https://youtu.be/Oxu3pq319r0

Martha heard a car horn and looked out her bedroom window to confirm it was Tiana and her mother, waiting to pick her up for the dance. She surveyed her unfortunate, though historically accurate appearance in the mirror. Her dress was knee length and navy blue with a pair of white stripes running from shoulder to shoulder – sailor chic? The front of her hair, powered by half a bottle of hairspray, stood at attention before crashing to the left like a cascading wave upon her pimpled forehead – keeping with the nautical theme, I guess.

Downstairs, her father sat on the couch watching the news with the lights off, despite the vanishing daylight. Martha wondered if she should turn on a lamp for him. Is that something I would have done? Or does he want it dark? I don't remember him sitting in the dark. But it might upset him. And would it be off script for twelve-year-old-Martha to take that initiative? SHOULD I TURN ON THE LAMP?? A second honk from outside broke her from the depressingly common debate.

"Going to the dance, Dad."

"Mm-hmm," he answered without looking away from the screen.

"Probably home around 9:30."

"Okie-doke," he said, eyes forward.

Though the disconnect had become typical, it broke Martha's heart every time. She left the house and her father, and stepped into the waiting car.

Tiana sat in the back seat with an excited smile. In the front, her mother turned to Martha. "My, don't you look stunning!"

"Thank you, Mrs Luong."

Tiana's mother had acted as a stand-in for Martha's in both of her lives. In the first, it had meant a great deal to her. In the second, Martha appreciated the effort – the woman means well – but it mostly served to highlight yet another secret burden.

Once again, her father's official story was that her mother had died giving birth. So Martha had to live with the truth while acting the part. But it wasn't a question of simply playing dumb. She had to calibrate her emotions precisely. She couldn't completely shut down, because a girl growing up without a mother needed to emote some degree of sadness. But the anger, betrayal, and confusion born of her mother's suicide had no place. Yet here they are.

Mrs Luong only meant to offer Martha a compliment and perhaps emotional support. Nevertheless, Martha couldn't help but wonder what was behind the sympathy. Did she know about the suicide? Was she party to the lie, fundamental to Martha's sham identity?

Stop! This was not a debate that twelve-year-old-Martha should be having on her way to a school dance. She tried to get back on script. "Are you excited?" she asked Tiana rhetorically.

"Like totally!" She glanced at her mother, driving and humming along as Dionne Warwick played on the radio. "I heard in lunch," she whispered. "You Know Who is definitely going to be there."

"Awesome!" Martha whispered back with as much enthusiasm as she could fake. You Know Who was Kurt Lafleur. In Martha's first life, she'd had an enormous crush on him, before gathering the courage to ask him to their 8th grade dance. His rejection had been a formative moment for Martha. Taking risks is stupid. Optimism is stupid. I am not what boys want.

Of course James – the real You Know Who – changed all of that. Walking through this reenactment, however, was inspiring a PTSD level flashback. Kurt Lafleur was only a twelve year old boy, but his presence somehow made her palms sweat and heart race.

They reached the school and parked in the back lot. Tiana's mother addressed the girls. "Okay, I'll be back at 9:00. If you guys aren't out by 9:15, I'll just have to come inside the school and find you..."

"We'll be out, mom. We'll be out," Tiana said with half-joking desperation.

Mrs Luong turned to Martha and smiled. "Stunning, dear. You have fun tonight, okay?" If she meant to conceal her pity, her effort was in vain.

Pity because I don't have a mother? Pity because my mother killed herself? Ugh! Enough!!

The girls left the car, crossed the visitors lot, then followed the sidewalk around the school to its front entrance. Clusters of students did the same ahead, behind, and on other paths leading to a ticket table at the door.

A group of 8th grade boys were buying their tickets when Martha and Tiana arrived. Two of them looked back at the 7th graders for a moment, then returned their focus to their group as if the girls were invisible. Yep, I definitely remember that.

The boys took their tickets and walked inside, a cloud of cheap cologne slow to follow. One of the school's science teachers sat behind the table looking painfully bored.

"One please," Tiana said and placed two dollars in front of him. He tore off a generic raffle ticket and handed it to her, then Martha repeated the transaction.

Tickets in hand, the girls walked up the steps and into the school. The muffled music from the dance grew steadily as they progressed down the hallway. At the first intersection, a PE teacher, clad in a gray sweatsuit, stood to direct attendees toward the gymnasium while guarding the rest of the building from wandering students. Or 'numbskull delinquents' as he'd most likely prefer.

They took a right and the gymnasium was a short distance away. Groups of students loitered on either side of the hallway. Carla and Becky were a part of one, but when Martha made eye contact and waved, they looked away dismissively.

