We Could Be Dreamers

16

The moment I walk into the gym-turned-dance-floor, I realize that Sam was completely right in her decision to stay home. 

The space is dimly lit, but even the weak light can't hide how hideous the crepe paper decorations are. Apparently whoever put this thing together thought that drenching everything in glitter was the best way to make things pretty, because every goddamn surface sparkles. I swear the air is like fifty percent glitter at this point. 

The uncomfortable tuxedo I wound up wearing, the awkward group photos at one of the girl's house, and the stilted dinner already felt like something out of a low-budget chick flick. But the out-of-tune distorted pop? The sad-looking snack table shoved disgraceful and neglected into one corner of the space? The strobe lights that seem to go off at completely random intervals, already giving me a headache? 

Yeah, this is fucking unbearable. 

But I plaster a smile onto my face and squint my eyes to avoid the strobe. Brooke loops her arm through mine, pale lavender-and-white corsage glinting on her wrist, and leads me out onto the dance floor. 

The music switches to something slower and dreamy, but I can't really make out the words over the sound of laughter and conversation and horribly boosted bass. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the people we came with splitting off and partnering up. One of the girls—Isla, I think her name was—grabs Jason for a dance, and I can feel my stomach lurch. 

"Care to dance?" Brooke asks with an easy grin, eyes glinting in the glow of the cheap disco ball. 

"I—um—" I swallow. "Yeah. Yeah, for sure."

And Brooke smiles, and her hands are on my shoulders, and she's got this little flower in her hair and she sparkles more than all the tacky decorations but in the best way possible, and now my hands are on her waist and oh my god she's only a couple inches away from me and we sway back and forth to the music and, okay, I'm not entirely sure if this exactly counts as dancing—

"You okay?" Brooke asks, laughing lightly.

I feel my cheeks heat up. "I—um, yeah, I'm fine. I'm great, actually." 

"Really?" She asks. "Honestly, you don't really seem like a prom kind of person. I was kind of surprised when you asked me." She steps a bit closer, and her eyes—

"Oh. Yeah, I, uh..." I chuckle awkwardly. "I'm not really a prom person either. But it's nice. Um. To go. With you." 

"Yeah..." she trails off, expression twisting into something a bit more mischievous, and she leans in so close that I think she's about to kiss me, and it's absolutely incredible. 

"You know," Brooke begins, "This prom's not really my cup of tea," she says. "I'd much rather be up on my roof, watching the stars."

I blink a couple times, slightly disappointed as Brooke pulls away and we settle back into our regular dancing positions. But then her words hit me, and I can't help but grin. It's so like Brooke to want to ditch prom for a night of stargazing.

"Alright," I say, feeling excitement start to course through me. I smile down at her. 

"Let's go, then."