Next Chapter || chaennie

Proms and Hazards-end

Music filtered out of the hotel ballroom, a top-forty pop tune. Rosie stood outside the double doors. Her chest felt tight.

“You sure you can do it?” she asked.

“Sure I’m sure,” Kim Jongin said with a shrug.“AV is not a problem.”

“Okay.” Rosie nodded decisively.

“Are you okay?” Jongin asked, peering at her more closely. “You look like you’re going to puke. And who are those flowers for anyway?”

“Someone special,” Rosie said, squaring her shoulders. She was definitely not going to puke. Probably.

“All right.” He shrugged again. “Well, good luck with that.”

Rosie turned to give him a weak smile.“Thanks.”

“Oh, and Rosie?”

“Yeah?”

“You look really rad tonight.”

Jongin trotted off down the corridor, leaving Rosie grinning in his wake. She straightened up, fixing the lines of her suit. The Suit. Hyunsuk had made sure every seam was perfect, skimming her slender figure in a way that he declared should be on the New York runways. She wasn’t sure about that, but when she’d finally put it on, tailored to fit her tall frame, and turned to face the mirror . . . Staring back at her had been the person she had always wanted to be. Stylish, confident, and cool. She had always thought it was an impossible dream.
Hyunsuk had made her get dressed at the shop, tweaking every tiny detail of The Suit, from its narrow satin lapels, down to the exact socks she wore (black with a thin gray stripe). He’d slicked her hair back, sleek along the sides and soft over her eyes. Then he’d stepped back and gazed at her for a long moment.

“Kid. Rosie. You’re a fucking knockout.”

A few weeks before, she would have sworn that those words could never apply to her, with her scrawny frame and tomboy style, but as she’d gazed at her reflection, her legs long and lean in the narrow cut of the black trousers, her shoulders defined by the cut of the blazer, she could see it. A knockout.

“Okay,” she said to herself again outside the ballroom, squeezing her eyes shut tight. She clutched the bouquet tighter in her hands, and listened to the faint strains of music through the door.

After a minute, the track changed.

“Now or never,” she whispered, opening the door.

The ballroom was beautiful, dripping in tiny lights and silver foil balloons. It sparkled, like the night was actually something special. Something different.

A few people around her made faces at the song choice—a top-forty hit from when they were all in the sixth grade. It wasn’t a particularly good or memorable song, but Rosie and Jennie had loved it back then, locking themselves away in Jennie's room every afternoon to dance wildly to the music, choreographing routines and laughing themselves sick over it. Every time Rosie heard it, she thought of Jennie, how the other girl had barreled into her life and never looked back, making herself Rosie's most important person without even trying.

She stood at the edges of the dance floor, letting the music wash over her, bringing a smile to her lips.

“Rosie!” Jennie's voice rose above the clamor of the crowd. Rosie peered between the heaving bodies, and then Jennie materialized like something out of a fairy tale, shimmering into focus in her shining silver dress, her cheeks flushed pink with happiness.

She was more than beautiful. She was perfect.

Jennie locked eyes with Rosie and raced to her side. “Can you believe they’re playing our song?” she gasped. In the low light, her pale skin glowed, gleaming under the thousand tiny beams sprinkled down by the fairy lights around the room. Her lips, stained a deep wine, curled up in delight.