Speak

Dance, Dance

February 23rd, 2014

7:26 p.m.

At least she looks nice in her dress, Warren thought darkly as Brooke filled her punch.

The two had arrived almost half an hour ago and had done all the things Brooke had wanted to do. They took the pictures, they danced some, they said hi to some of cast of the play Brooke did technical work for, and now they found themselves at the punch bowl.

Warren's assessment seemed correct. Brooke's dark red, almost maroon, dress fit her perfect. Her hair, in an elegant bun, complimented the look.

She had picked out Warren's outfit to every fabric. A black dress shirt with maroon tie, and black dress pants. Warren felt as if he were trying out to replace Billy Joe Armstrong circa American Idiot. He didn't say this out loud, for fear Brooke would infer he was making fun of her "special night".

Even though he's with Brooke, even though he got to say hi to Daniel, (the only somewhat enjoyable part of the evening), and even though he was virtually surrounded by people, Warren felt more alone than ever. He wasn't a praying man. Ordinarily, the thought would make him scoff at the idea, but he mentally prayed for some sort of salvation. Someone at this party had to interrupt.

It was at that moment, when Dakota walked straight into Brooke, a full solo cup of liquid in her hand.

"Holy shit!" Dakota yelled. "Brooke, I'm so sorry."

Brooke grimaced once the cold liquid hit her chest. Thankfully, not much had gotten on her. She had quickly scanned the area. She didn't find Max, fortunately. Maybe the rumor is true.

She forced a small smile, which probably resembled more of a grimace. "It's fine. Help me clean this shit up would you?"

"Y- Yeah, sure. Sure, I will. Yo, Warren?" she said turning to him. Warren could swear she turned her body to specifically block Brooke's view. "Can you fetch us from towels or something from the bathroom? That'd be wicked."

Then, she winked.

Warren was so taken aback by the wink, that he didn't even react. Until his eye caught Brooke's death glare that is.

"Y-yeah. Of course I can. Excuse me."

He turned away from the clean-up crew to push his way through the sweaty throng of teenagers dancing to the Top 40 music. It felt like wading through a desert storm to get to the oasis of the bathroom. Finally, he reached the door and shoved it open. He went over to a towel rack and collected a few towels before turning back to the door.

A rather unmanely sound escaped his throat when Warren caught sight of a very familiar girl standing in the way of the doorway.

"Hey, Dr. Graham," Max said. "We need to talk."

February 23rd, 2014

7:14 p.m

She was late; she knew it. Max had taken way too long deciding what she wanted to wear. Unlike others, Dakota and Max had not planned out an outfit together. Instead, Max had asked and gotten permission from Rachel to borrow one of her dresses. Rachel and Chloe had asked Max if her and Dakota wanted to go with them, but Max declined. Mostly because she knew she was going to take a while. And Chloe was really looking forward to party.