Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

25. Snowball (Part Two)

Thatcher leads me inside, holding open the door for me, and we walk into Patti's conversation with the moms. "See? Here are my friends. That's Timothy Boone in the blue suit, Thatcher Gorsky there, and Janie Myers."

The moms check us all off their lists, mumbling our last names as they do. "Okay, you kiddos are all checked in," one of the moms with a short black hair cut and plump apple cheeks says. "Have fun."

Only Moth replies—"Will do"—and we make our way down the short hallway to the gym. This entrance is in the back of the building, closest to the gym, and also close to the forgotten fine arts wing. We walk past an entire wall of trophy cases and medals and plaques, all commemorating sports stuff from the 1960s to the present day, and when we turn the corner, we're in the hall where we can either turn left into the gym or turn right and head down the fine arts wing. Tonight, all the lights in the fine arts wing are off, so it really looks like a dungeon; but that doesn't matter: We are drawn to the gym, where Moth's song is finishing up.

As we pass through the blue and gold gym doors, we are transported from a high school to the inside of a snow globe. White spots of light swirl on the ceiling of the gym and as we enter, students with fans and tiny bits of white tissue paper blow fake snowflakes over us. On the left, along the pushed in bleachers are drinks and snacks where people seem to be mingling, and on the right along the far side of the basketball court are different activities: official dance photos with a photographer and backdrop, a separate photo booth, a paper snowflake station where it looks like student council members are using the final products to further decorate the room, and corn hole with white bean bags. In the center of the gym is the dance floor and the DJ is set up in the farthest corner from us. I can't see him, but I can see the tall speakers he's set up to blast through the room and I can hear his voice as he announces the next song. "Here's an oldie, but a goodie to get all of y'all on the dance floor: 'I Gotta Feeling'."

The opening beats of the Black Eyed Peas song starts and Moth starts jumping up and down in sequence. We aren't even near the dance floor yet, but when you're Moth, the dance floor has no barriers, I guess.

He bounces in a full 360 spin and catches us staring at him motionless. "What? C'mon, let's dance."

Patti starts shimmying her shoulders in syncopated movements, probably so nothing shakes too much, and starts stepping forward toward Moth as he dances his way backward to the official line of the dance floor. "Tonight's gonna' be a good night," he's mouthing along to the song as he and Patti dance into the gym.

I still can't bring myself to look at Thatcher, not even after he tried to comfort me, I'm still too mortified. Then, suddenly, he's in front of me, doing the robot onto the dance floor. I burst into laughter, now less embarrassed for myself and more embarrassed for his dance moves. Yikes.

He laughs at himself too, though, and robots back toward me, extending his arms to me.

"No," I squeal, moving away from him.

He robots even closer and speeds it up. I yelp and run away on the balls of my feet, circumventing him to get to Patti and Moth. He cracks up, crumpling like a rag doll, and then jogs normally to catch up with us.

"What, you're not a fan of the robot?"

"Absolutely not," I say, though I'm really yelling over the music.

He tries to start it again, but I whack his robot arms down and we laugh again. I feel so light with the playfulness of it all that I nearly forget all about the limo driver's comment. But something sticks in my mind: Thatcher didn't seem horrified. He didn't immediately protest. I'm the one who is all bent out of shape about it, not him.