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"Come on," Jessi persuades, urging me onto the dance floor. It's the "Spring Fling" and I decided to come on account of it was this, or family game night. My family annoys me, plus I suck at Monopoly. There was no way I was staying home.
"No," I argue. Unfortunately, I suck at dancing too.
"Why?" She questions, cocking her eyebrows inquisitively.
I'm the proof of the theory "white people can't dance" for God's sake. I find it extremely embarrassing, and I'd rather the entire student body didn't know this. So, I believe I'll drink some (hopefully) non-spiked punch and fill up on Lay's potato chips, with the rest of the dance skill deprived students.
"I don't like this song," I lie in a whine, not caring that I sound like a four year old, with a mild tantrum problem.
She sighs and gives me her "I don't believe you" glare. "Just like all of the other songs before this?"
Well, duh. Have you not noticed the rap and R&B marathon? Although this one is a little more manageable....
"Bad luck," I respond sarcastically.
"What eva'," she says all "gangsta-n-stuff", which ends up sounding really cool. Jessi's always cool. She's drawn to the right clothes, the right music, the right friends, the right everything. Although I've known her since 3rd grade, not a single ounce of her popularity has spread to me, only chicken pox in the 4th grade. So, here I am, five years later; always tripping over my own feet, 100% fashion challenged, and still slightly addicted to juice boxes. People never guess we're friends- we might as well have come from different planets.
Jessi glides onto the floor, joining the few very brave and daring students actually dancing at the school dance, as I curse my parents for passing on their incredibly crappy dance skills. I actually like dancing. Yeah, in my room- all alone- where no one can see how completely nerdy I look.
The corny disco ball on the ceiling creates little twinkles of light everywhere: enough to make you squint, but not quite enough to blind you. About eight teachers stand around the gymnasium, like guards in a prison yard, bum rushing all dancers within 3 feet of each other, and attending to any injuries caused from "breaking it down" a little bit too much. In the corner there's a group of people all situated randomly watching the dancers and talking. Little pieces of their conversations merge together to create one big BLAH.
I sigh, gulp down a cheap plastic cup of punch and walk over to Joey. He's sitting at a table in the corner, furiously laughing at Bruno's feeble dancing attempt, while shoveling over-priced Skittles from the vending machine into his mouth. See even Bruno has more guts than I do. His dancing is even crappier than mine yet he's dancing. But I guess he has it easy. He doesn't have to worry about stupid jokes. All he has to do is eat the person and his problems are gone.
"Hi," I declare, sitting down next to him, stealing a few Skittles from the bag.
"Up what's?" He questions looking at me from the corner of his eye, not noticing the missing candies.