Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

39: Formally Yours

39: Formally Yours

   The gym had been transformed from the dark scene where the first fight had taken place into an abundance of glittering lights, and pounding music. Tables sat on the outskirts of the dance floor barely occupied by anybody. One table in particular, however, did stand out to me. It had one person sitting at it in solitude the most of the night. There sat a moody angel in the dark. Imagine a toned down version of Harry Styles at a wedding with a bit more negative attitude, and you had Marcel Styles.

   “Are you sure you’re okay being here with him like this?” Georgia Rose asked me when she noticed my eyes drifting to him periodically.

   “We did promise we’d come together,” I said vaguely. In my head, I felt the need to add, “And he came. Stage one of my plan is complete.

   Of course, I’d only had less than a week to develop a plan, but, even then, I didn’t have to lift a finger. Metaphorically, at least. Technically, that was all I had to do, only to text Harry, who handled everything with the help of the band. It would all go down tonight.

   Like the night at the bar, I let Georgia Rose dress me irresistibly. We’d found me a long, teal blue, strapless dress for me which hadn’t been tossed aside into a mountain of rejects. With it, I begged Georgia Rose to leave my hair in lose curls, and I wore contacts in place of my glasses.

   The rule of popularity had changed during slow songs. Couples who were a thing before the status quo fell to rubbish – like Jimmy and Riley – still danced as they usually would, but mismatched couples also joined. Cory, who had made a reappearance after the whole potentially-trapped-in-a-locker-for-the-past-few-weeks thing, danced with Diana Matson and continually kissed the week-old scars on her wrists. Georgia Rose even saved a dance for that weird kid from her English class. I sat alone at a table during the slow songs, staring at the boy a few tables away who, I noticed, shot me subtle glares.

   If my plan worked out the way I played it over and over in my head, it would be like one of those bad amnesia movies. The dangerous Marcel had forgotten the old Marcel and if surrounding him with the better memories of our time together was, in fact, the best way to get him back, I’d do whatever it took.

   Georgia Rose took me to the middle of the dance floor halfway through a Katy Perry song as the night was slowly ending and Marcel still hadn’t moved once. Not until the deejays song ended and his voice rained out over the crowd:

   “Okay, we have a very special treat to honour the ending of this twenty-fifth annual First and Formal dance!” he announced, “The last couple songs of the night are going to be performed live, but the world famous” – dramatic pause – “One Direction!”

   The screams erupted immediately, including Georgia Rose’s piercing shriek right beside my ear as the five boys stepped into the gym through the doors, making the crowd part like the Red Sea, giving them a path to the stage.

   I turned my attention to Marcel, who looked up from the table, confused as the boys proceeded to the stage, stopping to touch outstretched hands. He didn’t know this was part of my plan (or about the plan in general).

   “We are One Direction!” Niall cheered overtop the shrieks.

   “And,” Louis began, silencing the crowd, “We’d like this first song to have a meaning.”

   “This one,” said Harry, “Goes out to my brother” – from my place in the crowd, I watched Marcel’s emerald eyes grow wide – “from the girl who’s not afraid of scary movies.”