I wore a poofy ivory dress. Poofy.
My best friend and her boyfriend picked me up. My date, her boyfriend’s friend, would meet us at the hotel.
I saw him holding a red rose. No corsage?, I wondered. Whatever. He was my longtime crush and I finally had a date with him. Nevermind if it was my best friend’s boyfriend who coerced him to be my date.
My friends and I sat at a round table. All of them were with their boyfriends, and I was with this guy I had only seen thrice in my life but was deeply infatuated with.
He hardly talked to me the whole night.
Slow songs came up and my friends all trooped to the dance floor with their dates. Mine remained seated, looking at the ceiling.
A slow song came to an end. He looked at me and said, “You want to dance?”
NOW you ask. I had the good sense to say no.
He had to leave early. His grandparents would scold him if he came home too late. He said goodbye to my friends and waved at me.
My Dad picked me up, my little sisters hanging out at the backseat, eager to know about their oldest sister’s time at the prom.
“How was it?,” Dad asked.
I shrugged as I struggled to fit my dress into the car.
It was poofy. Too poofy.
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