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Patrick’s heart thumped in time to the booming bass from the speakers. The DJ on stage was playing 2005’s greatest dance hits, making the poor and underfunded high school gymnasium quake in its boots. The student body paid no mind to the state of their school, instead deciding to explore other students’ bodies. Everyone who was anyone was grinding on the opposite sex like there was no tomorrow. The unlucky few who weren't getting lucky ended up scattered across the bleachers, either making small talk with friends or, in Joe, Andy, and Patrick’s cases, scoping out the lonely girls on the dance floor.
“I think I have a chance with her,” Joe shouted in Patrick’s ear. He pointed into the crowd, guiding Patrick’s eyes to a nondescript redhead in a blue dress.
“Go for it,” Patrick shouted back with all the enthusiasm he could scrape up. It wasn't all that much. Leaning on his hand, he couldn't wait for this night to end. In his humble opinion, school dances were just an excuse for the popular jocks to show off their girls to their fellow popular jocks, flaunting their game to any and every sad loser who had the misfortune of crossing their path. Girls weren't objects, Patrick knew that much. He yearned for a girlfriend for the right reasons, like love and happiness and all that. But he also really wanted a mouth to kiss, and was that such a bad thing to want?
Speaking of mouth-kissing, Patrick caught Pete Wentz peeling himself away from the bouncing masses, wearing that dopey smile he always did when he just got his mouth sticky with cheap lip gloss. He was the whole reason Patrick was here in the first place, luring him into his shitty car with promises of “babes beyond your wildest dreams”. Patrick sighed. He had nightmares with more babes than this.
“So,” Pete called out above the music, “how are we doing tonight!”
Patrick’s grumbles were buried by Joe standing and informing Pete of the hot chick he had his eye on. Pete nodded and smiled, patting Joe on the back. Beside Patrick, Andy turned a page in his comic book. Patrick leaned over to try and see the story, or hell, even just a single panel, but Andy pulled the book closer to his face. Patrick sighed again, resigning himself to staring at the cover. At least when Spider-Man was having problems at prom, he could excuse himself from the embarrassment and go save someone. If only the world could be in mortal peril, for Patrick’s sake.
Comic book art could only keep his distractible mind occupied for so long. He shifted his head to his other hand and glanced out at the crowd. People-watching was somewhat interesting, at least. Patrick spotted a handful of mildly exciting people: a guy breakdancing, another guy trying and failing to do the same, a blonde girl throwing punch at a brunette’s pale yellow dress, some kid with bright blue hair trying to mosh to Britney Spears. As his eyes wandered over the crowd, one kid kept grabbing his gaze. She was a girl, or at least Patrick thought as much from across the gym. She had short black hair bobbing at her chin as she timidly danced. Her upturned nose complimented her round face. As for attire, she wore a simple black dress with a red belt around her waist, kitten heels, and a black-and-red shawl. If Patrick took off his glasses, he could've mistaken the pattern on the shawl for small strawberries or cherries.
“Tricky’s got a crush!”
Pete’s loud voice made Patrick nearly leap off the bleachers. “Jesus, don't scare me like that, man!” He put a shaking hand on his chest. “Good god, Pete.”
Pete ignored his friend’s heart attack in favor of more teasing. “That girl, over there.” He pointed right at her. “You totally have the hots for her.”
“Her?” Patrick gulped. “No, I'm not– I don't– she's—”
“Oh, you are down bad.” Pete playfully smacked Patrick on the arm. He then moved to rub Patrick's shoulders, a coach about to throw his worst wrestler into the ring. “She's pretty, Tricky.” He patted Patrick’s shoulders once, twice, three times. “I say go for it, Lunchbox.”
Patrick’s mind had gone completely blank. "Go for it"? He couldn't look at her for more than a few seconds without shriveling up on the inside, let alone talk her. How did Pete expect him to do that?! He turned and opened his mouth to say something to Pete — to ask for advice or tell him off, either would work — but Pete had disappeared into the crowd without a trace. The womanizer probably went to go chat up the chicks he hadn't already gotten his face over. Or maybe check out dudes; Patrick suspected Pete swung that way, but had never asked him to confirm. Either way, Patrick was painfully alone in a sea of awkward high schoolers, their pariah of embarrassment. Great, just perfect. Not only had his best friend outed his schoolyard crush, he left him high and dry to deal with it himself. Perfect indeed.
He looked closer at the girl, trying his best to judge whether or not she’d kill him for daring to breathe at her, or if she was like, cool. Any prospects of approaching her died a quick and painful death, though, when Patrick caught her laughing with a bunch of guys. She was taken. Just fucking perfect.
Patrick stood up, telling Andy he was heading to the bathroom. If Andy heard him, he didn't acknowledge it. Patrick shoved his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and made a bee-line for the exit. Maybe he could survive in the common area until he had to play designated driver to a still-sober but out-of-his-mind Pete. That might work.