The gymnasium's double doors were propped open, but Martha couldn't make out what awaited them inside as the harsh light of the hallway overpowered the dance's lack thereof.

"You ready?" Tiana asked Martha with a frightened smile.

It's great that you're excited, Tiana, but there's nothing to be worried about. It's just a school dance – the first of many, would be the wrong thing for her to say at this point in time. Instead, Martha tried to match her friend's expression as she responded. "I think so?"

But though she understood the triviality of the dance from an intellectual perspective, Martha couldn't deny the game of Twister her internal organs were playing. Like it or not, she was terrified of what lay ahead. Great. More method acting.

So the brave pair mustered their courage and passed through the gymnasium's entryway that may as well have been the gates to Mordor.

The chorus of MC Hammer's 'Can't Touch This' echoed piercingly off the concrete walls and wooden floors as Martha's eyes adjusted to the light. Bleachers were pulled out and sparsely filled with students on one side of the gym while the other had chairs lined against its wall. Above the chairs, banners were hung unevenly, advertising the dance currently underway and hailing the glory of Conquistador Pride. Alternating strings of red and yellow Christmas lights hung along each wall and a disco ball, mounted in a corner, provided the majority of the dance's light. Opposite the entrance, a Home Economics teacher stood behind her DJ stand and searched for the next CD as a crowd of students harassed her with requests.

No one at the dance was currently dancing.

Though it wasn't the perfect cliché – boys on one side, girls on the other – it was pretty close. The genders behaved more like amorphous blobs of oil and water, pushed apart by their molecular structures. Chemistry class... Trading equations... James... Focus!!

An exception to the rule was standing off to Martha and Tiana's right, surrounded by a pack of drooling sycophants. Tiffany Cipowski had been 'blessed' the summer between 6th and 7th grade and Martha remembered envying her immensely in her first life without understanding the complexities of feminine body image. She also remembered her high school being shocked by Tiffany's suicide attempt their sophomore year.

It occurred to Martha that she could intervene between now and then – show Tiffany that her worth as a human being had nothing to do with her bra size. But could she risk it? What if Tiffany's attempt and requisite depression were essential to her timeline? Martha felt sick to her stomach.

A group of girls brushed past Martha and Tiana, who'd conspicuously stopped just inside the entrance.

"Um... Maybe we should like, not stand right here," Tiana said.

"Good idea," Martha agreed.

As the pair aimlessly wandered away from awkwardly standing still, Martha tried to wipe the sweat from her hands on the sides of her dress nonchalantly. She couldn't help feeling exposed, as if the entire dance were staring at her. Rationally, she understood that most of the students were probably experiencing the same paranoia and that likely no one, save Tiana, was aware she was in attendance. Still, she felt the heat from an imaginary spotlight trained on her every move.

Martha was at a loss as they meandered randomly. What were they supposed to do? Where were they supposed to stand? Was there ever a point to attending one of these? She felt a rising dread as if an astronaut floating into the endless black, disconnected from her spacecraft. Suddenly, the refreshments table came into view and they steered toward it as if to the only port in a storm. Space or sea – can we just pick one?

The table had a basket filled with bags of chips and a punch bowl of juice. Paper cups filled with the latter were arranged in rows and columns.

Tiana took a drink from one. "Gross. Apple juice."

"Could be worse," Martha chuckled. "Could be grape."

The déjà vu washed over her gloriously and she was back at prom – James standing in his tux... The world spinning as they danced around the floor... Steph Jenkins perched on the edge with her empty cup and stupid face... But oh, what wouldn't Martha give to see that stupid face? I'd give it a big kiss, right on the lips!

"Earth to Martha..." Tiana said. "You're like, smiling and staring off like you're on The Wonder Years. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Martha said, ripped back to the present – or past... Do these words even mean anything? "Sorry, I'm good. Um... yeah." She laughed nervously then motioned with her hand. "Should we uh... go somewhere else? The only thing worse than standing in front of the door is standing in front of the refreshments."

"Totally," Tiana agreed and they resumed their desperate ramble.

They passed a pair of boys attempting the Kid n' Play Kickstep as De La Soul's 'Me, Myself, and I' skipped around the gymnasium. Finally, the girls found an empty pocket of space underneath one of the basketball hoops and put a merciful end to their wandering.

They smiled at each other awkwardly and looked out at the floor as Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" began to play. A handful of couples ventured out to slow dance. "Dance" being a relative term. Uncertain what to do next, Martha looked back at Tiana, whose eyes suddenly went wide.

"Hey Martha," a boy's voice said.

She gaped in shock.

With his blonde, wavy hair brushed back and to the side, Kurt Lafleur was somehow standing in front of Martha. He wore a white and blue paisley sweater to match his eyes and acid washed jeans, cuffed tightly around his ankles.

