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“Gogo!” called Honey Lemon.
Gogo Tomago turned around in the middle of the hallway, having been on her way to her English class. “Hi,” she said.
Honey Lemon shot a cautionary glance around them at the clumps of fellow middle school students. You could never know who was listening. “So, um, you know the dance,” she whispered. “It’s next week.”
“I don’t dance,” Gogo replied.
“Yeah, but I do,” Honey Lemon said eagerly. “So, I was thinking—” here she gulped and smiled nervously “—do you think we could go together?
Gogo abruptly stopped walking. “What?”
Honey Lemon sighed. She tugged at Gogo, urging her to keep moving. A moment later, she looked up again and said, “Do you want to go to the dance with me?”
“I…” A million things were going through Gogo’s mind at once, and she could barely keep track of a single one of them. Dance? With Honey Lemon? What did people even do at dances? Was this a date sort of thing? Did this indicate the legendary “like, like like” status of a middle school relationship? If it did, Gogo certainly would be more than happy to indicate that, yes, she did like Honey Lemon back. Like, like , like Honey Lemon. But maybe she was misinterpreting? It was possible that—
“Never mind,” Honey Lemon said quickly. “Just forget I said anything. It’s okay. You’ll still be friends with me, right?”
“Yes,” Gogo said at last. When Honey looked down at the floor in dismay, though, Gogo quickly clarified. “I mean, yes, I’ll, um, go to the dance with you.”
“Really?” exclaimed Honey Lemon. Her face lit up, and she turned and threw herself at Gogo, enveloping the shorter girl in a tight hug.
Shoot, shoot, shoot, Gogo thought, realizing that her face was dangerously close to— to— Honey Lemon’s, um, chest. Oh, why did Honey Lemon have to be so painfully oblivious to the effect she had on her?
When Honey finally released Gogo (in a red-faced, significantly flustered state), she said, “Next Friday, then, May 24! It’s a date!”
With that, Honey Lemon flashed Gogo another dazzling smile and ran back the way she had come, leaving Gogo alone and dazed in the hallway.
---
Twenty minutes into her first ever middle school dance, Gogo Tomago still had no idea what people did at these events.
She stood awkwardly by the refreshments table, waiting. Honey Lemon still had not shown up, and Gogo wanted to leave more and more every minute.
Gogo analyzed the contents of the bowls— cheese puffs, potato chips, more potato chips, tortilla chips, salsa, vegetables and dip, and still more potato chips. Beside the snacks were several bottles of soda— all the name brands you’d expect: Sprite, Coca-Cola, Dr. Pepper, and Mountain Dew. The entire table seemed like one big recipe for heart disease.
She walked around the “dance floor” (which was really an area in the center of the gym squared off with masking tape) to stand by the entrance, waiting for Honey Lemon to show up. Gogo looked down at her clothes. She normally wasn’t one to worry about what she was wearing, but today was different. It was a dance .
Not being much of a dress girl, Gogo had opted instead for a formal blue button-down shirt and dress pants. In honor of her having “scored her first date,” as he put it, her brother had lent her one of his ties— a simple, glossy black one. He’d even taught her how to tie it and had adjusted it for her. It had been a bit too long for her at first, but he’d re-tied it so that it fell at a more appropriate level. She straightened it now and glanced at the entrance again.
Honey Lemon appeared just minutes later, appearing frazzled but smiling nevertheless. “Gogo!” she cried, and gave her a quick hug. When she pulled back, Gogo managed to say, “Hi,” before she stopped to look at Honey Lemon’s attire.
Her dress was sleeveless and light pink, with a small bow around the waist and a line of frills at its bottom hem. And when Gogo looked down—
“You’re wearing heels ?” she remarked incredulously.
Honey Lemon beamed. “Aren’t they great?” she replied. “I just got them for a wedding a few months ago, and they still fit! I absolutely love high heels.”
“You’re tall enough as it is!” Gogo said.
