Trembling as I walk through the entrance of my school's auditorium, my mouth slides ajar at the beautiful decorations student council has set up. Walking under the doorway created out of pink roses and green vines, I marvel at the sight of what once was a school's gym and has now become a prom.
My eyes scan the heaps of students walking in behind me and the many that are scattered around the place, drinking punch or in the middle dancing with their friends or partner. I move off to the side, making sure I'm in no one's way, admiring the fact that I've actually come here. That I actually dressed up for the part.
Another tremble creeps up my spine and I pull my light pink cardigan closer to me, crossing my arms in front of my chest and rolling my lips inside my mouth in pathetic anxiousness. I came here by myself, after my mom had insisted I go just for the experience. But now I'm here, in a dress that no one but my parent cares to see me in, with nothing to do but watch my peers enjoy their time.
Fidgeting in my spot against the wall, I spot my friend - ha, okay, my crush - with his friends, laughing by the punch bowl, seeming to have a good time chatting about who knows what. I smile without meaning to, glad to see that at least he's having a decent time.
Subconsciously, I imagine stepping away from my standpoint, weaving my way through the crowds of people and walking up to him. He would turn and his eyes would wander over to me, and he wouldn't be able to look away from my mother's thirty-minute masterpiece from this afternoon. He would grab my hand and ask in a low whisper, completely ignoring his friends, "Would you like to dance?"
I would nod, smiling of course, and he'd squeeze my hand and lead me to the middle of the dance floor, everyone parting away from us to make sure we have room to have our own special moment among them.
We would face each other and smile, and his eyes would be admiring mine. "Who are you?" he would ask. I would smile, because he's been in two of my classes this year and he doesn't even know my name.
"No one important," I would reply, because it's true. Soon this moment would be over, and he'd be back with his friends. The clock will strike midnight and the magic would disappear.
"No," he'd disagree, shaking his head, ever-so stubborn. "I definitely side with the contrary."
I'd laugh because he'd be so wrong, but I'd tell him anyways. "I'm Clara." And, of course, the name never rung a bell. He just would smile at me his brilliant smile, and continue to dance with me in the middle of the dance floor, and our time would be special together no matter how short it would be.
But here I am, still on the leaning on the wall in the party, gazing at what a beautiful night it is in Leaguetown High School. And maybe there will be no magic tonight. But that's okay.
When I look back over at the group of guys, my crush laughing along with him, he seemed to have felt my stupid gaze. He looks up and away from the huddle they'd been in, turning to look at me with the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. I freeze, but he smiles, and I somehow smile back.
And then, just like that, the moment's over. Someone in his group said something that must've been comical, because he turns back and laughs with the rest, forgetting about me entirely. As if the moment never even happened.
But that's okay.
Standing up from my spot, I find my way to the entrance of the party and stop by the doorway. There, right next to my hip, rested the most beautiful pink rose I'd ever seen. Plucking it out of the vines, I place it above my ear and begin to walk out of prom, and back into reality.
