The TV is on in the living room, and I sit, watching some reality cooking show Mom likes while she does my hair in the dining room. I would have suggested we watch A Call from Midnight, but (1) I'm way too anxious for Snowball to pay attention to anything and (2) for some reason I feel weird watching it now. I don't know, it's like... now that I know Grant O'Reilly is going to be at our school, judging us, and hopefully choosing Thatcher and Patti to go on his show with him, I can't enjoy the show. I feel too anxious watching that now. Apparently I'm at a point where literally everything gives me anxiety. Not even theater class can relieve me, because now I need to bring it with Romeo and Juliet, being that it was all my idea. So I just sit here, my legs shaking underneath my yellow dress, as I'm blankly watching something where people are challenged to make cakes, I guess?

"What's wrong?" Mom asks. She pulls at my hair, but she's gentle.

I shrug.

"Not an answer."

"I'm nervous," I admit.

"For?"

"For dancing. For getting dressed up and trying to look pretty, you know? It's like, what if I don't look nice, and then people laugh at me?"

"People like Gina?"

I don't answer, but she's right. I'm scared of seeing Gina there.

The fear reminds me of the first time I realized how cruel Gina could be. We were still in middle school, 7th grade to be exact, back before I knew the other misfits—Moth and Patti went to the other district middle school and Thatcher was still in some other district—and when Gina was still my only friend. We decided to attend one of the biannual teen hangouts and casual dances that the school called "Teen Centers." I went over to her house right after school and we used Gina's and her mom's collections of assorted beauty products to get ready. I had no clue what I was doing, so Gina spent half of the afternoon straightening my hair, which was still just as long as it is now, and doing my make-up. I remember actually really hating how she did my eyes, because the inner lid eyeliner made my eyes look tiny on my face. I couldn't say anything, though, because Gina was convinced that she had made me look exactly like Kylie Jenner. I didn't see it and thought I looked more like a girl who had slept in her make-up.

When it was finally time to go to the Teen Center, Gina's mom drove us and dropped us off at the school. We had to wait in line to pay the five dollar "donation" for Student Senate admission fee, and while we were in line Gina spotted some girls from our grade. To be clear, Gina and I were not popular. We were a weird island clique of our own, somewhere between obscurity and what some people in middle school referred to as "emo" since Gina was constantly lining her eyes in thick black lines and dying her hair. Despite this, Gina carried herself as if she were one of the popular girls, and anyone who she deemed a loser—which was pretty much anyone outside of the popular group and the two of us—was fair game for critique.

The girls from our grade were part of the large group of "losers," and Gina hit my arm and leaned over to whisper, "Look at those posers."

When I looked over, here's what I saw: Four girls in a small circle while waiting in line, each one wearing a similar outfit that both of us were wearing—jeans and a nicer than normal top—, each one with a more special than usual hair style like us, and who were all talking and laughing with each other. There was absolutely nothing poser-esque about the girls, in fact, I thought that they looked really cute. I remember envying one of their tops, because it had nice beadwork around the neckline. The only real thing that separated us from them was that they seemed to be having fun already.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They probably think they're going to get boyfriends tonight. Everyone always makes such a big deal about these stupid nights."

I didn't mention to her the irony that we had been preparing for the Teen Center since 3:30pm that day.

"It's not even that fun."

"Well, it'll probably be more fun once we get inside," I said with a shrug.

The closer the line moved to the entrance, the more we could hear music playing from inside the cafeteria, and the group of girls, who were close to the entrance by now, started dancing. They bobbed and swayed from side to side, laughing at themselves, and again... looking like they were having fun.

Gina rolled her eyes. "Shoot me if you ever see me dancing like that. I wouldn't be caught dead dancing at one of these things."

Then why are we here? I remember thinking. But I never said anything, and stayed pressed against the wall the entire time alongside Gina. Once or twice, Gina would step away to talk to a boy, but I didn't dare move. I didn't want Gina making fun of me to anyone like she had made fun of the girls in the group, and I especially didn't want her to tell me to my face that I looked like a loser.

