Lucky In Love? A Valentine Anthology

May I Have This Dance?

'Too bad we don't vote for homecoming truck, or you'd win the crown.'

He elbowed his friends and doubled over in a fit of ugly guffaws, wrinkling his immaculate suit, his cheekbones flushing red as he failed to contain his joy. His eyes watered behind his mask as he drew in loud gulps of air to sustain his howling. Around him, his teammates joined in on the joke, snapping pictures on their phones of the poor girl who'd waited – waited with her dress, her hair, her make-up and her letter – while shouting out their disbelief that she – she – would believe that anyone would feel anything for her other than utter disgust. The couples around them inched away, dancing their respective partners clear of this vile spectacle. Some spared sighs of empathy or sympathy for Taylor in her moment of need, but nothing more. They weren't willing to spoil their evenings for the sake of a girl they'd forget had existed in mere weeks. They wouldn't paint targets on their backs and find themselves in a Simon-Graves-made-Hell until they graduated.

They pitied her, but they were glad that they weren't her.

Taylor looked down at the fragile envelope with tears in her eyes.

The note with the words inked on her heart.

The note from someone who might have loved her.

The note which had been a lie.

'You're pathetic, Whale-er!' Simon shouted.

Some of the students in the vicinity jumped.

Some rolled their eyes.

Some tutted with their tongues and some mumbled their annoyance to their friends, and some ignored it entirely, which was as helpful and supportive as the rest, which is not at all.

Furious – more at herself for having the audacity to hope than at the beastly Simon for instigating the cruel prank – Taylor balled up the note and cast it down to the floor. It sat sad and crumpled on the wooden boards, a defeated ball of misery, much like Taylor's heart.

'Hey, watch it!' Simon snapped at a dancer who'd dared to push through his little group.

The newcomer didn't acknowledge him, they simply swept across the dance floor, swathed in yards of red which cut up to the thigh, exposing a long, slender leg as they approached. They reached down to snatch up the note and set about smoothing it out with their long fingers until it was almost as good as new and pressed it into Taylor's hand.

'I don't want this,' she said in a voice thick with sorrow. 'I don't want to look at something from –'

'From who?' they replied in a tender voice. 'From a question mark?'

'No, it's from –'

The stranger placed their gentle hand against Taylor's cheek and caught one of her tears with their thumb. 'It isn't. Not if you don't want it to be. It's from me. It's from you. It's from the whole damn universe if you want it to be. It's from everyone who has ever and will ever love you in this whole world and, believe me, the world is way bigger than high school.'

Taylor felt a fresh wave of grief crash over her. 'But I'm still alone. I'm always –'

'You're as alone as you want to be. Look at me,' they said, tilting Taylor's head up gently to meet her gaze. 'I'm here. You're not alone. Be my valentine. Even if it's only for tonight, or only for a dance, be my valentine and forget that Simon Graves and his bottom feeding idiots exist.'

Taylor hesitated. This stranger was beautiful, with cascades of golden ringlets, a voice as lyrical and clear as a dawn chorus of summer birds, and a grace about her that belonged to a dancer on a stage rather than a saviour of lumpy, awful, ugly things like her. Yet, despite her apprehensions, she found herself taking the girl's hand when it was offered.

The stranger reached up and pushed her mask from her eyes, leaving it to rest atop her perfect hair.

Tessa Hawthorn.

The same Tessa who'd led their cheerleading team to the regional finals.

The same Tessa who'd organised their school's food drive for homeless veterans over the holidays.

The same Tessa who'd punched Simon Graves in the jaw when he'd tried to feel her up in the lunch line during their Junior year.

'Wait,' Taylor said, snatching back her hand. 'Are you sure? If you're seen with me... Are you sure?'

'You already accepted, Valentine,' she said. 'It'd be rude of me to change my mind now.'

The whispers rolled like the tide, surrounding the pair as they moved together across the floor. They blended into a hiss, and then a hush, and then a murmur of approval which drowned out the protests and astonished complaints of Simon and his friends.

Simon soon vanished from Taylor's mind, as did the rest of the attendees who returned to their slow dance, moving in concise, careful circles on the floor, minding their neighbours and smiling shyly at their partners.

'Why did you save me?' Taylor asked as she gazed into Tessa's eyes.

Tessa replied, 'Everyone deserves to be loved. Why would you think that doesn't include you?'

'But, you –'

'Taylor, life and love are like a dance. Someone has to take the first step, otherwise we'd never move. You made yours when you came here tonight full of hope and dreams. I made mine when I asked you to be my valentine. Tomorrow, you'll make another when you come to school with your head held high.' Tessa lifted Taylor's hand upward and turned her slowly. 'One step at a time, you'll move through the rest of your life, and you can do that with other people if you keep the hope that you're feeling right now. And, sometimes, someone else will make that first move.'

They stopped dancing beside a girl in a white dress with long ebony hair. Her skin was tan, her eyes were dark, and she twisted her hands nervously in front of her. Even with a mask, Taylor knew who she was. Jess had joined their class as part of an exchange program from Spain and had quickly signed up to be a part of the marching band. She wasn't unpopular – it was difficult to remain friendless when you had an interesting accent and were petite and pretty – but she was hardly high school royalty.

'She's made her move,' Tess whispered to Taylor. 'Now make yours, Valentine.'

Taylor cleared her throat softly and held out a trembling hand to Jess. 'May I have this dance?'

Startled, Jess hesitated for a second before she placed her small hand into Taylor's.

'Yes.'

***************


Clarissa North is a writer of adult and new adult romance, a cat enthusiast, and an avid tea drinker. Known for finding the human connections in her stories, her tales serve to remind her readers that love and life are shared experiences. Read more from Clarissa here.