Debutante

Kalakali

Kalakali

New member
This is a short story I wrote a while back and decided to post on a whim. I enjoyed it, so I thought I'd share it in the hopes that all of you might, as well. As with most of my stories, it was written by a random idea, so if I have the whole debutante thing wrong, I apologize!! Oh, and I will post a little more every day. Or at least try to.

Oh, and please don't let the first line scare you. (It's happened before...)
~*~​

From the start, Mandy’s idea was ludicrous, unethical, and just plain stupid.

At least, that was my opinion. I mean, come on! How many fifteen year old girls in Nowhere, Ohio, have debutante balls? But when Mandy came back from her dad’s place in New York, she was totally starry eyed. I guess a cousin of hers in Georgia had one while she was with her dad that they went to, and it was just wondrous. That was her new word since returning from NYC—‘wondrous.’ Makes me ‘wondrously’ sick. Except, last time she visited her dad, ‘peachy’ was her word, and it drove me up a wall. Wondrous is to peachy as the Hilton is to a trailer park, in my opinion.

I tried to talk her out of it; I really did. Who in the world would she invite? The whopping 103 kids in our entire high school? Really, what difference would it make if you invited the whole town? Castenbury, Ohio, population 710. Not much of a ball when half the people are in the old folk’s home. Besides, how many people in our small town know how to dance, anyway?

But Mandy’s an only child, and her dad works on Wall Street, and she gets pretty much anything she wants. She was the first one in our school to bring a palm pilot instead of just a notebook. She had a cell phone in fifth grade. When she gets an idea, no one—repeat, no one—can talk her down from it. I’ve had 15 years of experience. Besides, she told me, she’s got all her New York friends to invite. For Mandy, this basically means people she’s met once. But if she can invite them to a ball, they’re worth knowing, I guess. I don’t try to understand her logic, because it’s pretty much impossible. Especially when she’s on a roll with an idea, like she was now.

“Come on, Sarah,” she chided me. She hates my name, because she says there’s no nickname she can pull out of it. Mandy’s all for nicknames—she goes by hers full time, since her real name is Amanda. All the ones she’s formulated for me over the years have burned off. She’s still looking for a current one for me. “You’re just jealous, because you don’t even know what a debutante is!”

Okay. I’d be lying through my teeth—something I try to avoid—if I said I’ve never been jealous of Mandy Montgomery, who gets every material thing she wants. At least she’s not a brat about it, but it’s still hard when your dad works at a car repair garage, and your best friend’s dad works on Wall Street. But the thing about not knowing what a debutante is was way, way too much. I may not have a rich father, but I’m not a complete idiot!

Since arguing with Mandy is pointless, I took a different approach. “It’s still a dumb idea. If you think I don’t know what a debutante is, imagine what Troy thinks it is!”

Troy and Mandy have been flirting since the seventh grade, but he doesn’t have the guts to actually ask her out. And he’s not the brainiest kid in the school. Mandy’s kind of protective of him, so naturally saying something to imply his lack of smarts was sure to get a reaction. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure.

But it was neither. Mandy just rolled her eyes and tossed her head. “Who cares about what Troy thinks? Look, what if I sweeten the deal. It’ll be a masquerade debutante ball, how ‘bout that?”

Like the fact that it’s a masquerade ball and not just debutante makes that much of a difference to me!

But, like I said, arguing with Mandy is pretty much pointless.
~*~
 
Lovely start! I really enjoyed reading this, especially because your style is so great. I would love to see where this goes.
 
Thanks! Here's more. :D

Okay. I’ve known Mandy pretty much my whole life, and there have been countless times that I’ve thought I was going crazy. But this topped them all. Mandy had only been back from New York for a week, and had been talking nonstop about her impending masquerade coming out bash. Right now she was supposedly bouncing ideas off of me about the color of her dress. Bouncing them off me was a pretty good term, too, because that’s what they were doing.

I watched my best friend of forever pace the impressively expansive floor of her bedroom from my cross-legged perch atop her princess bed. Talk about in one ear and out the other! As far as I could tell, she had moved off the color of her gown and onto the color scheme of the ballroom. The scary/sad part about this is her house really does have a ballroom. When her mom and dad married and moved here, her dad had just quit his Wall Street job, and they had plenty of funds for a big, beautiful, ballroom-included house. Then when they split up again, Mandy’s dad went back to New York and his cushy stock exchange job. But, much to the chagrin of my best friend, ballroom color schemes weren’t catching my interest.