Tiana elbowed Martha to break her from her trance. "Hi... Hi Kurt," she sputtered. Her heart hadn't received the memo that none of this mattered as it continued to beat faster and faster.

"Do you, um... wanna dance?" he said.

Again, Martha gaped. This time, Tiana pushed.

Martha stumbled forward then collected herself. "Sure. Yeah," she said smiling nervously, then pointed to the dance floor. "Um... After you?" As awkward as the suggestion came out, holding his hand with hers practically dripping sweat wasn't an option.

"Sure. Okay," he said, then led Martha to the floor.

As they walked, she turned back to Tiana who smiled and bounced as if she'd just witnessed their wedding proposal. But what exactly had she witnessed? How was this happening? Kurt asking her to dance went beyond Carla and Becky's frenemy swap. It was a complete inversion of reality – Newton pondering what made apples float up to the sky.

He settled on an open space and turned to face Martha. She lifted her clammy hands to his shoulders – let's hope that's a thick sweater – and he placed his on her waist. They began to shift their weight slightly, side to side, not quite in sync with the music or each other.

Martha's eyes fled to the side or the floor or anywhere but his face as the skin on her hips prickled beneath his hands. Onlookers gathered at a radius around the dance floor. The imaginary spotlights multiplied and a bead of sweat dripped past her right temple.

She chanced a glimpse of his face and saw that he too looked off to the side. Was it possible that Kurt also felt nervous? But now that she thought about it – of course he did. He was just a kid and this was his first dance as well. Yeah, but he's Kurt Lafleur and I'm me! There's no way he's nervous!

The thought came as a surprise. It appeared as if The Ghost had begun to assume control of her mind as well. This is ridiculous, Martha countered. He's a child. And he's not James. There's no logical reason for this anxiety.

Feeling determined, she forced herself to look at his face. Again, he averted his eyes nervously – yes, nervously. She maintained eye contact for a few deliberate seconds then broke off again. Everything was going to be okay. The song would end soon and her childhood fantasy would be mercifully over. Her heart rate slowed to sub-hummingbird and she began to relax. But then the thought occurred to Martha. Regardless of how trivial their "dance" was, this was not normal. Yeah. What the hell is going on?

"Hey Kurt?" she asked. "I got a... weird question for you." Part of her was still scared to death, but another was gaining steam. Empowered to confront the main source of her adolescent self-doubt, Martha began to enjoy herself.

He looked at her and said, "Yeah, what?"

Then, he smiled.

His smile was gorgeous, but in truth, it was only the means to an end – the stem blooming into flower... the vegetables before dessert... the opening act for Steve Martin... Because when Kurt Lafleur smiled, Kurt Lafeur had dimples.

Dimples...

Martha's knees buckled for a moment but she caught herself with reproach. No! We're better than that.

She took a breath, then continued. "Why did you ask me to dance?"

Kurt was silent for a few seconds, then he said, "Huh?"

"I mean, was there a bet? Or... did someone dare you?" Martha felt her confidence overtake her nerves. "It's okay. You can tell me. I won't be offended."

His dimples vanished. "Bet? What? I don't understand."

Martha shrugged her shoulders. "I know it sounds very silly and... teen rom-com cliché. But it just doesn't make much sense – a boy like you wanting to dance with a girl like me." She paused to pick a piece of lint off the collar of his sweater. "So I'm just curious. What made you ask me?"

"I dunno," he said and the dimples were back. "You're like, not..." He looked away bashfully. "I mean, like... you're different."

Martha suppressed a laugh. He's not wrong.

"Sometimes," he continued. "It's like... I dunno, like you don't care about stupid stuff the way everyone else does."

Martha weighed the revelation. So all I had to do was not care about stupid stuff and Kurt Lafleur would have found me attractive? A little late, but good to know. As fun as it was for Martha to imagine she'd felt desirable in middle school, however, she knew this had to be fixed.

She couldn't date Kurt, or anybody for the next few years, because that was off the path to Illinois. Not to mention that Kurt's a twelve year old boy and I'm a... whatever year old woman! In fact, his compliment was actually a critique – a scathing review of her performance. Twelve year old Martha cared deeply about stupid stuff. Whatever-year-old Martha needed to recommit to that authenticity or else-

Suddenly his lips were on hers.

Martha felt weightless, deaf, and blind. There were no onlookers... no music... no floor beneath her feet... Only his lips. Then she felt a gash along the length of her abdomen. A wound she'd sustained some eighty years ago leaving her emotionally crippled. One she'd grown so accustomed to, she'd forgotten it was there... Until this kiss.

The wound glowed white as it began to heal and the pain from her worthlessness to dissipate. This kiss made her believe she could be loved. This kiss meant she wasn't a complete failure as a human being.

