The door to my bedroom bursts open, and I groan sleepily. One eye pops open and I watch as my mother enters the room, her arms thrown up into the air. An excited grin is plastered onto her face. "Guess what day it is?!" Her voice pierces through my half-asleep state, and I scowl at her. 

The beast must not be disturbed before eight o'clock on Saturdays. She should know this. My gaze flickers toward the clock beside my bed, and I groan again when I see seven forty blinking in bright red on the front. I pull the covers up over my head in an attempt to ignore her.

"That's right!" Her voice is hardly muffled through the comforter. She grabs a fistful of the thick blanket and wrenches it away from my body. A small squeal rips past my lips as I shiver and curl up into a ball. I throw my hands over my face, trying to hide from her so I can go back to sleep. "It's Homecoming!" She announces. "Which means you get to take a break from all that studying and spend the day getting pampered." 

She rubs her hands together in excitement. "I've been waiting for this day all my life. You've always avoided school dances like the plague." 

I sigh and ease into a sitting position. I rub at my eyes. "We don't really have to do all this, you know," I point out. "I don't need a hair appointment. I can just curl my hair."

My mother hisses at me like a snake. "You will not ruin this for me." 

I roll my eyes. "Whatever." 

"Get showered and clean. Smell pretty. Shave. All that lovely stuff so you won't scare Seth away," my mother instructs with a wave of her hand. "You have until noon. I'm going to take you out for lunch, and then we'll go to your hair appointment."

While I climb out of bed, I grumble incoherently under my breath and begin to rummage through my drawers. I really don't see the point in dressing up and spending all this money on a stupid dance. I never have. But I know my mother is excited; she used to do pageants when she was younger, and she loved dressing me up like a Barbie doll. She's never exactly pushed me to go the school dances, but I knew she was always secretly disappointed when I refused to go. 

I pull out an old, baggy t-shirt and a pair of dark yoga-pants. I walk into the bathroom and twist the knob to the shower. After washing my hair really good, and combing a mountain of conditioner through my hair, I scrubbed the first layer of skin from my body with this yummy smelling body gel. My mother got it for me last year for Christmas, and it smells like roses. I remove the necessary hair from my body and then clamber out of the shower. 

After I get dressed, I make my way downstairs. My hair is combed, and it hangs down my back, soaking into my t-shirt. My mother sits at the table, an assortment of nail polishes strewn out in front of her. She pats the chair beside her. 

I sigh. "I'm hungry," I complain as I sink into the seat. 

"That's the price of beauty. We'll leave for lunch in a bit." She grabs my hand and presses my palm flat against a paper towel. Over her years of pageantry, my mother picked up the basics for painting your nails --primarily, french tips and striped designs. She can't do much more than that; she's not an expert. "I got some silver nail flowers," she says as she files my nails, gesturing toward a small plastic box next to the nail polish. "It will go great with your dress!" 

The dress in question is completely outrageous. The bodice is sleek, inky black, strapless, and it has a heart-shaped neckline. A stripe of silver flowers and sparkles trails across it, starting from the top of my right breast and ending in front of my left hip. Where the trail ends, the skirt explodes into a bunch of black, white, and silver ruffles. The front of the skirt seems to be missing --though, actually, it is incredibly short. It brushes the tops of my thighs. A thin layer of ruffles makes up for it, somewhat, and it across from my left hip to the middle of my right thigh. 

Just thinking about it makes me sigh. My mother went a bit overboard with it. 

The nails only take about thirty minutes for my mother to perfect. She takes me to Olive Garden, which makes me happy, and then we go to get my hair done. My mother, the hair dresser, and I all pour over the prom hair styles and skim through the multitude of books that the salon provides until we find one that we can all agree on. It's simple; my hair is curled into large bouncy springs and half of it is pulled up, out of my face, with a matching silver, flowery clip. 

Once my hair has the consistency of a football helmet, thanks to a huge dose of hairspray, my mother takes me home and carefully helps me into my dress. Luckily for her, it doesn't have to go over my head. Then she does my makeup all pretty; I am blessed with dark smokey eye shadow, nude lips, and my mother's contouring skills. 

I look inhuman. 

Blue-Eyes picks me up thirty minutes before the dance is supposed to officially start. His eyes bug out when he first walks through the door. I shift around nervously in front of him and fold my arms across my chest. "You look spectacular," Blue-Eyes ogles. 

"Thanks," I giggle. 

