The Pretty One

"I broke up with him." I said nonchalantly to Megan without looking up from the history notes I was working on.


“Why?" she said, completely shocked.


“I will never see him plus we are only in 7th grade.”


“Did you say 'I love you'?" she was trying to get to the bottom of the problem (which I saw none).


“No." I was stunned. Those words are so powerful; they hold so much meaning so why would I throw them away on a boy I danced one night with? You see, I am one those girls that love mushy, sweet, romantic crap. Doesn't ever girl dream of that? So I have seen the movies, read the books and even watched real people struggle with those three simple words. I was so confused on why I would even think of saying that in 7th grade.


“Well that's the problem."

* * * * *


I sat silent on the bus as chaos immersed me. I giggled at the conversations I overheard-- students shrieking about how a teacher gave then a bad grade on a report card-- friends gossiping about the latest drama in the seventh grade. I took everything in, poking a comment in here and there. This was the first time I had ever been on the bus home from school. It fascinated me, intrigued me that all the commotion was too much to absorb in the short ride to Katie's house.


When we entered her house, my head still buzzed with the chatter I left behind. Only her grandparents were home when we entered the room. The two hours before we needed to get ready for the dance passed in a blur. When we had an hour and half until we ought to get dressed, we locked ourselves in the bathroom.


I had brought clothes, previously advised by my friends for proper attire. They were the classic, Connecticut 'teen' outfit: a plain white Abercrombie long sleeve t-shirt with a new (fresh with the perfume dumped on it by the store-- a scent I have grown to love as it has come so familiar to me) orange Hollister tank top and a jean skirt to pull the look together. I felt normal standing there, that a boy might actually look at me because of the fact I looked like every other one of my friends-- average.


Next was the make-up, a concept foreign to me but familiar to Katie. At that point, I was her Barbie. She did my hair (put it down-- a style I hadn't worn since I cut my hair.), made my face sparkle and lips shine. I felt pretty--a feeling uncommon to me.


My friends seemed to be perfect-- the way seventh grade girls want to be: pretty. I was surrounded by girls that were comfortable around guys, and that the guys looked at and liked. I was just there, in the background, blissful yet yearning to be like them. I envied my friends, so relaxed when talking to cute boys. I wanted to be like them; I watched them and tried to learn.


When she brushed the last wisp of blush across my face and straightened the last strand of my hair, we spritzed ourselves with perfume and marched out the door and into the car with our friends. At first, it was awkward, I had never hung out with a few of these girls outside of school but soon, it was identical as it was in the cafeteria. The music was blasted in the car when we arrived at Emily's house, where everyone was meeting. I strolled into the magnificent house and I received gawking smiles and many compliments. I was in glory; I was the pretty one. My favorite compliment was when Megan's mom recognized the Hollister scent my shirt was drenched in.


At last, we split into cars and made our way to the long awaited dance I was eager for!


The room was dark; flashing, colorful spot lights blanketed me each time they skimmed my skin. I was dazed. My friends I arrived with scampered gleefully off into various parts of the room and I shuffled bashfully over to other friends I recognized. I watched as people mingled; groups of girls giggled in the corner, boy’s eyes wandered in search of girls.


Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I turned towards my friend: "Let's find someone for me the dance with." and off we went, like foxes on a hunt. Then, I spotted my prey. There, dirty blonde hair sticking out a red hat, was Ted.


Luckily, my friend Emily knew him. At last we got to dance.


I was on a cloud: floating on a cloud. I didn't hear what song was playing; I didn't see my friends surrounding us, shocked that I was dancing with a boy. All I saw was his sparkly blue eyes. I tried to talk; I asked him what his favorite sport was but then my mind failed me. My arms were fastened loosely around his neck; his hands rested on my waist. We rocked back and forth, ignoring the beat of the music. I know it's a cliché but, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. My life was perfect. It felt like only seconds passed when silence filled my ears and I released his neck. I scooted (well floated) back over to my friends. We giggled in a group, a smile never leaving my face.


Soon after, I felt a tap on my shoulder. The messenger told me he wanted to dance with me again. Shyly, I tucked my hair behind my ear and found him waiting, a dazzling smile to match mine. To my disgust, after only a minute alone, my friends came over to us. "Are you two going out?" I couldn't remove the smile from my face when he said yes and so did I. They began whispering in his ear before dashing off giggling secretly through the crowd.


I repeatedly apologized, embarrassed but he stopped me: "Do you know what they told me?" His lips parting slightly when he spoke.


I shook my head and left him for only a moment to figure out what devious plan my friends had cooked up. "You don't have to if you don't want to." I kept my eyes averted from his own, embarrassed by Katie and Megan. They had told him to kiss me.


"I will if you want me to." An awkward silence settled over us despite the roaring music. I didn't wan t this to be my first kiss. Although this night was perfect, I questioned myself. I was only in 7th grade! I wanted my first kiss to be special. Easily, our eyes met.


"You can kiss me on the cheek." I turned my head to the side. His warm lips met my cheek and I was anxious that he would feel my pulse spike. It felt like a life time and I thanked myself for luring him into the corner to share this special moment. When he drew back, I turned back to him to give him my farewell hug.


As I walked out of the school, alone, the smile was still perched on my face as I glided to my mom and dad waiting in the car. My face was glowing, glazed with bliss. I fell asleep that night my mind was on the dance.


The following days were spent mostly texting Ted. But, reality was hovering over my glee. I would probably never see him again. After two wonderful weeks, I broke up with him. It was my first relationship; he was my first boyfriend.


The picture hangs in my room as a momentous of that night: 14 girls, glittered and prettied up, about to leave for a night one of them would never forget.