Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

25. Snowball (Part One)

The Weiners went all out on this limo. One long color changing light strip wraps around the entire ceiling inside, and by a little bar area where alcohol would probably be for a normal limo ride are little Perrier bottles and champagne glasses.

"Alrighty, kids," the limo driver says, turning back to look at us through the partition window, "next stop: your Snowball dance. It's only a ten-minute drive, so hurry up and enjoy it." He rolls up the partition, and Moth leans toward the mini bar to "crack open" a Perrier, as he says.

He pours bubbly water into each of our champagne glasses, and then raises his, nearly smacking the brim against the ceiling of the limo. "Allow me to make a toast," he says doing his best British accent, which is actually pretty good from what I can tell. "To the four of us, who are now embarking on a Shakespearean voyage, who will absolutely kill it on stage, and who all look absolutely stunning on this night of revelry."

Thatcher and I chuckle at him, but Patti seems to shrink in her seat at the mention of the new direction of our one act. She lets down her glass and she frowns to herself.

"To taking tonight to have fun and just be people, not misfits," Thatcher says, nudging Patti with his elbow.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm just so worried about all the catch-up we'll have to do."

Thatcher shrugs. "Eh, it is what it is. We'll figure it out."

"And no one has done Shakespeare in, like, forever. It's going to be so dope and so unique."

"So, to Snowball, right?" I ask, lifting my glass again.

Patti smiles a bit and straightens up in her seat. "Yes, you guys are right. I will be present tonight. To Snowball."

"To Snowball," we echo, and clink our glasses.

We play pretend like we're grown-ups, like maybe we're celebrities on our way to the Oscar's or something, for the remainder of the ride to the high school. We pour a few more glasses of Perrier, toasting to various other things. First to ourselves. Then to Patti's parents. Then to Dionysus, the god of wine and the theater, apparently. Patti, Moth, and Thatcher laugh about some silly song about Dionysus Mrs. Permala taught them during Theater I, when they were studying Greek theater. Finally, we toast to grand entrances as we pull into the high school and as our limo joins the line of cars and other limos letting students out for the dance.

When it's our turn, Patti scooches to the limo door, and, flipping her hair, says, "Strut like you're walking a red carpet."

We laugh and hoot at this new attitude Patti's embraced, and I can only imagine it has something to do with her amazing style tonight. She seriously looks like a model, and all I can think about is how Gina would be so jealous whenever she thought I looked better than she did. Once or twice she even made me change. I don't get it, because I'm not jealous of Patti. On the contrary, I'm pumped for her. She's usually a frantic, frizzy ball of energy, and tonight it's like she's ironed herself out and now she can just be the best, most balanced version of herself. Besides, Moth keeps touching her arm, her leg, her shoulder, every time they laugh together.

She laughs at our reaction, and as the limo driver opens the door for us, I catch Moth do it again: He briefly rests his hand on the small of her back to support her out of the limo.

Thatcher must notice it too, because we both look at each other at the same time, both of our eyes wide with surprise; and we laugh. Moth is about to exit next, but turns back and asks, "What?"

"Nothing, brother. Go ahead," Thatcher says with a smirk, and scooches toward the door to exit next.

Finally, it's my turn to get out, and with this shorter dress on, I feel like I'm stepping out in the most awkward way possible in order not to flash my friends on my way out of the car. Thatcher extends his hand to me, and my cheeks heat. I can't stop myself from smiling, and I take his hand, allowing him to help me out. I sort of sway to gain my balance in these heels, and just like that, Thatcher's other hand is on my waist to steady me.

"You good?" he asks, but there's something in his voice that makes my heart skip a beat. His words are soft, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear, and they're as shaky as my ankles were getting out of the limo. Is he nervous?

I chuckle. "Yeah, klutzy me. Thanks for catching me."

"No problem," he says with a smile. "That's what I'm here for. Literally, that's why I'm standing here."

"Alright, love birds," the limo driver says, absolutely mortifying me, "I'm going to have to close the door and get going."

"Oh, we're not—," I start.

"—Sorry," Thatcher says, jumping backward onto the curb. His hand drops from mine. His heat leaves my waist. I step up onto the curb and wonder exactly which shade of Patti's red lipsticks I'm wearing on my cheeks.

"Are you guys coming or what?" Patti asks from a few feet away, closer to the door.

"Yeah, c'mon, they're playing my jam," Moth calls. If I weren't so unbelievably paralyzed with embarrassment I'd laugh, because an older song called "Call Me Maybe" is playing inside. I catch brief moments of the cheesy one hit wonder every time someone else opens the front doors of the school to walk in.

"We're coming, just a little trouble getting out of the limo," Thatcher calls back. I can't bring myself to look at him, as if he would be able to see the humiliation in my eyes, but then his hand is on my shoulder. "Hey," he whispers.

I gulp some air and hold it in my lungs to ease the pain of moving my eyes up to meet his, but it all fades away when I see him flash a smile at me. "Are you okay?" he asks. His thumb moves across my skin when he asks. "You're so cold."

Oh yeah, it's winter. With the extreme heat from my embarrassment and now from his touch, I could have gotten away with forgetting it was the middle of February.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm okay. Let's go inside," I say.

"Finally," Moth says from the door, where he's now proceeded to start bopping along to the beat like an old man who's forgotten how to dance. Or maybe he's just trying to stay warm. Patti is already inside, signing us in with the parent chaperones, all moms, who are working the entrance table.

Continue in the next part...