The Humdrum Life of a Hero

Chapter 30.

Things I've learned today: it takes forever to get ready for a three hour dance, people at my school now know me by name and face, and heels were never made to ascend stairs.

I learned the last one the hard way.

About halfway up the largest outdoor staircase I've ever climbed in my life, my feet were pleading with me to stop whatever the hell I was doing to them. Examining the state of the mucky steps, I decided that what was left of the feeling in my feet was worth risking what God-awful substances that may be lurking on the slushy, icy mess. So, sans heels, I made it up the rest of the stairs in record time.

I had to wait a minute or two for the rest to follow. They refused to take off their heels; they said they were used to this.

Once everyone was together again, we entered the banquet hall, dropped off coats at the coat check station, and a plan of entry was devised along the way. "Vanessa will go first so she can corrall the boys," Heather said, an arm around Bridge's waist. "Then everyone else will go down, followed by Bridgette and I, and for the grand finale, our dance-virgin over here, Sarah that's you, will descend with grace."

I'm not sure when it became necessary to create a fairly elaborate plan just to enter the dance, but maybe it's one of those normal, female things that I've missed out on throughout my testosterone-filled years with my brothers. I suppose, though, that a little planning never hurt anyone.

One by one, our group dwindles as the double-doors are opened and closed, allowing me just a peek at the decorations inside the banquets hall basement that's designated for events like this, by two workers clad in tacky waiter uniforms who clearly don't want to be here. The decorations consist of mainly snowflakes, which are, at least as far as I've been told, the same decorations the school puts up year after year. Music blares each time the door is opened and closed; sometimes it's a love song and other times it's a fast-paced, headache-inducing anthem of our times.

When it's just Heather, Bridge, and I, I start to get nervous. My breathing amps up, the butterflies are beating each other up in my stomach, and I'm afraid I may be getting sweat stains on my dress. Bridge notices my agitated state, disentangles herself from Heather who's waiting patiently by the door, and places both of her manicured hands on my shoulders. "You need to chill," she says soothingly. "All you have to do is walk down some stairs and look hot, and you've already got one of those covered because of me-"

"Bridge," Heather warns. Bridgette looks over her shoulder at her and sticks out her tongue.

"Anyway," she continues. "You have nothing to worry about. Remember the magic, Sarah, remember the magic."

"The magic," I whisper. I meet Bridgette's eyes, "I can do this." I say it with finality, ending our conversation along with my nervousness.

"Are we ready?" Heather asks. Bridgette and I simultaneously reply, "Yes."

Bridgette and Heather take their places, arm in arm, in front of the door. They give me one last smile a piece before the double-doors are opened and they embark on their own descent.

I fidget back and forth, putting my weight on one foot and then shifting it to the other. I can feel the nervousness creeping back into my system after one minute of being alone, but I can't seem to pinpoint the route of my edginess. This shouldn't be this big of a deal. Literally, all I'm doing is walking down a flight of stairs, albeit a pretty grand staircase, but still.

Maybe this isn't about the act itself, but about the reaction, the audience in particular. Yet the other day when all eyes were on me in the cafeteria, I didn't mind the attention. So why am I so bent out of shape about the attention now?