The Things We Leave Behind

t w e l v e

The gymnasium had been decorated to fit this year's theme of Kings and Queens. It was a more original idea than the ones my old school used to have, and people seemed to like it. The walls were lined with gold streamers and garlands, the photo area had crowns and tiaras, and all the food was royalty themed. That basically just meant that the food had edible glitter and fancy fondant on it.

Logan leads me further into the gym by placing his hand on the small of my back. His touch burned me in such a way that I wouldn't mind it if he kept doing it for the rest of my life. I look up at him to find him already looking at me and I smile up at him. His eyes rest upon mine and for some reason, every time I'm with him, very back thing that's ever happened to me vanishes all at once. Like he's wiping my mind with himself. Replacing all the negativity and bad with the bright and colourful.

We walk over to the food tables and see it lined with all kinds of chips, sweets and drinks. There's a large bowl of punch at the end of the drinks table but I've seen enough movies to know that drinking punch at school is a death sentence. Literally. Too much could send your liver into failure.

"How's your arm?" Logan asks, grabbing my forearm and inspecting where the glass cut. I got my stitches out a few weeks ago, no problems. There's probably going to be a scar, but Dr. Loren said it would be faint at the most. "It's fine. It hasn't hurt in ages," I reassure him.

"Is it going to scar?" He questions, still examining my arm.

"The doctor said it probably would, but only a small one. Barely visible," I tell him, hoping that eases his mind. He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't say anything. "Go sit at a table and I'll grab some food for us." I smile and nod and head over to the seating area.

The tables have gold table covers on them and then a black table runner over the top. It's a gorgeous transformation of the usually gross and sticky gymnasium. I sit at an empty table and pull out my mirror from my purse to check on my makeup. Once I check that's it's still okay, I place the mirror back into my purse. I look up, only to see a gorgeous girl sitting on the table across from me.

She's staring at me, but not in a creepy way. More in a lost- in- thought gaze. I take a second to look over her. She's got light brown skin and dark eyes. Her hair was curled almost perfectly but a few strands were dead straight, which lead me to believe that her hair was naturally curly.

She was still looking at me, so I gently waved my hands in front of her face to get her attention. She visibly snaps from her coma like state and shakes her head lightly. Her eyes find mine again and she smiles. "Sorry," she apologises. "I do that sometimes."

"Don't worry," I tell her. "Me too." I offer a smile and she reciprocates. "I love your dress," I say. It was truly gorgeous. It was an off-white silk, the straps only grazed her shoulders, and the neckline draped down her chest in a modest, but still prom like way. I couldn't see the other half of her dress but I'm sure it was just as stunning as the rest of her.

"Oh, thank you," she says. "I made it." My jaw drops. She made it? It was absolutely ethereal. She was a seventeen year old high school student who made a dress that could give Vivienne Westwood a run for their money. "Holy shit you made that? You're so talented," I compliment. My sewing talent goes as far as sticking a needle and thread in a piece of fabric.

"Yeah, it was for my Textiles class. My teacher said it was incredible, and I had sewn it to my measurements, so it just made sense to wear it," she explains.

"Well, your teacher was right. It is incredible," I tell her, still gawking at the dress.

"Thank you," she replies, blushing. "I'm Mia," She says. "Cassie," I reply.