Dances Aren't My Thing

Jemma asked me out on the Friday before the spring prom, which was weird because I wasn't planning on going before that. Dances aren't really my thing. I even had this whole afternoon planned out with Poppy (my dog, not my girlfriend, if you were wondering), and it involved Netflix, food, a horror movie and the couch. That would have been way better, in every way possible than ending up in this whole caboodle which may or may not include my prom date bleeding out on the bathroom floor. But how bad could it be, right? Oh, who am I kidding? I'm probably going to jail, because to whoever walks through that door, it would look like - there's the long moan of the bathroom door opening, and loud, echoed footsteps which stop to a sudden halt.

 I look up quickly and meet the terrified gaze of a guy in a dark blue suit and brown hair. He stares at me in total shock and starts to instantly back up, but I leap forward and grab his arm. He gasps, and I clasp my hand over his mouth. Our faces are weirdly close, and I can feel a small bead of sweat roll down the side of my face. "Please," I murmur. "Don't go and do anything stupid. It's not what it looks like." He stays silent, looking like he would burst into tears at any second. "You got me?" I say, my voice a whisper, nodding gently at him. He catches pace and slowly nods with me.

I carefully remove my hand from his mouth and let it fall to my stomach, which hurts like hell by the way. There's the noise of footsteps again, and we both freeze, but the person walks into the other bathroom. I hear the guy let out a wheeze before stumbling forward and falling onto his knees before Jemma. "Jemma? Jemma?" he urgently shakes her shoulder. "Can you hear me? Are you okay?" I see her head fall over to the left, and her eyelids wince. "She's not dead," I say coldly, and he looks up at me with this threatening glare. "Don't look at me like that," I plead. "It's not me, I swear." Music booms through the halls from the dance happening two rooms away.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Jemma wasn't supposed to fall. If anything, tonight was supposed to be the best night of my life, if you get my drift. "She tripped," I say, hoping the guy would understand. I recognise him, finally. It's Chris, whom I share Maths and English with. I couldn't really get that it was him because of the hair which was heavily gelled. I didn't know he had a date or was coming to the spring dance at all. I stare at him, heavily breathing. He looks unconvinced, and I pinch my nose, annoyed. "Look, I think she brought alcohol or something. She was acting really tipsy, okay?" Some song from the 90s fills the silence. "Like, really, look at those heels," I say, annoyed. "What was she expecting." 

Chris scoffs and stands up to face me. "Are you fucking kidding?" I take a step back, lifting my hands up defensively. "Calm down. Jesus, let's just get a teacher."

"Why the hell are you so calm? She's bleeding out!"

"That's why I'm saying let's get a teacher." I sneer, holding my stomach tighter. His face relaxes slightly, and he eyes my stomach. "What even happened?"

"She was fucking drunk, that's what happened."

"Then?"

"She was also pretty horny, how about that? Just couldn't hold it in and dragged me here." I look down at my stomach. "I fell as well, onto the sink."

He looks hugely unconvinced, and I flash him a smile in hopes it would do something, but instead, he frowns at me. "Okay, look, at least be happy you didn't walk into us doing whatever if she hadn't tripped." He lets out a small gasp looks back at Jemma in some sort of anger. He then stands up and turns on a tap, "My shoes have blood on them. Are you going to wash yours?"

I gasp, "What do you mean wash my shoes? We need to go tell a teacher!"

"We're not telling anyone," he says, and I'm taken aback by the sudden change in his tone?"

"What? Chris? Are you mad?"

"Yes, James, I'm pretty fucking mad." He shoots Jemma another look before staring at me. "Clean the blood on you. There's some on your jacket." I shake my head, "Chris, what the hell?"

"Just do it he." He says. I don't like his tone. I really don't like it, so I comply. I slip off my jacket, and he takes it from my hand and looks around to find somewhere to dispose of it. He finally spots a small window at the back and walks over towards it. I'm still scared, so start taking off my shoes and washing them, before putting them back on. Chris returns, rubbing his hands together. "We need to go out to the back," he says cooly. "Otherwise someone will find the jacket. We need to throw it out."

"She's moving," I say quietly with a quiver in my voice. Chris turns around and looks at Jemma, who's slowly squirming on the floor. "We can't just leave her here! What's with you?"

"You said yourself, she's not dead. We need to go before she wakes up."

