Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

24. A School Dance (Part One)

The TV is on in the living room, and I sit, watching some reality cooking show Mom likes while she does my hair in the dining room. I would have suggested we watch A Call from Midnight, but (1) I'm way too anxious for Snowball to pay attention to anything and (2) for some reason I feel weird watching it now. I don't know, it's like... now that I know Grant O'Reilly is going to be at our school, judging us, and hopefully choosing Thatcher and Patti to go on his show with him, I can't enjoy the show. I feel too anxious watching that now. Apparently I'm at a point where literally everything gives me anxiety. Not even theater class can relieve me, because now I need to bring it with Romeo and Juliet, being that it was all my idea. So I just sit here, my legs shaking underneath my yellow dress, as I'm blankly watching something where people are challenged to make cakes, I guess?

"What's wrong?" Mom asks. She pulls at my hair, but she's gentle.

I shrug.

"Not an answer."

"I'm nervous," I admit.

"For?"

"For dancing. For getting dressed up and trying to look pretty, you know? It's like, what if I don't look nice, and then people laugh at me?"

"People like Gina?"

I don't answer, but she's right. I'm scared of seeing Gina there.

The fear reminds me of the first time I realized how cruel Gina could be. We were still in middle school, 7th grade to be exact, back before I knew the other misfits—Moth and Patti went to the other district middle school and Thatcher was still in some other district—and when Gina was still my only friend. We decided to attend one of the biannual teen hangouts and casual dances that the school called "Teen Centers." I went over to her house right after school and we used Gina's and her mom's collections of assorted beauty products to get ready. I had no clue what I was doing, so Gina spent half of the afternoon straightening my hair, which was still just as long as it is now, and doing my make-up. I remember actually really hating how she did my eyes, because the inner lid eyeliner made my eyes look tiny on my face. I couldn't say anything, though, because Gina was convinced that she had made me look exactly like Kylie Jenner. I didn't see it and thought I looked more like a girl who had slept in her make-up.

When it was finally time to go to the Teen Center, Gina's mom drove us and dropped us off at the school. We had to wait in line to pay the five dollar "donation" for Student Senate admission fee, and while we were in line Gina spotted some girls from our grade. To be clear, Gina and I were not popular. We were a weird island clique of our own, somewhere between obscurity and what some people in middle school referred to as "emo" since Gina was constantly lining her eyes in thick black lines and dying her hair. Despite this, Gina carried herself as if she were one of the popular girls, and anyone who she deemed a loser—which was pretty much anyone outside of the popular group and the two of us—was fair game for critique.

The girls from our grade were part of the large group of "losers," and Gina hit my arm and leaned over to whisper, "Look at those posers."

When I looked over, here's what I saw: Four girls in a small circle while waiting in line, each one wearing a similar outfit that both of us were wearing—jeans and a nicer than normal top—, each one with a more special than usual hair style like us, and who were all talking and laughing with each other. There was absolutely nothing poser-esque about the girls, in fact, I thought that they looked really cute. I remember envying one of their tops, because it had nice beadwork around the neckline. The only real thing that separated us from them was that they seemed to be having fun already.