“Yeah, but high heels make me feel taller,” she explained. “Well, they do make me taller. You should totally try them sometime.”
“Thanks,” Gogo muttered. The last thing she needed was to be made fun of for her height by her date.
Honey Lemon laughed. “Anyways,” she said. “I’m going to teach you how to dance. Come with me.”
“Oh, no,” Gogo said.
“Gogo Tomago, we are at a dance ,” Honey Lemon exclaimed. “You can’t not dance when you’re at a dance.”
“Well, I will,” Gogo retorted.
“No, you won’t,” Honey Lemon said, raising an eyebrow teasingly and pulling Gogo onto the dance floor. She pumped a fist in the air to the beat of the loud electro song and moved with the grace of someone who was inherently accustomed to dancing in these types of environments.
Honey Lemon was a natural at this, in sharp contrast with Gogo, who was staring at the floor and taking great pains to avoid eye contact with anyone, including her date. Around her, it seemed that hardly anyone else knew what to do either. Honey Lemon was one of perhaps five girls on the dance floor who were comfortable with dancing, while the other sixty kids or so loomed around the premises, clearly unsure of what they were supposed to be doing. Perhaps the most ironic part was that the most of the boys and girls who were supposedly attending the dance together were on opposite sides of the room, chatting with their friends of the same gender and occasionally casting uncertain glances at their dates on the other side of the room.
“I don’t dance, Honey,” Gogo hissed, as Honey Lemon’s hips undulated in a way that made Gogo’s stomach jolt, not with displeasure.
“You do now,” Honey Lemon whispered back, grabbing her hands and swinging her back and forth in time with the pounding beat of the song. “ Move ,” she said, when Gogo gave her a look of skepticism.
After another few minutes of attempted dancing that was at once both exuberating and awfully awkward, Gogo said, “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” It was more to get away from the place than to actually, well, use the facilities, but Honey Lemon nodded nonetheless.
“I’ll come with you,” she said, as if this was a very normal thing to do. Gogo wasn’t actually sure. If they weren’t both girls, it would certainly be strange for them to go to the bathroom together. But did going to a dance together in a date way change things?
Honey Lemon didn’t seem to think so. She gushed the entire walk to the bathroom about how cool it was to finally go to a dance, and how she loved the way the school had decorated the entire gym with colorful flowers and nature, in accordance with the spring theme, and how happy she had been when she recognized several of the songs that had been playing.
When they reached the bathroom, though, she said, in a more serious voice, “Hey, Gogo. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Gogo replied tersely, as she went into a stall and locked it behind her.
“So,” came Honey Lemon’s cheery voice from outside the stall, “what do you think of the dance?”
“It’s okay,” said Gogo.
There was a pause. “Well,” said Honey Lemon at last, “you don’t seem to like it much.”
“No, no, it’s great,” Gogo said unconvincingly.
“You don’t actually believe that,” Honey Lemon said.
Gogo sighed. “I’m not a big fan of dances,” she admitted. She regretted saying it immediately after, though— she didn’t want to give her date the impression that she didn’t like her by saying something like that.
“Oh,” said Honey Lemon. Gogo got up, flushed the toilet, and unlocked the stall and came out. She washed her hands as Honey Lemon looked on.
“I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have made you come,” Honey Lemon said.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Gogo. “I wanted to.”
“No, really,” Honey Lemon insisted. “I mean, I knew you weren’t all that, well, social, no offense, but I guess I thought that it’d be nice for us to go together, anyway.”
“It’s alright,” Gogo said. She turned off the sink and got a paper towel to dry her hands. Honey Lemon watched her.
“Do you want to go home?” Honey Lemon asked.
Gogo thought about it. Finally, she admitted, “I only wanted to go because of you.”
Honey Lemon held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. “Well, how about this?” she said. “I mean, the dance is ending in less than an hour anyways, so we can just hang out for most of the time, but you have to dance with me for five minutes. That’s all.”