We went to the three other Teen Centers for the rest of our middle school career and it was the same thing every time. Freshmen year, when it came time for homecoming preparations, I panicked, trying to think of an excuse not to go with Gina. Luckily, she came up with the excuse for me: "I wouldn't be caught dead going to homecoming without a boy," she had said, and since neither of us had boys then, we didn't go. By the time Snowball rolled around, Gina had acquired her freshmen year boyfriend, Nick, and they went together. She begged me to go, but I used her line to get out of it: "I don't have anyone I like, and I wouldn't want to go alone."

"True, good point," she had agreed, and when homecoming came around this past fall, she didn't even need to ask if I was going. She already knew I wasn't interested.

But now that I would be going to Snowball, Gina and I would once again be in the same dance space, and based on Moth's school dance philosophy, I knew that Gina would seek me out and laugh at me for dancing and having fun. I don't like Gina and I shouldn't care what she thinks of me, but I still can't be at peace with the idea of someone making fun of me and laughing at me.

My mom asks me again, "Is it people like Gina who you are afraid will laugh at you?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "Now that we aren't friends, I feel like I've opened myself up to all of her meanness. She made fun of me after the ten-minute scene Thatcher and I did, and I just know she's going to, like, walk around looking for me until she sees me and then she will just stand there and make fun of every little thing I do with her new friends."

Mom finishes the side of my hair that she's working on, and says, "Look, there will always be those people out there. You have to find ways of ignoring them and just living your life."

"Okay, easier said than done, though."

"Use your new friends as your armor," she suggests. "They didn't seem like they cared about dancing in front of people at all."

"So now you're encouraging me to use my friends?"

"You're not using them in a manipulative way or anything. You would be allowing them to help you feel more confident about yourself." She groans. "I hate that Gina made you so self-conscious. Listen, a lot of people wish they could dance in front of people and be themselves. Most of the adults I know still say things like, 'Let me get some drinks in me before I dance.' So if you can find the courage to just have fun in public, then you're braver than most people. Who cares if Gina makes fun of you, because at the end of the night, you'll have had fun and she'll have had a bitch fest."

I laugh. "Mom!"

"Sorry, but you get it, right?"

I remember the group of girls from that first Teen Center. Gina judged them, but I never did. They looked like they were having fun. I was jealous of them.

"Yeah," I say. "I get it."

"Your hair is all done. Want to see it?"

"Sure."

We head up to the bathroom together, and I check myself out in the mirror. The yellow dress does actually look really cute on me, like I could have really chosen it on purpose, brand new off the racks. My hair is up with tiny curls and loops all pinned into one large poof at the back of my head. It looks like a flower blooming, and I'm sort of amazed my mom could have pulled this off.

"Do you like it?" she asks from the doorway.

"I love it, Mom. It's like a big flower."

"Do you want it smaller?"

"No, no, it's perfect. Thank you."

In the mirror, I see her smile. "You're welcome. I got you some earrings too. Let me grab them," she says.

After a few moments, she returns to the bathroom with little glittery gemstone earrings that dangle from my ear lobes. The whole ensemble makes me look like royalty or something. My heart swells with excitement for Thatcher to see me.

To finish up my look, I put on some light make-up that I actually like, and then it's time to head over to Patti's house for pre-Snowball pictures with Moth and Thatcher. Mom helps me put on my coat, and then kisses me on the forehead. "You look beautiful," she says.

"Thanks," I say. For the first time in a while, I really feel beautiful too. It's not always a priority of mine to look beautiful, since I haven't had any boys to impress for a while, but this time, I'm really excited to look beautiful so that Thatcher can see me this way. But more importantly, I feel untouchable. Like, even if Gina makes fun of me tonight, no one could really judge me. They'd be jealous. They'd think to themselves, "That girl looks great and is having a ton of fun," and then write off whatever Gina says as her having a bitch fest.

I'm ready for my first real school dance.

Continued in the next part...