Caroline Bell and I went to our senior prom together. It seemed natural, since we'd been best friends, more or less, ever since kindergarten. Just friends, that is.
Neither of us were particularly the glamour type -- we were both jeans and T-shirt people. But I actually rented a tux and wore my very best black sneakers, and she managed to find a long green dress that she didn't hate too much (she was skinny enough that she thought she didn't look good in anything). I picked her up in my Toyota Camry, and we were on our way.
We were pretty much the only members of the "geek" clique who'd decided to go to the prom. We'd already vowed to try to make it fun no matter what, but as it turned out, the food was pretty tasty and the DJ was playing a good mix of tunes. Still, Caroline and I couldn't help trying to stump each other with "Stargate" trivia while we were dancing.
I remember that it seemed like the whole room screeched to a halt when the four walked in -- Dave Jones, Adam Durant, and their dates Amy and Zoe Rhodes (fraternal twins). They looked like they were straight out of an early '80s music video on VH1 Classic, especially the two guys, with their overblown tuxedos (Dave's in purple and Adam's in powder blue), platform shoes, feathered hair.
"We should have coordinated like they did," said Caroline, indicating her dress. "You could be wearing a green tuxedo."
"We should have coordinated our makeup, too," I said with a grin, noting that Dave and Adam were wearing almost as much as their dates.
As a goof, Caroline and I voted for Dave and Amy for prom king and queen (after all, Dave had the awesome top hat, so it seemed right that he should be king) and Adam and Zoe for prince and princess. Imagine our surprise when the prom court turned out to be just the way we'd voted -- and we were surprised again when the entire room erupted in cheers. Until that moment, we hadn't realized the jocks and cheerleaders at our school were capable of irony.
With the four standing up on the stage and waving, Caroline whispered in my ear, "Was Amy that, uh, busty in school on Friday? She couldn't have gotten a boob job this morning and be here tonight, right?"
Then a slow dance started.
It's hard to explain, but things started to get a little weird at that point. I would think I saw some unusual movement, or something changing color, out of the corner of my eye -- but then I'd turn to look, and nothing would be out of the ordinary. Caroline must have been having a similar experience, because she asked me out of the blue, "You think someone spiked the punch?"
"I haven't had any of the punch," I replied.
"Neither have I," she said. "But maybe it's contagious."