“Alright,” Gogo agreed, nodding. She threw out her paper towel and held open the door for Honey Lemon. “Coming?”
---
Gogo decided that the dance actually wasn’t that bad. Being there with a very cute girl certainly helped things. They stood at the side, watching the other kids dance, and Honey Lemon easily kept the conversation going. Gogo was sure that her cheeks would be sore from all the time she spent smiling.
About forty-five minutes after they had left the bathroom, Honey Lemon said, “Hey, you haven’t danced with me yet.”
Gogo sighed. She had been hoping that her date would forget about that part of the agreement. “I just—”
“The dance is ending in five minutes,” Honey Lemon said. “Which is perfect timing, since you have to dance with me for five minutes!” She pulled Gogo onto the dance floor, grinning the whole time.
“Honey, I don’t know how to—”
Honey Lemon shushed her, placing a finger to Gogo’s lips. “Since you can’t seem to dance like a normal teenager,” she said, “we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.” She placed one hand on Gogo’s waist and held Gogo’s hand with the other. “Put your other hand on my arm,” Honey Lemon directed, and Gogo reluctantly complied.
“Are we seriously going to slow dance to LMFAO?” Gogo demanded, as Honey Lemon began to step, forward, right, back, forward, right, back.
“Do you have any other ideas?” Honey Lemon retorted, nudging Gogo’s foot with her own. “Come on. Your feet mirror mine. When my left foot goes back, your right foot goes back.”
Gogo attempted to follow Honey Lemon’s footsteps, but ended up stepping on her partner’s feet several times. Honey Lemon only giggled.
“You’re so bad at this,” Honey Lemon remarked, stifling a smile.
“I told you I couldn’t dance,” Gogo growled.
Honey Lemon laughed again. She moved faster, and Gogo tried in vain to keep up with her, stepping forward, right, and back as Honey did. A minute later she ended up tripping over her own legs and falling on the floor. Honey Lemon gasped and quickly reached to help her up, but she was grinning playfully even as she did so.
“Thanks,” Gogo muttered.
Honey Lemon bit her lip, trying to contain her smile. Behind them, the assistant principal called, "Dance is over, guys!" as nearly a hundred preteens began to head to the front.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Honey Lemon said. She reached over and took hold of Gogo's hand as they exited.
Gogo tried very hard not to stare at their interlocked hands. "Yeah," she said. "I mean, no, it wasn't too bad." Thanks to you, she thought, but didn't say.
Honey Lemon beamed. They walked outside the school and stood by the benches in the front to wait for their parents.
"I thought it was wonderful," said Honey Lemon, breathlessly. She was still holding on to Gogo's hand, and the shorter girl looked at anything but her date.
"Thanks," Gogo said. Her throat felt tight. "For inviting me. I'm glad I came."
Honey Lemon squeezed her hand, and Gogo felt as though her fingers were about to drown in their own sweat. "Me, too," said Honey.
They stood in a peaceful silence for a while. Honey Lemon asked, "Do you need a ride home?"
"No," said Gogo.
"Alright," replied Honey Lemon. "My mom's here, so I'll see you later!" She pulled Gogo into a hug and then stepped back. "Thank you," she said.
"Wait," said Gogo. On impulse, she took Honey Lemon's arm, pulled her down, and kissed her gently on the lips.
"Wow," breathed Honey Lemon when they broke apart. "That was my first time kissing someone."
"Me, too," admitted Gogo.
Honey Lemon smiled softly. She bent and kissed Gogo again. “And that’s my second time,” she said.
Gogo laughed. A car honked in front of her, but she didn’t care. Honey Lemon jumped. “I should go,” she said sheepishly, gesturing toward where her mother was waiting. “Um, I’ll see you next week!”
Gogo waved at Honey Lemon until her car disappeared from view before she mounted her bike and began to ride home.
Maybe dances weren’t so bad after all.