Self-Portraits - 9. The Ball

It’s weird to be at school on a Saturday night.

From the outside, the assembly hall just looks like the assembly hall, but I can see coloured lights swirling inside it, and I can hear the faint beat of the music. I see the cluster of teachers standing out the front, including Mr Jane, and my guts twist.

I’m the first one to step off the bus. A woman with big glasses comes marching up to me.

“Are you the protest group?” she demands. She’s holding a big camera.

“No – no, I’m not!” I’m panicking. “I’m just meeting my friends here.”

“Molly!” Stu comes up behind me and hugs the woman. “You’re a legend, thanks so much for doing this.”

“Where’s the girl?” Molly the journalist asks.

“This is her – this is Vicky.” Stu throws a proud arm around her.

I back away from Stu and Molly and Vicky and all the kids pouring off the bus. I don’t know where to stand. I don’t want to stand with them, but we’re early, so I also don’t want to go and stand too close to the teachers. I end up hovering between the two groups, in limbo. I watch Molly getting the kids to line up for photographs, for the newspaper. Then I watch the teachers standing out the front of the hall, probably wondering what I’m doing loitering halfway between the street and the hall.

I remind myself I’m just waiting for Nicholas.

He’ll be here soon, I tell myself, and our night will begin.

*

I watch the “protest” like a car crash in slow motion.

By the time they start going in, I count more than thirty couples – boys together, girls together – all holding hands. They walk one couple at a time, towards the teachers. Watching the expression on the teachers’ faces is priceless. Their mouths hang open. Mr Jane turns dark purple. One of the teachers turns away and walks inside the hall. Molly the reporter is snapping away with her camera.

Vicky and Katie are the first up.

“Good evening, Mr Jane,” Vicky says, in a sickly sweet voice I’ve never heard her use. “This is my girlfriend Katie. We’re lesbians and we’re so happy to be coming to a dance together as a lesbian couple. I hope next year you’ll reconsider the rules and let us to purchase tickets as girlfriends.”

Mr Jane’s lips are pressed together in a thin line. He says nothing. After all, technically Vicky’s not breaking any rules. In fact, she’s being more polite than ever.

Then Stu, with Mark Bell from my calculus class. “Hello, faculty,” Stu says, as cool as a cucumber. “This is my boyfriend Mark. We’re not here to make any trouble. We just want to share the night together and hope you’ll consider letting us do the same again next year.”

One pretend-gay couple after another. It feels like it’s never going to end.

Mr Jane doesn’t utter a word but, as predicted, his face turns redder and redder.

Things hit a slight hiccup when Chris and Dale get to the teachers, arms around each other. “Mr J!” Dale shouts. “We suck each other’s dicks!”

“Alright, that’s it!” Mr Jane erupts, breaking his silence. “I can smell the liquor on you both! You’re out! I’m calling your parents!”

He drags them into the hall’s antechamber.

“Hey, don’t be homophobic!” Chris slurs, then the three of them vanish behind a slammed door.

Apart from that, the protest goes off without a hiccup. They’re all inside the hall – the point’s been made – it’s all over. I’m relieved.

“Hey.” Molly comes over to me. “You’re Vicky’s brother, right? That’s what Stu said.”

My relief’s short-lived. “Uh – what’s this about?” My voice sounds high-pitched and strangled.

Molly slides her camera into a bag. “Relax. I’ve got everything I need. I just wanted to say, your sister is amazing. I wish I’d been that brave at her age.”

“Oh. Right.”

Molly smiles. “Have a good night.”

Then she leaves.

I should be relieved that the protest is over, but I can’t shake the feeling that tonight might not work how I’ve hoped at all.

*

It’s eight-thirty – I’ve been standing out the front of the hall for nearly an hour – when a skinny girl in an off-the-shoulder shiny grey dress comes over to me. Her arms are long and tanned and her spider-leg eyelashes are impossibly long.

“Richard?” she says.

“Yeah!” I say. “Are you Marta?”

She looks me up and down. She sighs, disappointed with me, and for a moment it looks like she’s thinking about pretending she’s not Marta. But then she remembers that she needs me to get inside the hall and decides to tell the truth.

“Yes,” she admits. “I am Marta.”

“Where are the others?” I ask. “Nicholas and Carrie and everyone?”

“They were still getting ready. He told me to come ahead to meet you. They’ll meet us inside later.”

Later? The ball’s already been going for thirty minutes. How much later are they going to be?

“Oh, okay.” None of this is turning out how it should be.

Still, I remind myself what Nicholas had said earlier – how disorganised everyone had been. It must be Carrie, his date, taking too long to get ready.

Marta and I walk up to the teachers.

Mr Jane’s still dealing with Chris and Dale in the anteroom. I awkwardly introduce Marta to the awkward group of teachers, hand over my ticket, then we’re in.

Marta looks unimpressed with the interior. The hall’s still mostly empty, with clusters of people around the edges. The music’s not very loud and the swirling lights only illuminate how much empty space there is.

“Do you have any friends here?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I lie. “I got a ride with them here.”

