Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

24. A School Dance (Part Two)

In a room that Patti's parents refer to as the "sitting room," five adults gather to take pictures of us misfits all dressed up, like we're already celebrities or something.

"Okay, gentlemen, let's get some pictures of you with our ladies," Patti's dad says.

Patti and I stand together in the middle of the room, in front of their fireplace where a bunch of snow-themed décor to coordinate with the occasion, and Moth moves to stand at my side while Thatcher stands beside Patti.

Patti's dress presses against my legs, but I can't argue: it's gorgeous. She wears a red dress, of course, with a poofy organza skirt. At her waist, there's a fabric strip that gives her an hourglass shape, and the top of the dress is entirely covered it tiny shimmering beads, all the way to the top of the neckline that wraps around the base of her neck. She must have professionally had her hair relaxed and straightened, because it lies perfectly down her back and catches the light like a golden waterfall. The hair just above her ears is braided and pinned back with beaded, glittering red flowers on a black metal branch. Her face is barely recognizable too. Her eyes are dramatically made up with white eyeshadow that gradually fades to black by the cat eye liner and fake eye lashes. She legitimately looks like she could be on the red carpet, and I don't know how to feel about it: jealous that she looks so amazing or proud that my friend is working it so well. I settle on a mixture of both.

To match her outfit, Thatcher wears black pants, a black tie, and black suspenders with a little red rose pinned to one of the straps. He looks like a 1940s gentleman, and every time I look at him, I catch myself smiling.

Moth, on the other hand, decided to go with complimentary colors instead of matching. He wears an indigo, velvet suit with a white shirt and yellow bowtie. He looks like he could be heading up a Mardi Gras parade or something, but somehow I'm not at all surprised that this is his outfit. It's very him, and, of course, he looks super cute in it anyway. I catch myself smiling at him too, but not because I'm smitten. It's because he is so proudly and uniquely himself.

Both of his parents, as well as both of Patti's parents and my mom snap a bunch of pictures of us on their phones—or in Mr. Weiner's case, on his super fancy looking camera—as soon as we are in position. Moth's arm wraps around my waist, which is such an unknown feeling to me, that my smile genuinely comes through as I giggle to myself.

"What's so funny?" he asks between pictures.

"I'm ticklish."

Moth laughs and removes his arm, but when I catch Thatcher in my peripheral vision, he doesn't seem as happy. It's really obvious that his parents are the only ones missing, and he is clearly the most underdressed. I wonder what he's thinking, but I know I can't let him think I'm interested in Moth; so I quickly pull myself together for the rest of the pictures.

We take pictures of the couples individually. Of just the girls. Of just the boys now. And at Patti's request—since we're all friends, and all—of mixed up couples. They take a few pictures of Patti and Moth, and I can't help but beam looking at them together. She looks so unbelievably gorgeous, and they both look so dressed up, that they really look like a celebrity couple in front of the paparazzi. I wonder if Moth's noticed how beautiful she looks too.

Then it's my turn to "get on up there" and take some pictures with Thatcher. I can't help but think that our slightly less dressed up looks match better.

"Get closer," Mom instructs from behind her phone.

Thatcher wraps his arm around my shoulders and I nestle in beside him. At first, I'm excited to be so close to him, but then my mind gets stuck on the friendliness of the pose. Why isn't his arm around my waist? Is it because he's legitimately too tall to do that? Or because he overheard my little conversation with Moth earlier? Or because I'm more of a buddy to him? I smile through the questions, but I don't even want to see how forced my smile probably looks in all of these shots.

That is, until Thatcher makes me smile.

He turns his head to rub his nose, and while his face is turned away from the cameras and toward me, he whispers, "You look like a movie star, kid." He made his voice sound like an old timey movie star, but I think I've picked up on Thatcher's quirks well enough by now to know that that means he's trying to be sincere, but doesn't quite know how to express it.

I totally get that, so I reply, "You don't look so bad yourself," in the same old Hollywood accent.

We take a few more pictures until there's a knock at the door.

"That must be the limo," Mrs. Weiner sings.

"You got the kids a limo?" Moth's mom asks. "Well, you have to let us chip in for it."

"Nonsense," Mr. Weiner replies as his wife opens the door to a real life limo driver.

My mom and I exchange wide eyed looks, and then Thatcher leans over and whispers, "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

"You're mixing up your references now," I say with a smile. "What am I, a movie star or a princess?"

My comment has clearly taken him aback. "Look who's a language critic now."

I smile. I haven't thought about my disability in so long, and Thatcher's right: I'm growing with my new plan in place and my new friends already.

"Are you kids ready?" Mrs. Weiner asks, the door still open to the limo driver, who smiles a cheesy grin.

"Heck yes, we are," Moth answers for us.

We all grab our coats, but before we head out the door, my mom takes my hand. "Don't worry about texting me tonight," she says.

"What? I mean, are you sure?"

She takes a deep breath. "Yes. I trust you with these friends. Just have fun and be home by 11."

A curfew extension too? Who is this woman??

"Thanks, Mom," I say.

She nods, and with her blessing, I head out the door behind my friends and into the limo I never imagined I'd take to a school dance ever. I want to pinch myself to make sure this is really my life, but I know I don't need to. This is just what happens when you finally start making choices for yourself.