“Earth to Sarah! Come in please! Could you please focus here? We only have a month to pull this thing off!”

Leave it to Mandy to have a panic attack over something that’s not happening for another thirty days when it’s the middle of June.

I flopped back on the bed. “So… your mom actually agreed to this?”

She gave me a strange look. “Of course she did. She thinks it’s a great idea! Now could you help me out here?”

I rolled my eyes from my laidback position, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t see it. It figures that Rhonda Elcise would more than agree to this crazy idea of her fifteen-year-old. Rhonda also came from the glitz and glamour of New York City, and since moving to Ohio, had missed the high class-ness of it all. Naturally, she was all for Mandy’s debutante party. My mom wouldn’t let me go an hour thinking something like this was possible, much less a week. Not that I would come home wanting to put on a ball like Mandy. Why would I, in any right sense of mind, spend a month of summer planning a formal dance that was better fit for school, like prom?

Yeah. I wouldn’t.

But, for the sake of my best friend Mandy, I tried to focus. “Okay. Run that last part past me again?”

So, Mandy took a deep breath and started all over. “Since it’s going to be in late July, we should have it in the evening, and definitely have the garden doors open…”
I was thinking how stupid this was. Weren’t balls usually held in the evening?
“And for colors I was thinking how those late-blooming roses are all over the garden, so we could use those for our color schemes,” Mandy continued. “What do you think of pink, cream, and red?”

Cream belongs in coffee, not a ballroom. But of course I kept my mouth shut. Mandy would pretty much kill me for saying that out loud. Instead, I gave a thoughtful hmm.
“Good, because I think I want your dress to be red, because I have to wear white. Or, maybe it should be that creamy-peachy color, because that is so much calmer. But red is an attention getter. I don’t know. The cream is such a soft, pretty color… What do you think, Sarah?”

Like I really care about this, I was thinking, but I just shrugged. And since I am the problem solver for Mandy’s big ideas, and she said that this was my dress she was talking about, I made a suggestion. “What about this: Your mom can take the red dress, since it’s your ball, and I’ll wear the peach.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Mandy exclaimed and then started in on the masks we’d get to match our dresses.

She could’ve been talking about life on Mars for all I heard her because all I could think about was how in the world I was going to come up with a cream-colored ball gown for Mandy’s big party. My dad would never agree to buy a dress just for this. Maybe I could convince him that I’d wear it for prom—if I ever went—and graduation, and every wedding I was ever invited to…

After a lifetime of knowing each other, Mandy could read me pretty well. Offhandedly, she said, “Did I mention that my dad’s taking care of both of our dresses? I told him how absolutely thrilled you’d be about this ball, and he’s covering all the expenses, including our party gowns. He says the second most important person at a debutante party is the best friend—her date comes third.”

After her little spiel, Mandy just went on about the lighting and food, while I digested that bit of information. I knew her dad probably didn’t say the part about getting me a gown, too, but Mandy knew that I couldn’t afford it. She’d probably just tell her dad that she couldn’t decide between the two and could she please get them both, so she could decide later? That was how Mandy was; not a brat about her dad’s moolah, and a very, very good friend. I decided pretty quick that I had better return the favor and listen up about this ball thing. Because I’d be hearing about it for another month.
~*~
 
As a 56-year-old grandfather and military veteran, I'm tickled to see a real-world story that injects a bit of something like the elegance which we mostly have to look in Middle-Earth or Narnia to see anymore. As you may already realize, the very concept of "debutantes" was part of an understanding which used to exist in Western civilization: that adulthood was something to be _arrived_ at, even _earned_ in a sense--as opposed to what we see now, with 12-year-olds demanding to have all the _privileges_ of adulthood with none of the responsibilities. I hope you complete your story; too many promising threads in Writing Club have lost steam halfway through and left the rest of us wondering how they were going to turn out.
 
This is really good! I like the style of writing. And the cream in coffee bit.:)
This story kind of reminds me of my little sister and I...:eek:
 
Thanks for reading, everybody! I'm glad you're enjoying it.