Earlier in the evening, I pretended to the protest group that Nicholas’s group were my friends. Now, I’m pretending to Nicholas’s group that the protest group are my friends.

Do I actually have any friends whatsoever?

I wish I had come with Harriet now. Her acid-tongue and eye-rolling is exactly what I want right now. She was right; this whole ball thing is kind of stupid.

Vicky and Stu are in the middle of the hall, with most of the protest group. Everyone’s giggling about the looks on the teachers’ faces. Chris and Dale’s stranded girlfriends are the only ones looking unhappy.

Marta and I go over to the protest group.

“Oh, wow, you’re gorgeous!” Stu tells Marta. He turns to me. “You’ve got good taste, Sizzler boy.”

Marta looks at Stu like he’s a piece of gum on the sole of her shoe.

“Did you watch us come in?” Stu asks me. “Did you see Mr Jane? How do you think the photos will look?”

“Oh, is this the gay club?” Marta smirks at me. “Are you in the gay club?”

“No,” I mutter. “I just got a ride with them.”

“Everyone’s welcome in our club,” Stu says. “Including girls with amazing fashion sense. Seriously, I reckon this is one of the nicest dresses here.”

Marta doesn’t acknowledge the compliment. She heaves a sigh and looks around the hall, probably wishing her cousin would hurry up and rescue her from this group of freaks.

I sort of agree with her. Stu’s being a bit too friendly. I turn away from him and look around the hall as well.

And that’s when I see Nicholas.

*

Nicholas looks like he’s stepped out of an old black-and-white movie – black suit, white shirt, bowtie. He’s combed his hair all to one side. He sees me and smiles, a big goofy smile.

Right behind him there’s Carrie Green, in an emerald-green dress with hair in perfect ringlets, and then there’s Darren Park with his shirt untucked, and Lisa Meadows, looking like a bony bleached supermodel.

But Nicholas doesn’t care about them right now. He’s seen me. He’s coming straight towards me.

I start to say hi, but there’s a look on his face, a look that says, Not here.

He takes my hand. Our fingers thread together. He’s still smiling, and he’s still got that look in his eyes.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

He doesn’t stop moving. He keeps walking, only now I’m following him, he’s pulling me after him, through groups of kids.

We get to the front of the hall. Nicholas glances around, makes sure nobody’s watching, and opens the door up that leads up onto the stage. I don’t know what he’s doing. If Mr Jane catches us back here, we’ll be joining Chris and Dale in the anteroom.

“Nicholas,” I say nervously, “where are we going?”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls me along after him, around the side of the stage. We’re behind the giant pieces of set they used for Oklahoma three months ago. Nicholas pulls me past the back of a corn field, then a picket fence, then a windmill.

“Nicholas,” I say again, “seriously, what are we doing—”

He stops, turns, and he pulls me into him. I stumble forward, our lips touch, and we kiss. The music thumps around us, lights swirl, and we kiss. It’s both exactly as I remember it, and completely new. There’s a cool sharp taste that’s new, sticky and sweet.

I want the kiss to last forever, but Nicholas eventually pulls away, with that same goofy grin. His eyes slide across my face.

“I’ve missed doing that,” he says. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a silver hipflask. He twists the lid off and takes a sip. He offers it to me. I get a whiff of the chemical smell.

“No, that’s okay.”

“You look cute,” Nicholas says, putting the flask back. “I’ve wanted to talk to you all day. I’ve been around all those guys all afternoon, just thinking about getting here and seeing you.”

“Me too,” I say. I want to kiss him again.

He leans forward again. I hope it’s to kiss me again, but this time he hugs me. His arms wrap around me tightly. In some ways, this is even better than kissing.

“Promise me one thing,” Nicholas says.

“Anything.”

“Promise me that this will be the funnest night of our lives, okay?”

“I promise.”

“You’ll have a fun night, okay?” Nicholas says.

“Of course.”

“With me?”

“Of course.”

He takes a step back and looks at me again. There are tears in his eyes. “You’re the best guy I’ve ever met. You’ve known me forever. I don’t want to lose you, alright?”

“You won’t,” I say. “You never will.”

“Perfect,” he says. He takes my hand again. “Come on. Let’s go have the greatest night ever.”

*

Nicholas and his group aren’t really dancing, they’re sort of jumping, and shouting the lyrics of each song. They keep going off in groups of two or three to take secret sips from their bottles, then coming back and jumping around. I don’t really jump around, but I do shout along whenever I know the words.

Everything’s turned out so well. Nicholas keeps squeezing my hand, touching my shoulder, pressing his hand against my back. Whenever we catch each other’s eye, we smile. This is the first time I’ve been with Nicholas’s new friends. None of them seem to mind.

At one point, Lisa Meadows leans over and shouts over the music to me. “Have you seen what Mrs Hansen’s wearing? She looks like a fucking ladybug!”

I laugh. I want to say something funny back, but I can’t think of anything fast enough.

Most of the group doesn’t seem to notice I’m even there. That includes Marta, who seems very interested in Darren Park, and keeps vanishing with him and his flask.