When he got to the common area, though, Patrick had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. The place was filled to the brim with all the school’s smokers, potheads, and drunks. Of course his straight-edge ass wouldn't get lucky. Of fucking course. Patrick turned on his heel, pouting down at the floor. He quickly determined that if this pattern continued, he'd never have a chance at good luck ever again. Pete probably cursed him, stealing any good fortune from Patrick to funnel into his own lady-killer pockets. God damnit.
Suddenly, Patrick rammed head-first into someone. As if his luck couldn't get worse. “I'm so sor—” he started, but his mouth went dry when he looked up. Meeting the gaze of the person he bumped into, it just so happened to be the cute girl from across the gym. God damnit.
She held out her hands in apology. “No, I'm sorry. I should've been looking where I was going.” Her voice was a bit lower than Patrick expected it to be. More nasally too. And at first glance, her eyes seemed very pretty.
He looked back down to avoid them. The pattern on the floor was suddenly very appealing.
“No, it's on me. Sorry.” Patrick felt a hand on his shoulder, and lifted his head on instinct.
“I didn't hurt you, right?” Avoiding her eyes was no longer an option. They were hazel, the brown in them receding to make way for shade of cool green. The color matched the floor tile almost perfectly. A pale hand reached up to his face, adjusting his eyeglasses. “There. I bump my brother's off all the time.” She exhaled a laugh. “I'm such a klutz sometimes.”
“You don't seem like a klutz,” Patrick’s mouth blurted out before his brain could catch up. “You seem like– like—" Shit. He was blowing this so hard. Goodbye any chance with this girl, see you never.
Instead of rolling her eyes or walking away, the girl seemed to almost be… blushing? “What do I seem like then, Patrick?”
Patrick’s mouth opened to say a million things — You seem cute, cool, adorable, amazing — but what tumbled out instead was, “How do you know my name?”
“Oh,” she said, looking away like she'd said too much, “this guy caught me staring at you. He told me.” She half-giggled, half-sighed. "It's funny, my friends were making fun of me all night for staring at you.” Her right hand quickly flew over her mouth. “Oh my god,” she mumbled, “I cannot believe I just—”
“It's fine!” Patrick scrambled to say. “I…” Here goes nothing. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush: “I might have been, uh, looking at you too.”
The green in her eyes twinkled in the soft hallway light. “Really? ‘Cause I thought I was a total weirdo for staring.”
Patrick tried his best not to gasp. “You? A weirdo?” It was his turn to laugh. “If you're a weirdo, then I'm an exhibit at Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.”
She joined him in laughing, adding, “No, no, you're not weird. Well, we’re both equally weird. That's—” She stopped herself, looking in the direction of the gym. “Oh, I love this song.”
“Really?” Patrick said, trying to listen for the tune. He didn't quite recognize it, but it sounded very eighties.
“The Cure,” the girl supplied. “They're my favorite band. Well, them and Misfits.” She turned back to look Patrick in the eyes. Knitting her shoulders together, she held out her hand. “Would you maybe, sorta, like to…” She trailed off, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what she was asking.
Luckily, Patrick was about as smart as he looked. He took her hand in his. “Yes.” He moved his other hand to her shoulder, and she moved hers to his waist. They slowly swayed from side to side, painted in the low glow of the street lamps outside the window. “Am I doing this right?” he asked after a moment.
She smiled softly, nestling her head in the crook of Patrick's neck. She was taller than him, but she made it feel natural and effortless. “Perfect.”
They gently moved in time until the song came to a close, making way for some more upbeat party music. Both tried dancing to the faster beat to no avail, ending up in fits of laughter. Patrick couldn't believe the cute girl from the gym was having fun with him.
“Wait, wait,” Patrick said as he calmed himself down. “I never got your name.”
The girl opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it into a line. “I…” She shifted uncomfortably. “My friends call me Illi.”
“Illi?” Patrick said, rolling the name around on his tongue. “Never heard that one before.” Clocking her discomfort, he moved to hold her hand. “It's nice though. Unique, but… cool. Beautiful, even.”
Her mouth twitched into a hesitant smile. “You really think so? Most kids think it's stupid.”
Patrick shook his head. “Then most kids have bad taste.” She laughed a bit at that, and he smiled back. He did have one more question on his mind though. “Speaking of bad taste, who was it that told you about me?”
Illi shook her head. “I don't know the guy very well. Didn't catch much before he ran off with my brother.” She scratched her chin. “I think it was Pete something? Why?”
Pete. Patrick wanted to be mad — Pete thought he couldn't handle talking to a girl on his own, so of course he had to intervene — but Pete wasn't exactly wrong there, was he? He was just trying to be a good wingman to his best bud. So instead of being mad, Patrick smiled. “No reason. I'm just glad he did.”
Illi blushed, taking both his hands in hers. “I know, right? How lucky are we?” Her face inched ever closer to Patrick’s. Patrick leaned in, his eyes fluttering closed.
Before they kissed for the first time, and certainly not the last, he echoed, “How lucky are we.”