"Why? What are you doing? I'm going to leave right now-"

"And tell the teacher? I can put the blame on your head."

I scorn at his audacity, and we stare at each other, with music over the silence - this time a much more soft song. "Just follow me," he sneers, and before shuffling out the door. I take one more look at Jemma, who groans and lifts her hand to her head, turning over onto her side. I shouldn't leave her here. It's not right... I look back at Chris who's impatiently tapping his foot on the floor. I have to comply. I don't have a choice. I quietly follow behind Chris, and let the bathroom door shut behind me. As I walk away, I swear I hear her puke.

We went down the hall and back to the crowd full of sweaty kids at the dance. My stomach still hurts, and I have one arm held against it. I look around at the others enjoying their time. I should be one of them, with Jemma. We shouldn't be destroying evidence like we killed her or something. I still have no idea why we're doing this or what Chris is thinking. What the hell does he have against Jemma? He roughly grabs my wrist, and we intertwine through the people and go through an open double door out the back. We're hit with fresh air and a slight breeze. I can hear the trees rustling, and as we walk around behind the building, the sound of music drowns out. There's the sound of sand crunching under our footsteps. 

At the back, we see the glow emitted from the bathroom through the small window. My jacket lies as a heap on the grass. Chris bends down and grabs it, and walks towards a bin. "No, stop," I say. "What will I tell my parents?"

"About what?"

"The jacket, duh."

Chris opens the lid of the bin and hovers his hand holding the jacket over it. "You could tell them you lost your jacket, or you could tell them it was your fault a girl-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Just get rid of it."

He nods and drops the jacket, and stuffs it in real deep. He then shuts the lid and shoves his hands into his own coat. "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"What's all this for again?"

He looks away into the distance with a straight face. "That bitch," he says quietly, before looking back at me. He looks frightening pissed off. His hands are shivering. "She broke up with me."

"You guys were together?" I gasp. 

"Yes, yes, there was all that." He waves his hand in the air like it wasn't a detail that mattered. "Then she broke up with me on Thursday. Last Thursday, James, you know?"

"Thursday? Like the Thursday before..."

"And then she asked you out the next day. The next day, like what? How the next day? How do you just get over it that fast?"

I shift uncomfortably. "So you're doing this to get back at Jemma?"

"She deserves it, don't you think?"

"Does she though?"

"Yes!"

I stare at him, and he's rubbing his forehead. We hear screams echoing from inside. Chris and I shoot glances at each other before rushing back inside. The music has stopped, and everyone stares horrified at Jemma, who's gown is stained red and stumbling around from the hallway. She screams one more time, and teachers run towards her. It's a mess of people running around desperately, and phone calls being made.

 "James!" she suddenly cries, and everyone in the room turns and look at me. I freeze. What do I say? They all look at me, waiting for some sort of explanation. My voice stutters as I try to form sentences. "We have no idea." interrupts Chris. He's good at acting scared because his demeanour was totally different before all of this. "We were taking a small breather outside. We don't know what happened." I see Jemma staring at me from across the room. The teachers have sat her down at a table, and a small glass of water is quivering her hands. Someone has a cloth pressed against her forehead where she was bleeding from. She is saying something to them but is finding it hard to speak.

I look at Chris, who mouths something to me and points at Jemma. I realise I'm supposed to act worried. I try to run through the crowd, but my stomach won't let me, so I slowly walk over to her. "James," she groans, not looking at me. "I thought..."

"You went to the bathroom," my voice hitches. The teachers look at me, as well as pretty much everyone else. 

"But you were with me," she says quietly, and I nearly have a heart attack. I stay silent. "Well, James?" a teacher says. "Were you?" I can't tell the truth, it's far too late for that. "You're drunk," I say, trying to get their blame off me. I turn to the teacher. "She's drunk. She had brought a flask."

The teacher turns back towards Jemma, who seems to have totally tuned out and on the verge of passing out again. "Call an ambulance," he says, and someone else grabs their phone. 

Everyone is dismissed, and the dance is put on hold. I text my parents, and they say they're on their way. As I try to process everything, I meet Chris' eyes from across the room again. There's some sort of silent agreement made right there, how this would never be spoken of. Some kind of mutual cooperation. I'll see him on Monday, of course, but it'll be back to normal. We might subtly address each other, but today night will never be brought up ever. This also means no more dances for me, because they're really not my type of thing anyway.