attention. She
’s wearing her usual leather jacket over a simple black dress. I hardly recognize her. She looks so beautiful that my heart aches to see her.
“Neither did I, Sam. But here I am. Capital punishment wasn't an option,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Well you look fantastic, Fallon,” he says with a wide boyish grin. He’s getting a kick out of her discomfort.
A flicker of jealousy flares inside me at his easy familiarity with her but I quickly smother the feeling. Sam is my friend. I have no claim over Fallon. Mackenzie loudly clears her throat and tugs on my elbow, trying to regain my attention.
Ignoring Mackenzie, I resist the urge to go up to Fallon. But still I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She really does look fantastic. The simply beaded black dress fits her slim figure perfectly, highlighting her small waist and slender shoulders. The black fabric against her lily white complexion makes her skin look iridescent. I note the motorcycle boots with a smile.
Sam leans in and stage whispers next to her ear, “I would ask you to sit with our table, but the Wicked Witch of Everest Heights would have a house dropped on me.”
“Don't even worry about it. I have a job to perform,” Fallon nods at the empty chair next to the punch bowl.
He gives her a questioning look, “They have you serving punch?”
“My job is not that glamourous. I’m supposed to be keeping troublemakers away from the punch which I’m not doing a very good job of at the moment.”
“Are you suggesting that I am a troublemaker?”
Fallon rolls her eyes in response, “Do me a favor and try to keep your buddies from adding extra ingredients into the punch tonight?”
Sam's laugh is easygoing as he gives her a wink before replying solemnly, “I make no promises, Miss Pierce.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a small, crooked smile, “Boys will be boys.”