The lights flickered painfully across the eyes, and the music writhed mournfully and romantically between the dancers' ears. The room was muggy and stuffy—hot whispers and breaths couldn't escape through the closed doors and windows, and heat radiated from the scantily clad bodies milling around, warming even the coldest hearts.
Or so it might seem at first glance. Only after a second and third glance did one notice the tables set around the dance floor, half-full of students huddled in groups, whose biggest concern now was to do something boring and wait out the next few minutes without attracting anyone's attention. Someone was fiddling with a purse, someone was sipping Coke or apple juice, cold and refreshing as a mountain waterfall. Chilling out absurd hopes.
"Hey!" someone said in disbelief. "Dyra's dancing with that French guy!"
All eyes involuntarily drifted to the grinning second-grader and watched for a moment as he playfully swayed the principal. They couldn't look at the dance floor for long, however, because next to the amusing scene were the less innocent ones, with a pair of embracing teenagers as the main characters.
Or perhaps not everyone was so concerned. Perhaps they didn't care at all that so many people were dancing in the middle of the room, while they sat there like those thugs, eating peppers wrapped in yellow cheese and some cold cuts. Perhaps they treated the traditional slow song as a moment of respite for their legs, parched throat, and aching head.
Baśka began tapping her fingers nervously on the table. "And again, no one asked," she thought, allowing herself another glance at the dancing couples. "And like a fool, I thought that if I showed up dressed like a goddess, I'd sweep everyone off their feet and a line would form. And that's it. Now I'm sitting there like an idiot, I probably look like the seventh misfortune, and everyone knows exactly how much I'm struggling with it."
She took a sip of juice and regained some composure. "Stop talking nonsense," she scolded herself. "Not everything revolves around you. We know perfectly well that everyone around us is more interested in themselves, and no one's looking at you. As usual."
The singer blaring from the enormous speakers wailed with a slightly more cheerful tone, but only the director and her diligent French student changed her dancing. Everyone else continued to sway, perhaps hugging more and groping each other here and there. But those were the more advanced couples. The ones who came here together. Those who didn't come, but did gather the courage to nod, were usually a bit more reserved in showing their mutual interest.
Baśka looked away and began to stare at her beautiful black skirt, which was supposed to be her ticket to happiness at this particular party. It was supposed to ensure, along with her tight blouse and boldly feeling the rhythm, that the halfway point wouldn't go unnoticed. That something would finally happen and break her current bad luck in the love department.
It was four hours into the halfway point, her legs were already aching from jumping in high heels, her carefully styled hairstyle had fallen apart, and all her high-flying dreams were turning to bitterness. She no longer had the inspiration or the joy to dance any longer. So, when the free period ended and the DJ played some techno track, Baśka, instead of jumping like a diva into the middle of the dance floor, stayed where she was, sipping her juice.
"What good is jumping?" she thought ruefully. "Anyway, no one's going to notice me, and I think I've lost all desire to dance... Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing ever changes."
She probably had a pretty good theory as to why no one ever asked her to slow dance. She was slowly growing out of the belief that any stranger, if they caught his eye, would just walk up to her and, out of sheer arrogance, start wandering romantically into the middle of the room with her, leaving only the clatter of dropping jaws behind them... It didn't work like that. Nothing in life ever worked like that – people don't just walk up to you for no reason and start hitting on you. As wonderful as that sounds, it simply isn't true, period. You should look for a dance partner among people you already know in one way or another.
It's worse if everyone you know doesn't care about you.
Much worse if you think you don't and someone brutally corrects you.
Then even the most wonderful party turns out to be a complete failure, leaving you wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, eat something sweet, and go to bed. And then, in the morning, you'll be moping in front of the TV, watching some romance with a hopelessly brilliant ending, which not only fails to lift your spirits in any way, but actually depresses you even more.
"Why do I even care so much?" she asked bitterly. "If it weren't for some stupid slow songs and stupid intentions, I could be having a great time. After all, I'm halfway through high school!"
But she couldn't stop worrying. Lately, worrying had become her sole obsession. "Why doesn't anyone want me?" she asked. "Why do I seem to push everyone away?" Through worrying and brooding, she slowly began to realize that no matter what she did, nothing would ever change and everything would remain as it was—sucks. And yet, she searched everywhere for some kind of escape, anything. Snooping around and seeing the strangest things in the most unlikely people, she amassed a long list of guys who might have once wanted something more. She quickly realized that none of them truly wanted anything from her, and what she saw was either a hallucination or an exaggeration. And she grew even more bitter. She couldn't accept it, thinking she deserved more, that someone would finally come along.
Until finally, she realized that with her behavior, she was ruining herself and her chances. She was unpleasant, distrustful, unnatural, joyless, and she also lacked everything else that could attract another person. And she knew that if she continued like this, she would never be able to open up to anyone again. And no one would want to open up to her. Because discovering another person's secrets was a lie. No one wanted to bother with some stressed, loud-mouthed, and irritated girl just because she held wonderful secrets. To encourage someone to open a closed door, you first had to make sure the wood was shiny and beautifully polished. No splinters or flaking varnish to snag and cut yourself on. Smooth and cheerful. And pleasant.
"Now that's a kick in the ass," she thought to herself and stood up, leaving the plastic cup on the table. She strode confidently into the middle of the dancing crowd, avoiding flailing hands and sharp elbows. Once she was among her classmates, she once again plunged into the techno-jumping and danced, smiling, though she felt empty and inadequate.
The next two hours passed long and arduously. The DJ played two more slow songs; she really liked one of them and hummed it to herself for a full five minutes. No one asked her out. No one spoke to her, no one asked for her number. No one smiled at her unmistakably.
At midnight, just like Cinderella, only still with two slippers, she returned from the ball in a hurry and without a lovestruck Prince Charming hot on her heels.
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