𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 (𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚡𝙱)

Track 69 | 𝗠𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹

Explicit NSFW Content Warning

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"And the class of 2021 prom king and queen are... Sean Leith and Desiree Sanchez!"

Ugh, just my luck.

Watching my abuser and his ghetto girlfriend eat each other's faces in the limelight of the sparkling dance floor felt dehumanizing, to say the least. And what's worse was having to hear the entire grade bark and howl in support as if they both deserved the spotlight despite them constantly necking in the hallways for the past several weeks.

I look away from the couple, having had enough of their tacky plastic crowns and glittery sashes, surveying the scene of my classmates—faces I've seen before, faces I haven't; some sitting in clique-like clumps at various tables, others standing in messy clusters, forming a semi-circle audience around the slow-dancing couple, all recording and documenting the moment on their phones and dollar-store digital cameras. Along with the room, everyone is painted in polka-dotted refractions of light, beaming off the orbiting disco ball that hangs from the ceiling above.

My eyes follow the spots of light as they travel at a continuous pace across the crowd, my sights abruptly landing on a distant Corey Baxter.

The small lavender lamp at the table he sits at lights his face, the only one in his friend group seated in a chair. The rest of his posse, including his pretty prom date, are all standing beside their chairs, smiling reverently and cheering sporadically. Corey contrasts them all, leaning against his fist. 

He looks tired.

Suddenly, his lifeless eyes meet mine.

I want to look away, but it's already too late. We're staring at each other from across the room.

The weight of Harvey's arm around my shoulders feels suddenly heavier. Corey notices the coyote clinging tightly onto me, the two of us seated close together at our own table, silently judging the royal couple.

Harvey rests his chin on my shoulder, the tip of his snout burying into my neck. I casually glance back at him out of the corner of my eye, and he returns it. His face flickers slightly—a brief moment of indescribable humor, a gesture that neither of us understand but feel deeply. A shared reminder that we were here for one another, even in the presence of nonsense prom rituals.

As Harvey returns his attention to the couple, my eyes discreetly return to Corey. There's a subtle smile on his face, seemingly happy for me. 

He offers an inconspicuous thumbs-up.

I silently laugh.

I then glance at his pretty date—a seemingly kind-looking girl in a flowery pink dress. Hidden behind my chest, out of Harvey's sight, I return Corey's thumbs-up, but instead with a more questionable-air to it: I switch back and forth from a thumbs-down to a thumbs-up, quietly asking him if he's okay.

He looks at his date. He gives a modest thumbs-up this time, along with a gentle nod. The subtle smile has now teleported to my face. 

'I'm glad,' my smile says.

Finally, the slow dance draws to a close, and the entire grade floods back onto the floor as the DJ cranks up the volume on his grating Jersey-beat remixes. From my seat, I watch a mass of kids my age leap and thrash wildly to the blaring speakers, a pulsating dance circle forming at the heart of the ballroom. A small gap opens in the center, where my classmates take turns showcasing their shitty moves, bathed in the glow of phone flashlights held aloft by the crowd.