School Dances Suck

The night was inky black, the stars bright. The sound of music pulsated from the gymnasium a dozen feet away. Goosebumps pimpled my skin, and my breath clouded in the freezing cold air. But none of that mattered. 

I was outside with Malia St. Michaels.

She was beautiful, per usual. With long, gold-tipped black box braids, smoky eyeliner, and a form-fitting blazer dress, she looked years beyond her age. I was totally, absolutely enamored with her, and I had been since the day we met, our first day of freshmen year. I never imagined I’d get a chance to talk with Malia privately, or that she’d ever seek me out, but here we were, hiding from chaperones and fellow students and braving the cold, mid-December weather together. 

I swallowed, hard.

“How’s the dance going for you?” Malia asked, folding her arms across her chest to fend off the cold. 

The dance was going horribly. I hadn’t wanted to go; dances weren’t my thing. But my best friend, Kylie, had guilted me by saying it was our senior year winter formal, and shouldn’t we experience a school dance at least once?

“It’s going fine,” I said, smiling. The wind was tangling the loose, red-brown curls of my hair, and it took every ounce of willpower not to fidget with it. 

Malia shifted from one foot to the other and looked around, clearly uncomfortable. Normally, she was the epitome of cool. A memory flashed of her at the beginning of the school year, punching Riley Anderson in the face after he was caught sneaking into the girl’s bathroom. The Malia I loved was fearless, so what was scaring her now?

Malia fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse, and offered me one. I declined, and tried not oogle as her black-painted lips took a drag. She inhaled deeply, and the tobacco seemed to calm her down.

“Crowds freak me the fuck out. Thanks for coming out here with me,” she said. 

“I’m not much of a dancer, so I was glad for an excuse to leave,” I said. 

“It’s Edith, right?”

I nodded, my heart jumping at the fact that she knew my name.

Malia gave me a once-over and smiled, “you look beautiful in that dress, Edith.”

I instinctively looked at my dress. It was borrowed from Kylie’s closet. Dresses, like dances, weren’t my thing. It was tiny and fire engine red and totally made me stand out. I looked at Malia, and was sure my cheeks were as red as the dress, “thanks,” I murmured, “It’s Kylie’s.”

“Kylie Phillips?” Malia asked, and I nodded, “you’re friends with her?”

I froze, wondering where this conversation was going, “yes,” I said slowly. 

Something flashed in Malia’s eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came, “would you like to dance, Edith?”

I couldn’t help the huge smile that spread across my face, surely showcasing the gap in my teeth, “I would love to,” I said, and Malia returned my grin with a smoky one of her own. 

I felt like I was floating as she snuffed out her cigarette, took my hand, and led me back to the gym. She smelled of tobacco and vanilla, and her hand was smooth and soft. I desperately hoped mine wasn’t clammy and gross, and she was enjoying holding my hand as much as it was enjoying being held. The music was louder, but it barely registered as Malia led me right to the middle of the dance floor. I made brief eye contact with Kylie, who was surrounded by half the football team. Her jaw was touching the floor in shock. She quickly regained her composure and gave me a supportive thumbs up.

The music was fast and raw, but Malia placed her hands on my hips and slowly started swaying. I’m sure we looked silly, slow-dancing to a rap song, but I was surprised to find that I didn’t care. In fact, other students were inspired by Malia and joined us on the dance floor, either swaying slowly with someone else or by themselves. They pressed in closer, and Malia stiffened. 

Instinctively, I pulled her closer, “I know they smell,” I joked, whispering in her ear, “but we’ll brave the stink together.”

Malia threw her head back and laughed, and even though the music drowned out the sound of her laughter, I still thought it was beautiful. 

“There’s something I have to ask you,” Malia said softly, clearly afraid of being overheard, and her eyes glanced quickly at something on the other side of the gym. 

My heart leapt, “there’s something I have to ask you, too,” I ventured, feeling brave. 

Malia blinked in surprise, and then her features smoothed over, “Edith-”

“I should go first,” I interrupted, knowing I’d chicken out soon, “Malia, I think your beautiful and-”

“I have feelings for someone else,” Malia said quickly, and my world stopped. 

“Edith! Malia!” Kylie appeared suddenly, grinning from ear to ear, glowing like mad. I knew from her disheveled appearance that she had probably been off somewhere making out with some random boy. Momentarily distracted, I smirked. 

“Hi, Kylie,” Malia said, and her grin was broader than it was with me. I narrowed my eyes. 

“How’s the dance going for you?” I asked, raising a knowing eyebrow. 

“Boys don’t know how to kiss,” Kylie complained.

“Girls know how to,” Malia said, her voice sultry, “I can teach you sometime, if you want.”

Oh. 

Oh.

It felt like someone had reached into my chest and tore out my heart. Or, like it had fallen from my chest all the way down to my stomach. I was devastated, and unfortunately, not surprised. After all, looking back, every time I had seen Malia in the hallways at school, or even when I had entered the dance and we had locked eyes, I was always with Kylie. 

I just thought that Malia had been staring because I was the gorgeous one, not Kylie. Not this time. 

Kylie coughed awkwardly and glanced at me, gauging my reaction. I gave a minute shrug, and Kylie frowned, “I know,” she replied, looking at Malia, “because Edith is the best person I’ve ever kissed.”

I watched as Kylie walked off, my eyebrows raised. Kylie and I had kissed once, as a dare, when we were twelve at a birthday party. I snuck a look at Malia, and she didn’t look upset. She looked…intrigued. 

“Edith-” she began.

“Good luck with that,” I snorted. Malia looked absolutely smitten, “Kylie Phillips is known for breaking hearts.”

“She won’t break mine,” Malia vowed. 

“Right,” I said, as Kylie walked over to an equally dishevelled boy and wrapped her arms around his waist.