~*~

The next week’s agenda was the invitation list. As official best friend of Castenbury’s very own debutante, I tagged along for all of the planning, including the number of guests and which foods to have prepared and which colors of roses should be placed where. I would have said it boring, but the truth is it was better than hanging around my own house and doing any petty little chore Mom told me to do just to get me up and moving. Let’s just put it this way: At Mandy’s I was bored, but at home, I’d be bored stiff. No kidding. So I pretended to be interested as my best friend and I went about planning her big bash.

I didn’t have to pretend long, though. Oh, sure, I could shoot holes in Mandy’s flimsy ball idea about how the people in our town can’t afford fancy clothes and don’t know how to dance and wouldn’t know what to do at a debutante party and everything. But helping plan the party made it all seem possible, and it was fun, too. When we got to the food planning part, Mandy’s mom took us to the caterer’s place to sample food. We got to critique foods together! This all-expense-paid ball planning was turning into an all-expense-paid trip to fun for Mandy and me. We turned every aspect of planning into an enjoyable experience, laughing practically the entire time. Once, she even offered to extend the party to me—we would both be the debutantes of this crazy ball. I declined though; I was just fine with being Official Best Friend.

The most fun part of planning was when we got over all the details of what the room would look like, and onto what we would look like. We pored over hairstyle books, Post-It flagging the ones we liked and commenting on ones we thought would go well with the other’s hair. I found one in a magazine that would be just perfect with Mandy’s gorgeous blonde hair. Rhonda set up manicures and pedicures for us. After a lot of deliberation, we decided to call off the masquerade part of the ball, which was a huge relief for me—I hate masks. They get all itchy on my face and they never stay on. Best of all, Mandy’s dad called and was going to fly us to New York to shop for dresses. I think Mandy screamed for about five minutes straight, but I can’t really talk, because I shrieked right along with her. New York City! The Big Apple! And I, Sarah Miller, small town girl from Ohio, was going there to get a dress for a party! How completely whacked was that? It wasn’t until after we had calmed down a little that I figured out that Mandy must have told her dad that either my dress was on the tab, too, or that she wanted my help picking hers out.

As we waited for the day of our flight, Mandy and I worked on the guest list again. I was over at Mandy’s house even more than before, be it even possible, because ever since Rhonda called my mom and told her about Mandy’s dad’s invitation to New York, she’d been hysterical. Me, her only daughter, flying to NYC with Mandy. My two older brothers never flew at age fifteen, and definitely not unaccompanied. There was drop dead no chance that my younger brother ever would, either. Rhonda assured her that Mandy’s dad, Rick, is a very responsible guy and Mandy had flown hundreds of times unaccompanied. I’m not entirely sure why Rhonda bothered with all the praise of Rick, the guy she divorced, but it worked on my mom, to some extent. She was slightly less frantic after that phone call, but I still escaped to Mandy’s whenever I could. My dad wasn’t exactly thrilled about the trip, either, and the fact that Mandy’s dad would be purchasing my dress, but he didn’t go nutso on me like Mom. He knew that this was once-in-a-lifetime for me—how many times are you fifteen and your best friend has a coming out party?

So far, we had the 103 kids in our high school, though I wasn’t sure how they would manage to get formal gowns just for this, just like I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull it off until Mandy told me her dad would take care of it. But most of the kids in our high school had been to prom before, and—if they were coming—would either borrow a sibling’s prom clothes, or wear their own. Wearing the same outfit twice in our small town society wasn’t that big of a deal. In addition to our unsuspecting classmates, there were about fifty more of Mandy’s New York acquaintances and cousins. Mandy has so many cousins that she can’t keep them straight, but insisted they all be invited. And, according to my sophisticated best friend, this was to be a fairly small debutante ball. I couldn’t help it that my eyes got really big. Over one hundred fifty people constituted a small party? My mother never let me have more than five friends over at a time! Eventually I recovered from my shock and we kept working on the invitations, which were supposed to be mailed the next day. I guess Mandy thought it proper to give a two-week notice; whether that was the right amount or not, I’m not sure.

One thing I wondered but hadn’t had the guts to ask was who Mandy’s date was. It was her debutante ball; she had to have a date. Troy was unlikely, but what did I know? Finally I worked up the nerve to ask her a few days before our flight to New York. We were sitting in her bedroom, fantasizing about New York and the dress shops there.

