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
Apparently, this is where I say:
To be continued
*dislike* You know why:P
ReplyDeleteHey April, according to your description, you're still 16 xD hi :D
ReplyDeleteWell that's good! Cause I am still 16 xD
Delete