Lovebirds

HOMECOMING

Maisie wears a dress the color of midnight water; dark blue, hem hitting mid-thigh. A square neckline and long sleeves of a thin material, it cinches around the wrists.

Edith's dress is vibrant pink, visible from a mile or more away. Her hair's pinned up in an overflow of perfect curls, and her shoes reflect every streetlight like stars.

Felicity wears green velvet. Figure hugging, it surprises her friends as she emerges from Dion's car, bolder than anything she's every worn before. Her hair has been styled: lightly tussled with gentle curls, and somebody managed to put a light shade of eyeshadow on her eyelids.

Standing beside their dates, all three pose for pictures: Edith beside Dylan— Ryan— something like that with Felicity awkwardly tucked within Dion's arms. Maisie gives everyone bunny ears, not bound by the obligation to stand beside anyone.

Dion drives everyone to the dance in his mom's old mini van. The music's loud and Edith, Maisie and Brayden—Cayden—Aiden—are all singing gleefully along.

As they pull into the parking lot, Edith re-applies lipstick to her already flawless lips before dragging Ryan—Ethan—Thomas out of the car. She runs to the school door, tickets waving in the air, and Maisie follows after, laughter accenting every step.

Finally, it's Dion and Felicity, both swallowed in the weight of hesitation. A quick glance at one another then they both chuckle nervously, exiting simultaneously. Walking side by side, they make their way to the doors as well, unaware that this night will end with them kissing.

Maybe in love.

But who knows when it's high school romance, right?

Spencer's dress is midnight black. Spaghetti strapped in silky fabric, it emphasizes every beauty of her being.

She wears a baseball cap, tipped up to the sky, as her eyes reflect the stars like glass. She stares—how she stares—thinking about all that will happen tonight. All that her friends will see and do; all that she cannot bog them down with in spending the whole night running from images of Vince.

He wouldn't go, she knows. Stuck in the same boat as she, trapped in the lingering reverie of memories too sweet to be the truth anymore. Recall does that: tampers with memories; makes them better or worse than they were.

She wears tennis shoes, sitting on her roof, believing she can hear the beat of the bass from where she sits; pictures her friends in the center of the mosh pit: getting sweaty yet full of joy.

The air is cold. She takes a deep breath as it whisks by, savoring the empty of aloneness. To think. To process. To realize what it truly is that she wants; needs.

The pencil makes scratching noises as she swipes it across the paper, the moon taking shape in grey scale shades. Therapeutic, she thinks about the last time she was sitting here.

"Why don't you like me calling you my girlfriend?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"I don't know," she reiterates for herself.

As she sketches another crater on the surface of the moon, she asks herself, over and over, through multiple trains of thought and back, just one single simple question:

'Why,' she wonders, 'did I keep him at arm's length?'

'Why,' again, 'did I not let the title he wanted for me stay?'

'I love him,' she always lands upon, 'but I love in a different way.'