“Hey, Mandy?” I started. Only a handful of times had I been hesitant to ask my best friend something, and this one didn’t even make sense. It was soon to be common knowledge, right? Didn’t I get to know?

She looked up from her nail filer. “Yeah?”

“Who’s your date going to be for the ball?”

Mandy smiled that dreamy smile that means she’s thinking about something too good to be true. “A guy from New York,” she stated simply.

That didn’t help me. “Who, Mandy? What guy, and why haven’t I heard about him before?”

She sighed. “He’s my dad’s neighbor, and we’ve been friends since Dad moved to New York.” I was surprised at this, because Rick Montgomery has lived in New York since Mandy was six. That’s almost ten years of knowing this guy and she’s telling me now. She continued. “His name is Nick, and he’s a great guy. Get this—he’s even a Christian. Believe me; my dad wouldn’t let me hang out with him unless he was a decent guy.”

I was still stunned, but managed to say something. “And why haven’t I heard about him before? You didn’t answer that part.”

“Because… I didn’t think he’d remember me when I came back to Dad’s, but he always did. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you…” She wasn’t looking at me; she was memorizing every stitch in her comforter. I wanted to scream at her ‘There won’t be a test!’ but kept my mouth shut. As usual.

We were both really quiet, which pretty much never happens. Mandy could sense that I was shocked, and a little hurt, so she finally added, “You’ll meet him when we go to Dad’s in New York. I wanted it to be a surprise. You know, after Dad said he’d fly us out there.”

I looked at her, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’re forgiven,” I told her.

She just squealed and leaned over to give me a hug.
~*~
 
the poor kids from the town who are expected to dress up nice! lol
that would be exciting to be going to NY.
good job! :D
 
Wow, guys. When I, on a whim, decided to post this, I had no idea what kind of response it would have. When I came to check on it one day and saw Copperfox as the last post, I held my breath. But all the comments have been positive! Thank you so much! Here's some more--sorry I'm not posting every day like I said I would.

~*~​

As far as airplanes go, and as far as my knowledge of airplanes goes—which is basically nil—this one was pretty awesome. It wasn’t enough that Mandy’s dad wanted to fly us to New York; no, he wanted a private jet to fly us to New York.

I know; is that insane or what?

I could hardly keep my mouth from hanging open, but as usual, Mandy was Miss Cool, Calm, and Collected, as if this wasn’t a big deal. She looked at me, disdain written all over her face. It was pretty obvious that she wasn’t very happy… embarrassed might be a better word. I imagined that more of these looks would be in store for me in the near future. I mean, come on! We’re going to the Big Apple, and Mandy’s been there hundreds of times before, while I’m the small-town simpleton. I didn’t know if I liked this little revelation.

“Sarah, will you please put your eyes back in their sockets and buckle your seatbelt? The pilot’s announced that we’re going to be taking off about three times now!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled and pulled the belt across my lap. Then I got ticked off. “Couldn’t you please share some of this excitement with me? You don’t fly on private jets every day, Mandy.”

My best friend glanced around and then her face cracked in a huge smile. “It is pretty cool,” she admitted.

I gave her a high-five. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

We both sat there, grinning at each other like idiots, as the plane sped down the runway. As soon as it was in the air, we both started talking sporadically.

“Can you imagine how much fun we’re gonna have in NYC?” she asked.

“I know! It’s going to be insane! You have to go show me everything,” I shot back.

And on went our conversation. To an observer, it might have looked like a verbal ping-pong match; I’m not sure, but that was pretty much what it was. The flight wasn’t too long—Ohio to New York isn’t very far—and we talked almost the whole way there. Only when Mandy got up to get her make-up kit from her backpack a seat behind us did I get a chance to really take in the scenery… which was mostly clouds. But hey, it was cool.

