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S U M M E R
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Four letters. One word. Hardly of any importance to me:

Prom.

But when your friends are mostly girls, and you're sort of popular and a bit of a pushover, prom is very important. Even more important than an impromptu movie marathon and popcorn. And apparently it's just as important as pizza.

As of now, I have danced with five girls through a total of twenty four songs. Unlucky girl number five (I'm a nervous dance who steps on everything and anyone in my way) just so happens to be one of my best friends, Candela, who was very involved in getting my 'bony greek ass' out to the yacht where prom is now being held.

"Come on, Nathaniel. Perk up! You've been nominated prom king!"

"It's Nate, Candy." I complain and she dramatically brings the pointy end of her heels down on my shiny black shoes.

It barely hurts: she's notorious for stomping on things when she gets annoyed and I purposely got shoes three sizes too big so I could stuff them with toilet paper and not feel a thing when she eventually jumped on me. It's a shame though because they're going to end up getting scuffed.

"Cheer the crap up!" She yells, which causes a few people to look at us.

It seems that Candela doesn't take any notice of them as she repeats what she said previously, even louder than before. Our trig teacher hears this time though and sends a glare our way, to which I send back an apologetic glance. I don't even know why I'm attempting to apologise because it's not like she did anything wrong (except for calling me Nathaniel. That's so wrong).

"I'm trying." I mutter back. Candela smiles approvingly, squeezes my cheeks and then gives me a hug as the song ends. I hug her back but sigh; I'm certainly not trying hard enough to be having a good time and I don't think I truly will tonight.

Especially since Chloe isn't here.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask her, mostly because I see another friend of ours, Kellan, standing by the juice bar and talking to his girlfriend.

Candela looks at me with shock and then pats my left shoulder with what I like to call her man hands. "We'll make a gentleman out of you yet, Nathaniel Harris!"

I glare at her. "It's Nate."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Nathaniel."

She motions at me dismissively and I walk towards the punch table, feeling kind of glum. Kellan high fives me and his girlfriend gives me a wave before tugging him away to the dance floor because their favourite song is playing. I scoop out and pour some pineapple flavoured juice into a cup for Candela before remembering she's allergic to anything tropical, so instead I decide I'm feeling pineapples today and get her another cup of grape juice because she hates it and I need to get her back for calling me by my full name.

When I turn back to go to her, she's dancing to the Macklemore song blasting from the stereo with some other guy, possibly forgetting all about my juice. So I put the grape juice back on the drinks table and go and stand out of the way of all the over excited dancers.

Candela's a pretty girl, so I'm not surprised. I have no clue why she hangs out with an average John (well an average Nate) like me but I suspect it's because my brother was popular when he came to our high school and I always offer her a free ride home.

Otherwise? There is no otherwise.

But I'm happy I know her. Candela is one of my closest friends; we do practically everything together and she has made me do everything she can with her since we were twelve and awkward. Now she's eighteen and I'm seventeen and awkward (she grew out of it and no, I have no idea how), but I probably wouldn't have it any other way.

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