How to Steal a Happy Ending

•thirty eight• discombobulated

"discombobulated:
emotionally confused or uncertain"

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It felt like death. Not physical death. It was more like the death of an era...a time in the past.

Across the room, James was tugging at one of her bell bottom-like sleeves, presumably coercing Miss Uptight to dance. I frowned at her costume; it was a white billowing dress with a shiny blue sash around her waist. Maybe it was a rule in the goody-two shoes handbook to always wear white so as to accentuate their "purity".

Sara didn't give him much of a fight because, obviously, she secretly wants to bump and grind in full view of her prey.

The prey being James of all people. James with his dumbass hair gelled up and his dumbass jacket that everyone is clearly sick of. James who everyone knows is really just a wolf in sheep's skin. James, James, James- ARGH.

I stand corrected. It did feel like actual, physical death. A really vengeful, unnecessarily violent kind of death- one the mob hands out to people they don't particularly like.

Although, some might argue that having your hands chopped off by a burly Italian in a cold storage is any day better than going to a high school dance.

I hid my face behind the large plastic cup of painfully non-alcoholic punch and tried my best not to stare at the two people that were the cause of this death. Murderers, I glowered from above the rim of the cup.

"This is so dumb," I muttered to Nate, who was finishing off what could possibly be the last of the finger snacks.

"Does he not even see us? Like is he going to stand there ALL NIGHT?" My voice rose to a decibel my ego didn't really approve of so I was forced to add a more subdued, "I mean I'm so bored, you know?"

Nate spared them a quick glance before giving me a shrug and returning to his food.

I huffed and continued to burn hatred into the sides of their heads. James gave her a little twirl and she returned the gesture with her best impression of a blushing bride.

"Is Grease even from the seventies?" I asked out loud.

"What are you talking about?" Nate placed the empty paper plate on the table and shifted closer to me. He leaned against my shoulder and squinted in the direction I was glaring.

I rolled my eyes and his head off of me, "Forget it. You want me to get more fish fingers?"

"You're like the best date ever," he grinned, his dimples on full display.

Since Anthony (Alexander?) turned out be the most annoying prick in the history of annoying pricks, I'd decided to ditch the guy and the dance. But Paige's insistence and Nate's sad puppy face made me change my mind about at least one of those decisions. Besides, I'd already bought this totally retro silver jumpsuit.

I gulped down the last of my drink and got up from my seat, "Tell me I'm sexy every ten minutes and I'll say the same for you."

Nate just gave me a long hmm and studiously examined me in a way that was more like an artist to a subject than I'd have hoped. Fearing I'd get a compliment like 'You're very symmetrical,' I decided to leave with a pat on the cheek and a beeline to the snack table.

Don't look. Don't look. Don't lo- I guess my eyes were trained to pick him out of a crowd. The minute I turned around with another plate of appetizers Nate could vacuum up, they fell on James.