We took photographs.
Talked to friends.
Ate more snacks than we were supposed to.
Noah spent several minutes explaining to someone why his bow tie had been an excellent early purchase.
Then the music slowed.
He turned toward me.
His expression became serious.
He held out his hand.
“Chrissy.”
I smiled.
“Yes?”
“You owe me.”
“For what?”
“Twelve years.”
I laughed.
“Fine.”
I took his hand.
Five seconds later, he stepped directly on my shoe.
“Ow!”
“That was your fault.”
“How?”
“Your dress is badly designed.”
“You stepped on my foot!”
“There is too much fabric.”
I stared at him.
Then both of us started laughing.
People glanced over.
We didn’t care.
And that became my favorite thing about the entire night.
Nothing extraordinary happened.
The music didn’t stop.
Nobody gathered around us.
Nobody applauded because Noah and I were dancing together.
No one turned our friendship into a performance.
We were simply two eighteen-year-olds at senior prom.
