Peter Parker ▹ Spider-Man | imagines

magic

Warning: mature language and content
third person
word count: 6,480
7:30 pm | that dress looks like magic on you — doesn't it?

There was a lightness in your step. You hadn't done much in your short sixteen years of life. And now there you stood, your eyes sparkling with some kind of sweet hope as you stared at the array of doors in front of you. Which one should you enter from? Which one would draw the least amount of attention? How many people were in there?

You took a deep breath. What could go wrong? This was supposed to be one of the best nights of your high school life. Homecoming; possibilities opened at dances, didn't they? You were sure you'd heard that from somewhere. All the movies and all the stories made dances seem like the most important nights of teenage life. It had to be. You would make it be.

You came stag. You were without a date, and your dad let you borrow his car for the first time in his life because he wanted you to feel special. He never let anyone ever touch his car; not until tonight, just for his little girl. Your mom had let you spend that pretty penny on that dress and those shoes, and you were wearing her best silver against your chest and on your ears. You had put effort into your appearance, and you remembered feeling so confident after getting a peek at yourself in the mirror. The dress was magic; it made you feel beautiful.

As you stared into your reflection in the glass doors, you swallowed. You didn't come with your friends because you had chosen to come last minute. You wore a corsage that you had bought yourself, one that complimented the navy of your dress. You weren't one to go all out like this, but hell it was going to be a good night. It had to be.

You turned, made sure the car was locked, then turned back around. You swallowed again before taking the center entrance, opening the doors to the booming of modern music.

You looked around slowly. The ceiling and the walls were adorned with glittering yellow-lit lanterns. They looked like stars against the gym's dark ceiling. More white Christmas lights adorned all the surfaces, lighting up the room in a transition of yellow to white light. There were expensive ribboned streamers hanging off the doors, bouquets of white and blue balloons attached to the sides of every table. There was a small stage for the DJ, who was playing good music and had a large crowd of dancers already on the floor. Lights were flashing everywhere, in blues and greens and reds and purples. You even noticed the smoke machines planted on every corner. It was like a foggy, starry October night. You made a mental note to ask the ASB how they had pulled off what every movie made dances look like.

Your heels revealed your entrance, and the people nearest to the door turned to look at you. You didn't know them, but the boys seemed to look you up-and-down before turning back to their groups. High school was much of that; as much as people tried to say otherwise, what you wore and what you looked liked mattered. No matter how much 'times had changed.'

You took another deep breath, and suddenly you felt so small. You had gone to this school for a year already, but it felt like you were a freshman on your first day of high school. Small, alone, vulnerable, and afraid of the unknown. You had no idea how the night would play out, and you were by yourself. You cursed yourself for not coming with friends.

You made your way over to the refreshments, picking up a cup and beginning to serve yourself from the bowl. Before you could fill it, a hand laid over yours. You looked up to see Michelle, her usually undone hair pulled into the most beautiful bun.

"Unless you have a DD, I wouldn't," she warned you, and you immediately dropped the spoon.

"It's spiked?" You asked, and she laughed and nodded her head. "But isn't there someone that's supposed to watch and make sure that doesn't happen?"