Where Have You Been

Chapter 23

Zoë's POV

My head was spinning as I twirled across the floor. It was my 6th dance tonight, and I was ready to collapse in a heap. My heels, while they were outrageously cute, were also outrageously painful. It was all I could do not to fling them off, and into the wannabe-fancy trashcan. (It’s sort of impossible to make a trashcan look elegant). I had found myself a few handsome partners, but I had also been stuck with some middle-aged men with huge hairy hands. *Shudder*. Taylor had danced 9 dances, managing to steal all of the cute guys each time. I could swear they were all already in love with her, that flirt. I didn’t quite understand why I could never get a decent boy to like me. I wasn’t phenomenally ugly, and I had a fair personality. I guess I just lacked that “One Thing” as One Direction would say.

Shit. Why did I have to keep thinking about them? Niall in particular. Our thing was over. I hadn’t texted him in weeks, and I planned to keep it that way. My heart was thinking another thing, however, as it kept longing for him. Well, suffice to say I wasn’t about to lose my pride to some selfish boy-band member. As the dance ended, I rushed as fast as my sore, blistered feet could take me, desperately seeking some fresh air. I grabbed Taylor’s wrist, making sure I had a buddy so I wouldn’t get raped again. She grudgingly followed me, waving a quick goodbye to her handsome partner.

“Where are we going? Do you have a boy emergency or something?” She whispered sharply into my ear as I pulled her out the back entrance. The air wasn’t quite as “fresh” as I’d hoped it would be. I guess I forgot that we were in Florida, and not in some winter wonderland. I rolled my eyes.

“No! I just needed some fresh air.” I wasn’t lying, but Taylor chose this one time to think that I was.

“Really, Zoe? Fresh air, in Florida?” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. I guess I got her drift, but there really wasn’t anything that I needed to tell her. Or, was there? Suddenly, the words just came spilling out of my mouth like word vomit.

“Well I am a teensy bit jealous of you, and all of your hot boyfriends. And I miss Niall, a whole lot. I don’t want to admit it, but I think I really like him, and it hurts that he doesn’t feel the same way. And every time I dance with a guy I feel guilty, and…” I was speaking so fast that I could barely understand myself. “And I just want Niall back.” I finished dejectedly, slumping my shoulders and attempting to make myself invisible. Taylor rubbed my back comfortingly (not in a creepy way) and ushered me back inside.

“Let’s go dance, OK. I know you might feel guilty, but just remember that Niall had a GIRLFRIEND, and that dancing with someone does not make you a married couple. Not for me, either.” I smiled somewhat at her attempt to cheer me up, and followed her back through the (thankfully unlocked) door. The air inside suddenly felt crisper and livelier than outside. I was about to get back on the dance floor to strut my newfound confidence, but I recoiled when I heard the first sad notes of a slow song. Shit. Why does this always happen?

Niall’s POV

I followed Zayn’s finger to where he was pointing, and a newfound hope built inside of me. Judging by the immense amount of cars out front, it looked as if the whole of Florida was packed inside the “City Hall” as it was dubbed.

“A ball… sweet” Harry gaped at the sight of countless young women, ball gowns fluttering in the slight humid breeze. I surveyed the elaborate decorations and the stretch limousines, and found him to be correct.

“Boys, it’s time to crash the party.” We were in no way dressed for a ball in our t-shirts and skinny jeans. But, maybe our look could pass as “modern-street-chic”. Whatever that meant. With no objections from the peanut gallery, I considered my idea a good one, and we strut across the street with our well-practiced swagger. The “bouncer”, or, whatever it was called in the Victorian era, looked at us as if we were crazy.