From the time we landed in NYC to the time we got back on the plane to go home went by in a flash. And I’m not exaggerating, either. Mandy’s dad was there to meet us as we stepped of the private jet, pretending to be movie stars. Then we were whisked off to a week of glitz and glamour, New York style. We visited dress shops galore, and even got to visit some that were out of state. We found the most amazing dress for Mandy, and it fit her perfectly. It had straps and a high enough bodice to be modest. The skirt was neither billowy nor skin-tight; rather, it was the perfect balance between the two. Rhonda had picked her dress out online, giving us orders to pick it up when we were in New York. We did, and both Mandy and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over it. It was the kind of number that you would be okay with your mother wearing: it had spaghetti straps, but it came with a wrap for the shoulders. The dress was a stunning red, just as Mandy had wanted, and it was graced with beads all over the skirt. My dress was my favorite. It was a creamy, off-white color, or as Mandy put it, peach; it was simple and elegant. No frills or puffed sleeves for me—I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that stuff. This dress was perfect for me. The skirt, which was for the most part straight, went down and barely touched the floor, but the bodice was my favorite part. The top of it came up high enough for me to feel comfortable and was straight across. It had sleeve-type things, and the tops came only a little higher than the bodice top. I liked it. My shoes… maybe not so much. The heels were only slightly bigger around than my pinky, which made me exceedingly nervous. The last thing I needed as Official Best Friend was to enter in my great dress and fall flat on my face. It wouldn’t be fun, by any stretch of the imagination.

The only thing we didn’t do while in New York was meet Mandy’s dream date.
~*~​
 
I really like your style of writing. And I love Sarah's sarcastic commentary on whats going on at the beginning. Very good.
 
I smiled at the part about your heroine hating masks. I know just how she felt, because my own face is prone to itching. That's why, in worship services or small-group fellowship, I _hate_ it when they tell everyone to hold hands while praying! The hand-holding does _nothing_ to make my prayers any more sincere, and it _guarantees_ that, once my hands are trapped, my face will start itching furiously!



NOTE: The Bible Reading thread of the Christianity section is just now beginning an open-participation study of the Book of Ruth! EVEN THOUGH Ruth was NOT a politically-correct superwoman who could knock down oak trees with a karate kick, her life story IS interesting.
 
Thanks, guys! Thanks, Copper, for the note. I love Esther; hers is one of my favorite books in the Bible. I'll be sure to check that out.

Here's more!
~*~​

By the time we got back, I admit, I was pretty pampered. No wonder Mandy always comes back from her dad’s all starry-eyed, I thought. My little brother, Noah, was anxious for tales of my trip, and I was more than happy to give them. Mostly because Mandy had been there with me, so I couldn’t tell her, and none of my other brothers really cared.

We had only a week left to go before Mandy’s big ball, and it went fast. Mandy and I watched it go in a blur of details and decorating and finishing touches. The day of the ball came at last, and Rhonda took us to a big salon out of town—too far out of town, I guess, because I fell asleep on the way there—to have our hair and nails done. We went home and dressed in Mandy’s princess-room. She had me zip her dress, and when she turned around, I was convinced she was a princess. She was quite the vision to behold in the dress of pure white, and her golden hair in curls cascading down from the crown of her head. She even had a tiara-looking hair piece, the rhinestones matching her beautiful necklace.

But she hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, because she was only exclaiming over me. “Sarah… You look so gorgeous!” she gushed. “The peach is perfect on you. And your hair!...” And on she went.

“You need to look in the mirror yourself,” I laughed. “Mandy… You’re a sight, too, girl.”

She gave a nervous giggle and turned toward the full length mirror hanging on the back of her door. I kept my eyes off the mirror—I didn’t want to take this moment away from her—and watched her reaction. Her eyes widened in wonder and she brought her gloved hands up to her face, where they stopped about an inch away. I think she was afraid to smudge the make-up.
“It’s even more perfect than I imagined,” she whispered. I beamed. Okay, so this ball thing was still a pretty goofy idea, but it was so cool to see Mandy’s reaction to herself.

“Your turn,” she said suddenly, pushing me in front of the mirror. I started to protest, but then I saw my reflection in the glass and I was almost as stunned as Mandy had been. The cream dress was perfectly flattering, and my shoulder-length brown hair, though not as fancy as Mandy’s, was still pretty. It was in a half-pony and curled in graceful ringlets. I was actually pretty surprised at myself. For crying out loud, I was attractive!

Rhonda knocked on the door and entered in her stunning red dress, announcing that it was almost time for us to go downstairs and mingle with the guests. Mandy was to make her grand appearance in a few minutes. She would go downstairs with me and then come back up to be with Mandy until Nick showed up to escort her. I pretended to be appalled at that. I mean, I didn’t even get to meet the guy! But Mandy knew I was kidding, and soon Rhonda and I were on our way to the amazing ball room.

