Page 30 of The Tattered Gloves
Darkness.
Darkness everywhere.
“Hey, will there be any lights on in the gym?” I asked, trying to mask the panic in my voice, as we got out of the sedan Allison had borrowed from her parents for the evening.
“A few, I guess,” she answered casually. “But they turn off the overhead lights, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She turned to me as we began walking toward the school, my steps slow but somewhat steady.
Suddenly, she stopped. “Oh my gosh.”
“What?” I said.
“You’ve never been to a school dance before?” she blurted out.
“That wasn’t obvious by the clothes and the crazy gloves, Allison? I’m not much of a social butterfly.”
“You underestimate yourself so much. Okay, this will be great. You’ll love it. But, before we go in, I need to know. The lights being out? Is that bad?”
I bit my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to explain without having to explain. It wasn’t something I really wanted to get into right then.
She held up her hands, like a white flag of surrender. “I got it. So, we’ll stick to the well-lit areas, okay? And, if you need to, just step into the hallway for a breather.”
I nodded, grateful for Allison and her never-ending patience.
“Now, let’s go have some fun!” she demanded.
“Lead the way,” I said, feeling both extremely nervous and slightly excited.
I’d always wondered what exactly went on at a school dance. Were they as drama-driven as TV made them out to be? Did kids really spike the punch and get wasted on the dance floor?
So many questions…
One aspect that was spot-on was the music. It was trendy and loud and made me instantly want to go home.
“Sorry!” Allison shouted. “The DJ the school hired kind of sucks!”
The boy-band chart-topper went on and on as Allison and I made our way into the gym. It was odd — being at school after-hours. Here, in the place where I usually dripped of sweat in my modified gym clothes — shorts over leggings and a long-sleeved Sugar Tree High School shirt — while running laps or participating in some other crazy physical activity that was equivalent to an hour in hell, had now been transformed into something completely different.
In the corners were larger-than-life wire trees with paper branches and tiny twinkling lights. Bird cages and fall foliage hung from the ceiling, creating a sort of autumn wonderland. Even my typically underwhelmed heart appreciated the effort.
Despite the pulsating music, Allison managed to give me a tour around the gym, showing me the refreshments table and places to sit. She even laughed when I asked her whether spiking the punch was real.
“Do you see a punch bowl?” she asked, pointing at the table where rows and rows of soda cans were lined up.
I had to admit, at that moment, I was a little let down by my TV education.
I spent most of the time being Allison’s sidekick, walking with her, as she greeted friend after friend. I tried to be engaged and social, but the introvert in me reared her ugly head, and I soon found myself taking a step back and fading into the background.
It didn’t take long for Allison to notice.
She was attentive like that.
“You’re not having fun, are you?”
I tried to think of something to say, but I knew lying would only make the situation worse.
“Do you want to dance?” she asked.