I take a break from the jumping to get a glass of water from the back of the hall. Mrs Hansen really does look like a ladybug in her red and black polka dot dress. She’s handing out glasses of coke, spooning alcohol-free punch into plastic cups, and refilling bowls of potato chips.

“You’re looking wonderfully funereal!” Mrs Hansen tells me. “Can I interest you in a fizzy peach libation?”

“Just water, please,” I say. She hands me a cup of water, but puts a slice of lemon in it, which is nice of her.

Stu comes up behind me, pink-faced and grinning.

“How’s your night going, Sizzler boy?” he asks.

“Amazing.” I slurp my water quickly so I can get back to Nicholas.

“That girl you brought is so pretty,” Stu says.

I nod and have another gulp of water.

“You’ve got such a nice family, too,” Stu says, “and your friends are fun. I didn’t know you hung out with Lisa and her friends as well. You know everyone.”

I shrug. I wish Stu would leave. I don’t know why I’m finding him so annoying tonight. He’s just being his usual friendly self, but for some reason it’s bugging me.

“What’s the deal with that guy Nicholas?” Stu asks.

“Nothing’s the deal with him,” I say.

“Is Carrie his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought I was getting a gay vibe from him,” Stu says.

“You’re wrong,” I snap. Then, before I can help myself, I say, “Stop trying to get everyone into your stupid club.”

I put down my empty cup and walk away from Stu. I push my way back through what is now a very-crowded hall, to Nicholas and the group.

Then I see it.

Nicholas, kissing Carrie. Their mouths locked together like they’re trying to suck the breath out of each other.

I feel like I’m in a bad dream.

Carrie catches me staring and pulls away from Nicholas.

“Your friend is watching us,” she tells Nicholas. He turns and grins at me, the same big goofy grin.

“Hi,” he says.

“Do you like to watch people, pervert?” Carrie demands.

Lisa Meadows hears this, and giggles.

Nicholas turns back to Carrie. “Don’t worry about him,” he says, and starts kissing her again.

My face is burning and my head is spinning. I turn away from them and push my way through the crowd.

Eventually I make it to the front of the hall, where a few kids are sitting down and drinking Mrs Hansen’s non-alcoholic punch. I’m on my way out the door when I see something in the corner.

Two people sitting on one chair – a girl, sitting on a boy’s lap, kissing him.

The boy is Darren Park. For a second, I think the girl he’s kissing must be Marta. She’s been whispering and flirting with him all night.

But it’s not Marta.

The girl kissing Darren Park is Vicky.

*

I’ve probably set a world record for earliest departure from a ball. It’s not even nine thirty yet.

Outside, the streets are quiet.

The image of Nicholas and Carrie kissing is stuck in my brain. Then I get the occasional flash of Darren and Vicky. Did I hallucinate that? Since when did everyone start kissing so much?

I start wondering, did I also hallucinate my kiss with Nicholas? Behind the cardboard windmill – did that even happen? Those things he said – did I dream those? I’ve daydreamed about Nicholas so often, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d started imagining things.

By the time I get home, I want nothing more than to have a long hot bath, forty-eight slices of cinnamon toast, and a deep dreamless sleep. But my heart sinks when I see both Cheryl and Rosemary’s cars are still parked in the driveway.

Even before I open the door, I can hear music playing, louder than it’s ever been played in this house before. Because of the music, nobody hears me come in.

I can’t believe what I find in the living room.

Cheryl has kicked off her shoes and is standing on the coffee table, holding a cocktail (spilling most of it) and belting out the lyrics to the song that’s thumping out of the speakers.

Rosemary’s dancing up against the wall, with the curtains wrapped around her like a scarf.

My own mother is standing on the couch, barefoot and singing, drinking straight from the wine bottle.

I can’t bring myself to move.

Rosemary sees me.

“Richard!” she squeals. “You’ve come back for the real party!”

“What – no, I – Rosemary, no!”

She grabs me around the waist and pulls me into the room, swinging me around like I’m a ragdoll.

“Dance with your mother!” Rosemary demands.

“Yes!” Mum shouts. “Come dance with me, Rich!”

Rosemary throws me onto the couch. Mum grabs my hand and pulls me up.

“Doesn’t he look foxy in his suit?!” Cheryl says.

“I don’t feel like dancing!” I shout but nobody hears me. Mum won’t let me go and, even when she does, Rosemary refuses to let me leave the room. Then Cheryl forces me to help her make cocktails, even though they all keep spilling most of their drinks.

“Did you have a smashing ball?” Cheryl asks me.

A smashing ball? Well, I felt as though a giant ball was smashing into me when I saw Nicholas kissing Carrie. I don’t tell Cheryl that, though.

“It was good, thanks,” I lie.

Cheryl looks at my forehead. “No lines.” She sighs wistfully. “You’re lucky you’re young.”

By the time I’m able to escape, I’m too tired for a bath, and I crash into my bed, still wearing my suit.

I’m lucky I’m young?

Well, I don’t feel lucky, Cheryl.