A MIDDLE SCHOOL DANCE Victoria Ralph
So, we’re in the car. My mom nags me in her thick, Jersey accent: “Stevie, you need to make friends… Stevie, you can’t waste your time playing video games… Stevie, isn’t there a girl you like?...” I open the door and slam it shut. “Mom, it ends at nine o’clock. Don’t be late.” I didn’t want to come. I hate these back-to-school dances. “Fix your collar, Stevie. Now smile, and talk to some girls.” She rolls up the passenger window and drives off, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. I adjust my black, thick-rimmed glasses and smooth my blue and white argyle sweater. Mom ironed these khakis, with hopes I’d meet a nice girl. I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend, but I wouldn’t let my mom know that. She thinks I can get any girl and bring home the most popular girl in school. Doesn’t she notice how I look? Those kinds of girls annoy me, anyway. I walk inside, fashionably late, and Mrs. Dill takes my ticket. The cafeteria is decorated like my third grade birthday party, with banners and balloons. It’s filled with students, teachers, and PTA moms. Loud rap music plays and everyone crowds the DJ. I hang around the snack bar and eat a few cookies, bump into people. I’ve been here for ten minutes, and I’m already up against the wall at the back. I reach for my cell phone. I’ve found that it’s a good way to seem cool. Time passes too slowly. Celine Dion plays through the speakers. Those kinds of girls squeal among each other and hug their dance partners close. The basketball coach separates a couple. I myself have never danced with a girl. Who’d bother if I asked? I’m pale, lanky, and have a bush of hair. I look more creature than human. Across the room, there’s a tall girl, wearing a green, flowery dress, and her frizzled hair in a bun. She pours herself a cup of fruit punch and sips it elegantly. I search for her friends. Nope, she’s alone, and I wonder how it’s even possible. I feel like a creeper, but she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. “Hi, I’m Katie,” she says. She smiles and glances down at her white buckled shoes. This can’t be real. I’m losing breath. This is actually happening. “I was wondering if you wanted to dance.” I’m shocked. I have no idea what to say. I wasn’t expecting to talk to a girl tonight or probably ever. A cute girl, too! I was already coming up with lies to tell my mom. How’s my breath? Has she noticed my buck teeth? Surely she’s thinking of cures for my acne. “I’d love to,” I say. I’m so nervous. I don’t know how I found the words, “I’m Steve.” We walk over to the dance floor. I’m trembling a little bit. She puts her hands on my shoulders, and I put mine on her waist. Are my hands too