For the Record

6 | a night to remember

As the doors to the grand ballroom of the high school gym swing open, the atmosphere is immediately striking. The theme of the night is clear: horror films. But this is no ordinary high school dance. This is a meticulously crafted experience, a chillingly beautiful vision brought to life by me. I stand at the doors entrance with my friends by my side proudly taking in the view that I cultivated.

I decided to come dressed as Carrie, the iconic prom queen from the Stephen King novel and movie, my white prom gown smeared with crimson "blood" that glistens under the chandelier lights. Instead of my hair being damp and stringy, I let my thick curls hang freely. My expression is hauntingly calm, perfectly capturing the eerie elegance of my chosen character. I'm not just in costume; I am  embodying the role, every inch of me exuding a mix of both glamour and menace.

The gym has been transformed into a grand set straight out of a classic horror film. Red and black drapes hang from the ceiling, billowing slightly in the soft breeze of the industrial fans hidden in the corners. Tall, wrought-iron candelabras line the dance floor, their flickering flames casting long, wavering shadows across the room. Fog machines pump out a light mist that curls around the ankles of the students as they enter, making the scene appear as if it's shrouded in an eerie, ethereal fog. The centerpieces on the tables are miniature haunted houses and vintage horror film posters, adding an extra layer of atmosphere.

Zane stands beside me, channeling Patrick Bateman from "American Psycho" with a crisp, dark suit and a disturbingly calm demeanor, complete with a slicked-back hairstyle and a fake blood-splattered clear raincoat that catches the light in a strangely mesmerizing way. His expression is both aloof and intense, as if he's just stepped out of his high-rise office ready for something far more sinister.

Ashlyn is nearby, embodying Marion Crane from "Psycho" with a classic 1960s outfit — a tailored gray suit dress and a blonde wig styled in a retro bouffant. She carries a small handbag, glancing around with a nervous smile, as if she's expecting the infamous shower scene to play out at any moment.

Essence is dressed like Brandy from "I Still Know What You Did Last Summer." She's wearing a bright red raincoat, her hair styled in long box braids, looking like she just stepped off the set of a 90's slasher film. Her dark eyes scan the room excitedly, and she nods appreciatively at Averi's handiwork.

The DJ, dressed as Freddy Krueger, begins playing a pulsing beat that thumps through the gym, the lights flickering in sync with the music. Students dressed as vampires, ghosts, and killers begin to pour in, laughing and posing for pictures in front of a blood-splattered photo booth. There's a buzz of excitement in the air, a perfect blend of fear and fun. Averi takes it all in, a triumphant look crossing her face. This is exactly what she had envisioned — a night that everyone would remember, a celebration of horror that was nothing short of grand.

As we watch the gym fill up with more and more people, Zane leans over, a sly grin on his face. "So, where's Quest?" he asks, his tone light, but I can hear the edge of jealousy buried underneath. "Wasn't he supposed to be here already? I mean, if he's gonna be Billy to your Carrie, he's gotta make an appearance at some point, right?"

I roll my eyes, smirking. "He's on his way," I say, playing it off like it's no big deal. "You know Quest. Always fashionably late."

Zane chuckles, but there's something tight about it, something that tells me he's not really amused. "Right. Fashionably late," he mutters, glancing around the room as if looking for any sign of Quest.

Ashlyn, overhearing us, tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder with a dismissive laugh. "Aw, don't sound so jealous, Zane," she says, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "It's not a good look on you. Besides, it's not like Averi would actually ditch her best friend for her boyfriend, right?" She turns to me, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Right, Averi?"

I look to Zane as he flinches at the word "boyfriend." He tries to play it off, that trademark smirk still on his face, but I know him too well. We've been best friends since we were kids; I've seen every version of Zane there is, from the little boy who scraped his knee at the playground and tried not to cry, to the teenager who kissed every girl at every party, just because he could. I know how to read him better than anyone, and I know it stings to hear me call someone else "boyfriend" if it isn't him.

He would never say it outright — that's not his style. But lately, I've been noticing the little things. The way his face tenses every time I talk about Quest. The way his smile falters just a bit when I mention my plans with someone else. It's like there's a shift between us, something unspoken that hangs in the air whenever we're together. I used to brush it off, think I was imagining it, but now... now I'm not so sure.

I know Zane has a crush on me. I've seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention, the way he's always finding excuses to be close. But we're so different. He's the life of the party, the guy everyone knows, the one who throws the best bashes and somehow convinces everyone to break the rules. He's always out, always surrounded by a different girl every week, always in the center of the action. Me? I'm more content staying in, curled up with a good true crime book or binging some dark horror series. I love the thrill of a story, the unraveling of a mystery, not the unpredictable chaos of Zane's world.

He's reckless, a player who chases after every fleeting thrill, and I've seen the trail of broken hearts he leaves behind. I've heard the whispers in the halls, seen the lingering glances from girls he's kissed and forgotten. And I know, deep down, he's got a good heart under all that bravado. But that doesn't change who he is, and it doesn't change what I want.

I could never see him as more than my best friend. Not because I don't care about him — I do, maybe more than he knows. But because I know him too well. I know that being with Zane would mean getting caught up in his whirlwind, his constant need for excitement, for more. And that's just not me.

Zane catches my eye again, and for a moment, there's something almost vulnerable there, something real. But then he laughs, and it's gone, replaced by that easy, confident grin I know so well. He slips back into his usual self, but I can't shake the feeling that something's different. And I wonder if he knows that no matter how close we are, there are some things that will always keep us apart.