But then Martha remembered that none of it was real. The wound was a lie she'd told herself as was the need for a cure. This boy's rejection didn't define her and all she needed was waiting for her in Illinois.

Then she recalled where she was – locking apple juice and Dorito flavored lips with a young boy in the middle of a crowded gymnasium – and Martha's mind split four ways.

The Ghost still saw the kiss as its salvation and yearned to stay in this moment for eternity. Simultaneously, it was terrified and wanted to scurry under the bleachers to hide from the spectacle.

Martha knew the kiss was indecent and nowhere near the script and was desperate to end it. Simultaneously, she wondered if that was a choice twelve year old Martha would make.

As if bound by the wrists and ankles to four horses lashed in opposition, Martha felt stretched to and then past her limit. In a primal burst, she pushed Kurt away with enough force to send him tripping over another couple and onto the floor.

His face was shocked, then hurt, then sharp. "What the hell?" he shouted over the music.

Martha's chest heaved as sweat streamed down her face. She turned her head left and right to see that everyone watching the dancefloor was now specifically watching – and in some cases pointing to or laughing at – her. And not in a paranoid, self-absorbed preteen sense. They are LITERALLY all staring at me!

The Ghost took the wheel with both hands and Martha was too exhausted to resist. They turned to the entrance and all but ran as Madonna's "Vogue" began to play.

She was done – done with Kurt Lafleur... done with the script... done with déjà vu... Because it wouldn't be a school dance without Martha Beckett acting like a psycho then storming out!

Eyes on the floor, Martha still had to squint as she left the gymnasium for the brutal light of the hallway. Anonymous groups of students hushed their chatter as she passed. Whether the gossip had reached them already or they were simply reacting to a lone weirdo speed walking away from the dance, she knew not, nor did she care. Done!

At the hallway intersection, the PE teacher stood and asked, "May I help you?"

Martha ignored him and continued on to the exit. Once outside, she stopped at the top of the steps. Nausea bloomed from her stomach to her head. Was she about to jump forward in time again? Fine by me. Anywhere but here!

After a few breaths, the sensation began to quell. Unfortunately, it appeared her lightheadedness was tied to the present.

She was stuck here.

Martha took a seat on the top step. Though the night air was still warm, a breeze chilled her panic sweat dry. She stared forward and let her eyes defocus, the car lights blurring left and right. What had she just done? How many ripples had she just cast? Go ahead, say it. That push caused a tsunami.

Her reputation had been irrevocably changed. She'd no longer be an invisible nobody, but the girl who She-Hulk smashed Kurt Lafleur at the dance. And even if her action was somehow glorified – if Kurt was a jerk who had it coming and she was again dubbed Mad Martha – she'd still set herself miles off course.

Footsteps approached from behind. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Tiana asked before sitting next to Martha.

Her eyes forward and vacant, Martha shook her head slowly.

"What... happened in there?" Tiana asked with a mixture of concern and vicarious panic in her voice.

"I..." Martha began before her emotions suddenly resurfaced, cutting her words. "I... ruined... everything..." Sobbing, she leaned into Tiana who wrapped an arm around her.

"It's okay. It's okay," she soothed. Though Tiana misunderstood her tears, Martha felt a release nonetheless, free to cry and feel horrible in the arms of a friend.

After a minute of ugly crying, Martha composed herself enough to sit up, sniffle away a tear, then say, "Thanks."

"No problem," Tiana responded with a smile that quickly disappeared. "That was like, crazy. Like, no offense, but I didn't think anybody would ask either of us let alone Kurt Lafleur."

"Yeah, well... His fault for asking such a freak to dance," Martha said.

"You're not a freak."

"I am a freak."

"Okay, well..." Tiana bit her lip as she formulated her argument. "Most people are freaks."

Tiana. There is NO ONE in this school remotely like me. But Martha conceded. "Thanks." Tiana smiled again as she looked out at the passing traffic. Martha regarded her for a moment, then said, "You know, you're amazing."

"Amazing? Really?"

"Yep. I was so lucky to have you as a friend."

"Was?" Tiana began to question, but then shook her head quickly, apparently conceding as well. "Thanks." A few moments passed, then Tiana looked at her wrist watch. "Dang, we've got a lot of time before my mom's going to be here. You want to like, go to Dairy Queen? We can pig out then use their pay phone if we want her to pick us up early."

"Sounds great. But the freak's buying, okay?"

Tiana nodded her head then took Martha's hand and the girls left the dance in search of ice cream.

Author's note:

Opting for ice cream over a school dance is almost always a good idea.  

Question for those who read For Those Who Don't... :  were the references to their prom (Steph Jenkins, grape juice, Mad Martha's freakout) clear?  Or am I expecting too much from the reader?

Thank you for reading!!