Prom King

Teacher: She leans into the microphone. And now seniors, your prom king is... Miles!

The room erupts again. His friend group is loudest, someone grabbing his shoulder from behind. He moves toward the stage with the particular feeling of someone who worked for something and is only now allowing himself to believe it landed.

He steps up beside Vanessa.

Up close she is even more striking, the crown sitting naturally on her dark hair like it was always going to end up there. She glances sideways at him as he takes his place and something flickers in those dark eyes, quiet and assessing.

Vanessa: Congratulations.

Miles: you too.

The teacher places the crown on his head and the room noise surges again. Someone hands them both a small bouquet. A photographer appears from nowhere.

Teacher: and now your prom king and queen will share the first dance.

The DJ drops into something slow.

Miles offers Vanessa his hand. She takes it without hesitation.

The crowd opens up around them, a loose circle forming the way it always does when there is something worth watching.

Vanessa follows his lead with the ease of someone who has danced before, properly danced, not the casual swaying that passes for slow dancing at most high school events. Her hand sits lightly on his shoulder, his at her waist, and they find a rhythm quickly and naturally.

For the first few measures neither of them speaks. The silence is not uncomfortable. It is the kind that exists between two people who are still taking stock of each other.

Miles: I don't think we've actually talked before.

Vanessa: We haven't. She pauses. I know who you are though.

Miles: good things I hope.

Vanessa: She considers this with a small smile. Interesting things.

He turns her once, cleanly, and she comes back to him without missing a beat.

Miles: Croatia right?

Something shifts slightly in her expression. Not displeasure. More like mild surprise that he knew.

Vanessa: you did your homework.

Miles: small school.

Vanessa: She glances around the room briefly then back at him. Does not feel so small tonight.

They move through another measure. The crowd around them has mostly returned to their own conversations but a few eyes still linger.

Miles: you surprised? Winning tonight?

Vanessa: She thinks about it honestly. A little. I have never been the loudest person in any room.

Miles: loudest doesn't always win.

Vanessa: She looks at him steadily. No. She agrees quietly. It doesn't.

The song is winding down. She glances at the crown on his head briefly and then back at his face with that particular expression she seems to have for everything, composed and warm and slightly out of reach all at once.

As the last notes fade she steps back gracefully, her hand sliding from his shoulder.

Vanessa: I hope the night is not over for us.

Miles: no?

Vanessa: She smiles, small and deliberate, already turning away. I hope to see you at the after party.

She steps off the floor and dissolves back into the crowd, the glimmering black dress catching the light until she is gone.

He stands there for a moment with the crown on his head and the particular feeling of a night that has just gotten considerably more interesting.