And it was amazing. Rhonda and I took the back staircase and entered through a door, so not to draw attention to ourselves. I stopped short when we entered, assaulted with the extravagance of the room. Rhonda told me she was going back up to Mandy’s room, and would I be all right? I nodded, but I really had no idea what she was saying. I was too stunned at the sight before me. Bouquets of roses were everywhere that a vase could be placed, and white Christmas lights hung everywhere. White gauze-y stuff was wrapped around the staircase and ribbons of red and cream were interspersed with it. And the people! There were already lots of people milling around, several of which I recognized from school. Waiters in stately uniforms threaded in and out, carrying refreshment trays.

Once the initial shock wore off, I began to walk again. Rhonda was gone; but then, I had known that. I realized that there were fewer classmates than there were other people I didn’t recognize. About half of them were around my age or at least in their teenage years, but the other half were old people. Okay, so old isn’t the best term, but at the time, it was the best I could come up with. I had seen the guest list; this shouldn’t be too stunning. Of course Mandy would invite not only her grandparents and other dignitaries but also the socially elite. I knew that.
 
I found a bench with a good view of the staircase—I wanted a good look at this Nick person that I had yet to meet—and sat down. Just watching the many people as they milled around was enough. There was Troy—and he even had a half-decent tux on! He was talking to Erin, another girl from school, and from the looks of it, they were flirting pretty seriously. I doubted that Nick would be a tough pill to swallow for Troy.

There were all kinds of fascinating people to watch, but eventually a hush came over the masses as Mandy and a guy—Nick, apparently—appeared at the top of the staircase. Classical music played softly in the background; Beethoven? Bach? Mozart? How was I supposed to know? Mandy’s grin was brighter than the sun as she descended on Nick’s arm. I scanned her escort carefully. He was taller than her, and she had heels on; that was good. He had neatly combed brown hair and a nice smile. He did look pretty dashing in that tux. I gave a soft grunt of approval. Mandy had herself a nice catch.
It only took about an eternity, but the two of them made it to the bottom of the stairs at last, and people started to move again. I stood up, but didn’t know what to do with myself after that. What was supposed to happen at debutante balls? It was a ball, right? Maybe people would start dancing soon.
My question was answered almost immediately after it paraded through my mind. Nick and Mandy made their way to the center of the room and a nice waltz started to play. The two of them swept along, and presently other couples began to dance as well.

I sat down on my bench again.

It’s not that I can’t dance. After all, I aced kindergarten square dancing! Okay, so that’s pretty much the extent of my dancing career, but most of the time I can keep from tripping over my own feet. But that’s without three-inch high, pinky-width heels on. And besides, I had no one to dance with.
Isn’t it funny how when you think something, it happens? Like, when you’re walking down the highway in the desert and you think how it could get any worse, it starts raining. Or when you wake up late, rush to get ready and your hair won’t cooperate, you get to school, get a tardy, and wonder what else could go wrong, and then you find out you forgot your homework.
Kind of like that.

As soon as I had justified my reasons for sitting back down, namely the one about having no one to dance with, a, eh hem, very attractive young man appeared in my line of vision. I glanced around to see who he was walking toward with such purpose, because it sure couldn’t be me!

Ha, ha, ha. God can have such a sense of humor sometimes.

The poor guy finally made it through the throng of people who weren’t dancing and I sat up a little straighter. Maybe there was still a slight chance that he wasn’t heading for me, right?

Wrong.

Before I knew it, he was standing right in front of me. Good grief! He was even better looking up close! But I tried not to think about that… He was saying something, and I had missed it. I blinked.

“Excuse me?” I asked, as if the noise was the reason I hadn’t heard him. Yeah, right. The noise my heart was making, maybe, but not the music!

“Is this seat taken?” he repeated oh-so-politely.

“Uh… no. No, it isn’t,” I managed.

The guy sat down a safe distance away, for which I was glad. He then extended his hand. “I’m Micah. Micah Nelson.”

“Sarah Miller.” I shook his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice how sweaty it was. Then I realized I was wearing gloves, and hoped he wouldn’t notice how sweaty the gloves were.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” he returned. “You looked lonely over here.”

