Although our first school dance may seem pointless and unpleasant with the formation of sporadic groups and the gossip that bounces off the walls, due to the fact that it is our opportunity to either restrain ourselves from interacting with the opposite sex or permit the option of making the first move. We wait impatiently for a suitable partner to cross the boarder that separates the boys and girls, and take us into the unknown where we find ourselves together in the middle of the dance floor.

Denial and rejection are our greatest fears, when it comes to dancing with one of the girls. Occasionally, one of us would be determined enough to lead the pack of boys to the other side, where, if we were lucky, we might’ve found someone to partake in the dance with. The dance seemed like mission impossible. Rejection was inevitable for me. Either one us was too short, too skinny, too tall, too nerdy, or just never is good enough. More than likely, I’d be sitting at a table texting, and watching everybody else have a good time.

The girls would supposedly be dying of boredom, as they gaze into a distance of lights and blank expressions from across the room. They would babble and pass time with rambunctious conversations, who’s purpose remained anonymous. Of course, they would eventually be struck by the presence of a boy on their turf, and would choose to dance now or continue to wait. We may have anxiously crossed over the chasm, but the girl can effortlessly castoff our proposal if they wanted to, which in our case it seemed unfair.

But we all danced, hand in hand, as we glided across the floor. Nervous and afraid that one of us might screw up or trip on our own two feet, but finally relieved of the continuous waiting we had to endure. We put our differences aside for one night and let the beat of the music move us. This dance was the end of our young lives and the beginning of our maturity.