Mixing it Up

I am obviously behind on the rest of my narrative about my first day of school at the high school. Between homework and laziness, it keeps getting pushed back farther and farther away. I have started it and I am continuing to work on it until I finally finish it, but in a mix of guilt for procrastinating the end of the other one, and my delay in starting this one, I'm going to dig myself into a deeper hole and give you the beginning to yet another story. I really do need to break this habit of starting and not finishing. Trust me, I am working on it. And it might be another week before I finish one or both of these, but they will get done and I will hopefully not have anything else blogger-worthy until I do so.
So, without me blabbing on any farther, here is the beginning of my next writing project. It isn't much, but I thought I might as well. It's about time I posted about the mixer anyway.

“ ''Excuse me, Miss, but it’s time for me to hit the floor.'' And now this dancing has turn to falling. Words can’t do justice, this (boy) I know.”

He found me by the entrance as we had planned. But instead of going in, I presented him with our notebook and we continued by taking a trip back to his car. It was a small notebook of little to no financial value, but the value it held between us was higher than any notebook I have ever owned. Between its two stiff covers exist pages graced with his words, describing adventurous tales from his summer job or simple terms of endearment; such little things of such great significance. Back and forth, we filled the pages. Our love letters, conveniently in one, small notebook, now safely placed in his car. In return, a flash drive containing vast secrets on illegal projects and information that could put important people behind bars for life.

Rewind. As interesting as that might be, my significant other and I are definitely not secret agents, and if he is a spy, I’m pretty sure the only one he spies on is me... or my house...but then again, that could just be in our imaginations.

With the flash drive – that contained pictures (I could twist this one around too... but I suppose I’ll stick with what actually happened. Yes, disappointment, I know) of the Regency Jr. Idol, a competition that I performed in and he photographed, - tucked securely in my pocket, we made our way towards the entrance together, hands locked. Yes, I was rather scared, but him being there beside me and his hand surrounding mine gave me more than enough courage to envelope myself in such a strange surrounding. Whether it would give me the strength to dance was the next question. Baby-steps, one thing at a time. First things first: entering.

We paid to get in and had a green X placed boldly on the back of our hands as we entered the noisy pavilion. Step one: complete.

No one was dancing yet. It had been all summer since some of these people had seen each other so conversations we expected to be held before almost everyone got into the main part of a mixer: dancing, which happened to be the second step in the process and probably the most difficult for me to reach and maintain.




Apparently, this is where I say:
To be continued