Aurora Magazine 2020

Aurora

Sliding Doors Kayte Greenfelder

As I sit in the back of this glorious, dimly lit ballroom, all I can think of is what I am going to be leaving behind and what now lies ahead. For everyone here, senior prom night represented the beginning of the end. It was the last hoorah before finals, graduation, and ultimately turning into a grownup. For me, I have the added bonus of never having to see these scumbags ever again. I sip my punch slowly, hoping I don’t spill it on my obscenely expensive dress. Don’t get me wrong, I will remember this dress for the rest of my life. The sales girl sold me on this strapless, emerald green velvet dress that she said brought out the auburn of my hair and matched my eyes; I must admit I feel quite beautiful. It’s like a scene from any teen movie. Prom night and our heroine is seated alone waiting for her guy to ask her to dance. But this isn’t a movie and I’m not waiting for anyone to ask me to dance. I should be over it by now but it still hurts. Thinking of them together still makes me sick; what kind of name is Sophie LaRue anyway? She sounds like a cliche baddie from a children’s show. In my world, she’s so much worse. She’s a thief. She stole my best friend and has gone out of her way to make me miserable. I never once gave her the satisfaction; she couldn’t break me. What is she anyway? The a-typical, popular girl who is living her peak right now, while I haven’t even started the climb. I have always been so adamant that high school social status meant absolutely nothing. I still firmly hold that belief but part of me deep down feels the tiniest pang of regret for going out of my way to purposely not fit in these past four years. Maybe I should have cared just a little bit. The band stops and the principal takes the stage. “Now is the moment, you have all been waiting for: your 2018 Prom Court!” Everyone cheers and pushes their way to the front. I stand. I know where this is going and I want to be able to make a swift exit. Through the crowd I can see the back of his head. I am not paying much attention as the principal announces the princesses and princes. Who cares? I grip the back of my chair; I know what’s coming. “And now your prom king.” He opens the envelope. “No surprise here, Logan Turner.”

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