The dank aroma of overripe hormones filled the air as dazzling diamonds of light pierced the awkwardly swaying bodies. The disco ball, dutifully spinning above a swarming mass of sweaty palms, seemed oddly ethereal compared to the social dynamics being clumsily forged below.
In the center of the dance floor, unnatural blondes clenched their teeth as they pretended to be proficient at walking in heels. Meanwhile, barely pubescent boys nervously stroked their gel-soaked hair as they flinchingly placed their hands on their dance partner’s waist. Most of the teens lingered by the refreshments table, perhaps hoping someone would spike the punch bowl like in the movies. (Sadly, no one did.)
And then there was me, strategically placed against a column at the corner of the dance floor, far enough to avoid being dragged into a game of limbo yet close enough to be noticed — hopefully.
Sadly, no one did.
For most of my life, I’ve been the shy girl. The one who stayed quiet, preferring to listen rather than speak. The one who never felt bold enough to put myself out there. The only times I did either of these things was when I had unambiguous clearance to do so. I found it much less frightening to raise my hand in class than to attempt to join a conversation. Eventually, I’d even start performing on stage with utmost confidence —…
