I hunch my shoulders, trying to disappear. The thin fabric of my costume cloak suddenly feels oppressive, heavy in a way it wasn’t a moment before.
It’s as if everyone is watching me.
Seeing me.
Knowing that I’m different. That I don’t belong.
I backpedal two steps before Kendra notices, shoving past a couple who have worked their way between us. She reaches out and hauls me back.
“What’s wrong?” Tate shouts over the music.
I shake my head and plaster on a smile that’s really a grimace. “I’ll just wait for you over there.”
I hitch my thumb behind me to indicate the side of the room and try to shuffle away again, but Kendra stops me. “Haven, wait. We’ll go with you if you really don’t want to dance.”
I don’t want to ruin their night. “No, really, you should?—”
“Seriously,” she says, cutting me off. “If you’re not feeling it, we’re with you one hundred percent. No questions asked. But I promise you, no one’s looking at you. You’re not going to be judged if you don’t know the perfect step, or the exact right thing to say. Heck, half the people here won’t even remember most of this night tomorrow morning.”
I snort a laugh at that, because the way some of the people on the dance floor keep stumbling, she’s probably right about that.
“Tate and I,” she says, gesturing between the two of them. “We’re your ride or dies. Even if the worst happens and you fall on your face and make a fool of yourself, we’re gonna be down on the ground with you, making it the funniest memory you have rather than your biggest embarrassment. We’ve got you. Promise.”
In the middle of the dance floor, with the music pumping and bodies jostling us, my heart couldn’t feel fuller.
After so many years of loneliness, how did I get so lucky with these two?
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?” Kendra asks, and I nod. “That’s my girl.” She grabs my hand. “Now, let me teach you a little dance called the running man. It’s totally vintage, but a crowd pleaser every time.”
For the next hour or so Kendra and Tate show me every ridiculous dance move they know, making a hilarious spectacle of themselves. I am, as feared, a horrible dancer, but I don’t care because they don’t care, and it doesn’t matter if anyone else does because I’m here with my friends and having the time of my life.
Poor Kendra is dying in her fur arm and leg warmers, so she takes them off, ties them together, and then wraps the fur rope she created around her waist. Even though the Little Red Riding Hood cloak is a light and cheap material, it becomes stifling as well, but something about wearing it feels a little like armor, so I let the hood drop back and keep it fastened around my neck.
Eventually, I run out of steam from laughing and bouncing up and down, and yell to my friends that I need the restroom. Tate asks if I want her to come with, but I wave her off. They already told me the bathroom is just out the door and at the top of the stairs.
They give me explicit instructions to come right back when I’m done and don’t accept drinks from anyone, like I’m a little child who might get lost or stolen.
Instead of being insulted, I find it endearing.
With a wave, I turn and cut through the throng, endorphins from dancing making me feel more confident than I have all night. After turning left once I leave the room, I climb a flight of stairs and find the end of the longest bathroom line in the history of humankind.
I join the line. The only good thing is the music isn’t quite as deafening on this level. Leaning against the wall, I tip my head back and close my eyes. As I’m waiting, I feel something vibrate in the pocket of my dress. When I pull out my phone, my stomach drops. I have seventeen texts and twelve missed calls, all from my parents.
My parents know Tate and Kendra. They’re trying to give me as much freedom as they think is safe, so they usually don’t give me too hard of a time for occasionally studying late with them, which is what I told them I was doing tonight.
As I scroll through the messages, I realize that they’ve been trying to get a hold of me for the last hour—and when they couldn’t reach me, they went into full panic mode.
I quickly punch in the numbers, nine-one-nineteenth, and hit send. Our code to let them know I’m safe. The ninth, first, and nineteenth letters of the alphabet are I, A, & S. I am safe.
Right after that, I type out a message telling them that my phone went dead and I didn’t realize it.
My stomach churns.
I hate lying to my parents, and the unease growing in my gut starts to make me think this was a mistake.
I bite my bottom lip as the three little dots appear on my phone, letting me know my parents are responding. Feeling guilty, part of me feels like I deserve to have them rage at me, so when I read their message and it says that they are relieved I’m okay and hope I’m getting a little bit of fun in tonight with my friends, I only feel worse.
