The Way It Was Before

thirty-six

It seemed no time at all until Friday evening arrived. It was cool of Nate to drive Clint, Clover, and me to school, but it had taken him almost an hour before he picked us up. He seemed to be in a sour mood this evening, considering he barely replied to Clover's complaints of him being late.

By the time we arrived at around seven o'clock, the party was full of vigor. The courtyard was amazingly warm and bright, and I felt like I'd stepped into a magical storybook. Balloon-shaped lights were hanging high and low from the tree branches, creating a mesmerizing canopy overhead, and some string lights were wrapped around the trees. The seats and tables were covered in white clothing, and in the middle of the tables were simple flower decorations, which helped in creating a romantic setting. The music was loud and clear, and people were dancing to it. Oh, and there was a buffet, too.

"This is way better than last year's," Clover commented, running her eyes over the crowd. She was wearing a short red dress and smokey eye makeup—a little too much for a semi-formal dance, in my opinion, but she looked beautiful. Clint hadn't taken his eyes off her since he and Nate had picked us up from home.

"Agreed," he said. He looked neat in his blue button-up shirt and coat. His eyes swept over the area before ogling Clover again. "Everything looks good tonight, but you look so much so better," he added, snaking his arm around her waist.

Clover giggled and hit his shoulder.

"Oh, God," I murmured, turning my attention away from them. Even Nate contorted his face in disgust.

I followed Clover as she looked for a table while the boys grabbed some drinks for the group. While on the way, I said hi to some people I knew from the Westside Chronicle. Manuela Jackson, our sports writer and a member of the theatre club, and Kahil Murillo, our Editor-in-Chief. They said a friendly "hi" back, and I felt like my world had gotten a little bigger.

Clover and I sat at a round table on the far side of the courtyard, and before long, Clint and Nate arrived with cups of fruit punch. We talked a bit about our summer plans until a loud, peppy greeting cut us off.

"Hey, guys! How's the night so far?"

We all turned our heads at the same time toward Rose, who was strutting to our table and waving her hand. There was a collective pause in the group.

"What?" she asked.

"Why the fuck are you dressed like that? Did someone die or something?" Nate reacted, wildly gesticulating at her tonight's getup: a short-sleeved corset, a three-tiered tail skirt, a mini top hat with feathers, lace tights, short boots, and some elaborate accessories. Everything she was wearing was all black.

Rose put her hands on her hips and said sweetly, "No one's died yet, Nathan. But you'd see your own funeral soon if you kept mocking my dress."

"Yeah, dude. Don't go judging people's outfits when you're dressed exactly like Mr. Bean," Clover said with a snort. Nate threw his hands up in surrender, fed up with her jokes. She had guffawed for a full two minutes the first time she'd seen his all-brown outfit.