When I stepped into the car my mother had borrowed from our neighbor, she whispered, “Have one good moment, Mara. Just one. That’s all I ask.”
At the time, I thought she meant at prom.
Now I think she meant in life.
The ballroom looked magical.
That was the cruel thing.
If it had been ugly, I could have hated it.
But it was beautiful.
The high school gym had been transformed under strings of white lights and sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling. Someone had rented fake trees with glowing lanterns in their branches. Round tables lined the walls. The DJ booth flashed purple and gold. Girls moved through the crowd like bright flowers, laughing, touching each other’s arms, leaning their heads together for photos. Boys in suits stood awkwardly with their hands in their pockets, pretending not to care how they looked.
For the first few minutes, I let myself believe I could be one of them.
Then reality returned quietly.
No one was rude.
That would have been easier.
Instead, girls from my English class smiled and said, “You look nice,” before turning back to their circle. A group near the photo backdrop took six pictures together and did not ask me to join. My lab partner waved from across the room, then got pulled into a slow dance by her boyfriend and forgot I existed.
