They drank spiked punch in the school hall, which had been transformed. Streamers ribboned from the ceiling, a glitter ball hung low in the center as light cut over couples who moved slow on the dance floor. Chuck and his group stood together, occasionally throwing glances at a boy who now stood a head taller than all of them. The girls stared because he was no longer one of them.
“And now you need to dance with me,” Misty said.
“You know I don’t dance.”
And then the song died and the one that took its place sank his heart as he sighed and her eyes widened.
She dipped her head a little, pouted until he took her hand and led her to the center. A space cleared, and she clutched his back and pressed herself close.
She took his hand and held it aloft, slowly spun before him and sang of how hers was not the first heart broken.
She nodded toward him, imploring, begging.
Grumpily, he told her his eyes were not the first to cry.
“Eye,” she corrected.
He frowned and she laughed.
She whispered the words, devoted herself so hopelessly that he lifted her clean off her feet and spun her in his arms, her hands looped around his neck.
“I love you,” she said.
The check weighed heavy in his pocket.
Heavier still on his heart.