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She explained that it was the only dance they got all year. When Penelope and I attended school here, we had two. We had a winter-themed dance during Christmas break, and another dance at the end of the school year. Due to budget, that was cut down to just one a few years ago. Macie explained that she had attended an all-girls catholic school that didn’t have any dances at all (and no boys, she had added) and that it was a miserable experience she never wanted her students to have. She said when she started working here three years ago, she asked to take over the planning of it, and she’s been doing it ever since. Jeremy explained to me that she often began planning at the beginning of the school year, and even set personal savings aside to afford extra entertainment that would be outside of the school’s budget.
So, when she had demanded that I arrive as early as the rest of her friends because,Iknow for a fact you’ve got nothing else going on and Penelope won’t be at home for you to drool at anyway,I hastily agreed. Along with the added eye roll and secret thanks for making the comment when Penelope wasn’t around.
The parking lot was empty, apart from about six cars, one of which I recognized as Penelope’s black Kia. Once I made my way inside the gym, I saw the space had been transformed into the colors of spring, making the gym nearly unrecognizable. Green tapestries hung across the ceiling, balloons that looked like flowers were plastered up along the walls with orange and yellow streamers coating the bleachers. Twinkle lights draped the perimeter of the entire gym and a large wall of greenery with multi-colored flowers sprinkled throughout it stood in the corner. A neon sign that read:Spring Flinghung in the middle of the wall.
Macie stood on top of a forklift that was fully extended as she tried to hang a disco ball in the center of the gym. Jeremy stood at the foot of it, directing her from below. Mesmerized by all the work Macie had already done, and naturally, being drawn to the spectacle that was her on a forklift, I hadn’t yet spotted Penelope. That was, until a cackle of her laughter echoed throughout the gym. I found her in the corner opposite the wall of greenery. Her cherry-colored hair was thrown into a knot on the top of her head. Her white t-shirt was oversized and hanging off her shoulders as they bounced with her giggles. In a squatting position, she slowly wrapped a ball of streamers around Marshall’s body.
He stood—pin straight, legs together, arms tucked at his sides—watching her. He let her wrap him up completely as she rose slowly, binding him in with each round she made of his body. His eyes held only desire and shameless hunger. He was smirking at her as she worked up on him. As if making her giggle was a competition, and she was the prize he believed he won. Once she got to his neck, she wrapped the streamer tightly around him three more times, reaching his jaw and covering his mouth. She tore the streamer from the ball and tucked it in behind his head.
“Talk about my ass again, and I’ll cover your nose.” She had been laughing before, but her tone now was a vicious, simple warning. Marshall’s eyebrows rose in amusement.
I frowned.
Claps thundered. “No fucking around!” Macie yelled.
Penelope twirled around to face her, but her eyes fell on me instead. Her mouth gaped, and then snapped shut. She looked as if she may flush. “Hi,” she said. “I didn't realize you were here.”
I craned my neck toward Marshall. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Marshall was already tearing off the decorations. He stepped out of the pile of streamers that pooled at his feet. “No worries, we’ve got all night for foreplay, don’t we, Penelope?” He winked as he passed her, brushing against her shoulder.
My gut plummeted.
“Pig,” she seethed.
I suppressed the kindred words that I wanted to throw at him myself, but I could feel them burning inside my throat. My face must’ve been giving me away because a pressure on my forearm broke my gaze. I looked down to find a set of large green eyes blinking back at me.
“He was just messing around,” she said. Not defensive, or justifying, but reassuring.
I had to assume there was some kind of understanding, some kind of relationship between them that would cause such intense banter in such a casual manner. Unless Marshall was truly just that brazen. I hoped and hoped, even knowing I shouldn’t care, that their banter was not, in fact, some sort of foreplay.
I hoped and hoped that Penelope knew she deserved better than him.
We followed behind Marshall and back towards Macie as she finally lowered down the forklift. A sparkling sphere now hung in the center of the gym. She glanced around the space, crossing her arms. “Okay, we’re still waiting for the DJ to get here and set up, and I’m waiting for some more tables and chairs to be delivered.”
“What do we do until then?” Marshall asked.
Penelope had wandered away toward a lone table that was set up by the door. I assumed it was for some kind of check-in process. She pulled a bag out from under it and pulled a book out of that bag. I tried to ignore the patter in my chest as I realized the book she was holding was my favorite one. Plopping down in the chair, she began to read. Everyone else followed her, Marshall immediately taking the only other chair in the area and draping his arm over the back of hers. I leaned back against a set of bleachers nearby while Macie and Jeremy took to the floor in front of the table, leaning against the door.
“Until then, we will practice for next week’s trivia night.”
Everyone groaned.
“Oh, shut up,” Macie muttered.
“Are we at least going to be quizzed on something interesting next week?” Penelope asked without looking up from her book.
Marshall must’ve caught my confused expression because he said, “Penelope only participates when the week’s topic is something she’s an expert on. When it’s not, she pretends she’s not interested, but it’s really because she doesn’t want to be outsmarted by one of us.” He winked at her.
Penelope rolled her eyes.
“What is next week’s topic?” I asked Macie.
“Early 2000’s sitcoms.” Macie’s brows lifted. “Do you watch any early 2000’s sitcoms, Mr. Carter?” I shrugged in response.
Macie’s eyes met Penelope’s and widened, almost imperceptibly. Penelope shrugged slightly as if they were having an unspoken conversation. Penelope pretended to keep her face straight, casually turning over the page of her book. “I don’t watch that garbage.”
“Oh, right. We can’t forget that pretty little European princess over here hates American television.” Marshall craned his neck toward Penelope.