I laughed; the first natural-sounding thing to come out of me since Micah had started to talk. “Really? I didn’t realize that.” Apparently he didn’t know what to say to this, so I asked another question. “So how do you know Mandy?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy. See the guy she’s dancing with?”

I nodded. “Nick.”

“Right. Well, I’m his twin brother.”

I blinked. Mandy never told me her dream guy had a brother! I was going to get her for this, I really was! Was this her idea of a joke? Just wait until—

“How do you know her?” Micah interrupted my thoughts.

“Best friend,” I said, opting to keep it short and simple. I so hoped that I wasn’t blushing.

To my extreme relief, the guy kept up a nice, easy conversation, and I got a little more comfortable around him. If he was anything like his brother Nick, then everything Mandy had said about him was true. Micah, at least, was a great guy. He had an honesty about him that was—dare I say it?—very pleasing and made it so easy to talk to him.

After we had exhausted a number of subjects to talk about, Micah stood up. He held out his hand to me, and asked in his best Humphrey Bogart voice,
“Might I have this dance?”

I beamed, blushed, took his hand, and stood up. We danced almost the entire rest of the night, and, miracle of miracles, I only tripped twice and stepped on his feet three times. Once in a while we swept past Mandy and Nick dancing, and glimpsed Rhonda playing hostess, since Mandy and I weren’t. All too soon, it was midnight and the ball was drawing to a close. Mandy hunted me down and told me she wanted me to help her see the guests out. Of course, being the honorary best friend and under Mandy’s controlling direction, I did what she asked.

Nick and Micah were almost the last people to leave the ball. When they took their turns in our little receiving line, Micah did the most surprising thing. He took my gloved hand in his and kissed it gently. Then he whispered for only me to hear,

“It was a pleasure dancing with you tonight, Miss Miller. Until we meet again.”

Then Nick shook my hand and they both left. Princes Charming 1 and 2 have left the building. I was very, very grateful that there weren’t many people left, because I was ready to either squeeze Mandy so hard that she couldn’t breathe because I was so happy or slug her because I was so mad for her little conveniently-kept secret.

Since we’d planned the night of the ball to be a sleep-over anyway, we headed back up to her room together once everyone was gone. We were so excited, we talked over each other all they way up the stairs. We didn’t even stop talking as we changed out of our gowns and into our pajamas. I finally got Mandy to crack about Nick and Micah Nelson and what all she didn’t tell me before that night.

When, at nearly four in the morning, we decided to go to sleep, I could only think of one thing.

Maybe this ball thing wasn’t so ridiculous, after all.
~*~​

Only one installment left now!
 
"Prince Charming 1 and 2 have left the building" :p

Please hurry with that next installment I really want to find out how it all ends!
 
Sorry its taken me so long--life just took off ahead of me and I've been running to catch up! Also, the ending is pretty lame. I apologize for that, too. Thanks for reading!!

~*~

In all honesty, which I try to practice, my life didn’t change dramatically after that night. Mandy and I are still best of friends, and every once in a while, we have a good laugh about that ball. I kept that gorgeous dress that Mandy’s dad was so nice to buy for me, and I have worn it to every wedding I’ve been to since. Mandy just rolls her eyes at that, but I don’t care. She hasn’t come home from New York with many more insane ideas since then, much to my relief, and I have even gotten her to admit that the whole debutante thing was a little absurd.


Sometimes, amazing enough, my parents let me fly to New York with Mandy, though not on private jets anymore, where we hang out with our ‘just friends’, Micah and Nick. They are great guys, and so fun to be around. Neither of us, Mandy or I, is ready to date yet—my dad set my limit for sixteen, and Mandy wants to start dating when I do, the copycat. Both of the guys are cool with that, so we’re just getting to know each other for the time being.


Oh, and once, Mandy and I even brought my little brother, Noah, to New York with us. Both he and I thought that was pretty cool; for him, seeing NYC, and for me, seeing my parents let him! Maybe there’s hope for them yet.
 
Oh, KK! This story was great :) I don't think you've ever written in quite this style before. I did like it a lot, even the ending. I still want to know why Mandy didn't ever tell Sarah about the twins. *blinks suspiciously* J/k, lol.

If you have any more short stories in the vault, you should def. post them :)
 
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