My mother takes a few pictures, and then bids us goodbye. "Don't forget that curfew is eleven!" She calls out the front door as Blue-Eyes walks me toward his car. The gravel crunches beneath my silver heels, and I almost break my ankle twice. I climb into his car and my shoulders slump with relief. 

"You really look amazing," Blue-Eyes says as he climbs into the driver's seat, his wide eyes glued to my dress. "That dress is perfect." 

I grin. "Thanks. My mother did go a bit overboard. But I'm glad that you like it." 

He shakes his head and the car starts toward the school. The student parking lot is decorated with balloons --all colored a swampy green and bright white, the school colors. "The theme this year is the swamp," Blue-Eyes announces as we climb out of his car and survey the campus. His nose curls with disgust. 

"The swamp," I repeat mostly to myself, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder how they managed to come up with that."

He places a hand on the small of my back. We walk toward the entrance, which is marked by a special arrangements of balloons that look like an arch, and a green carpet rolled out red-carpet-style. Several teachers are clustered around in front, checking the tickets. 

My stomach sinks when we step up in front of Ms. Henry. I spent my lunches this week trapped within her classroom, working on worksheets and math packets. She's not my most favorite person in the world, and I'm fairly certain that she knows it. She glances us over, and shoots me a slightly amused smile. "Your dress looks lovely, Alice," she remarks as she check-marks my ticket. 

"I know," I fiddle with a ruffle. "My mother went overboard." 

We enter the courtyard, where the dance is supposed to take place. It's covered in faux trees and moss --and totally un-swamp like. Every now and again there's a potted plant with tall plants, and a fake river flowed inside the confinements of a black pool near the back of the courtyard. A DJ has set up in front of the cafeteria, and a photo booth. Snacks and refreshments are set up close to the music station, just inside the cafeteria. Students are clustered around everywhere, and popular music blasts through the speakers, making the ground shake. 

"I already want to go home," I grumble under my breath. 

I scan over the crowd, looking for someone familiar. I need to be a better friend, and I am intent on finding someone I know tonight, not just spending it with Blue-Eyes. Blue-Eyes squeezes my hand and then shouts, "I'm going to go get us some soda. I'll be right back." I nod; it gives me the perfect opportunity to talk to someone else. 

My main goal is Miley. After some careful thought and consideration, I decided to forgive her for spreading rumors about my boyfriend and I. I want to at least apologize tonight. 

Miley is standing several feet away, half hidden behind a group of girls grinding unnaturally together. She's alone, obviously waiting for someone. Her hair is done back, away from her face, and she wears a gorgeous bright white dress. It hugs her curves and, as I near, I notice that it's completely backless. I squeeze through the crowd to get to her. "Hey," I call as I approach. 

She glances up, eyes wide. Then I watch them narrow with anger and mild disgust. "What do you want?" Her gaze travels over my attire, and she takes a swig of her soda. 

"I wanted to apologize for the other day," I say. I fold my arms across my chest. "I jumped to conclusions and immediately assumed that you were the one who was spreading rumors. I should have known better, and I'm sorry." 

Miley stares at me for a few good long moments. Her expression is vacant, and I can't tell what she's thinking. Her gaze flickers toward something behind me, and then she returns her gaze to me. "Whatever," she snubs me. My eyes widen as she brushes past me, her shoulder bumping mine, and I turn around to watch her go, dumbstruck. Miley stops before two vaguely familiar females and her lips stretch back into a grin. I peer closer and am shocked to see that she's with Bimbo Two and Red Roots. Both wear matching halter-top, backless dresses, in bright teal and royal blue respectively. I notice their gaze flicker toward me and then they laugh. 

I press my lips into a firm line, trying to force my shock back into the depths from which it emerged. I don't understand it. When did Miley of all people begin to hang out with them? 

I also notice that Bimbo is no where to be found. 

"There you are," Blue-Eyes appears beside me, two soda cans in his hands. He passes me one and I realize it's already open. 

I squint at it. "You did not drug this." My tone mirrors my disbelief. 

His eyes shoot wide open and he hastily shakes his head. "No! I just added a little kick. You looked like you needed to loosen up a bit, babe, and I wanted to help you. It's just a little alcohol. You'll hardly taste it." 

My eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for that." 

"I know," he says, and pulls me back out of the way of a conga-line. "But I know you, Alice. You hate these kinds of things. I just want you to have fun." 

"There are plenty of other ways to help me have fun," I snap. I lift the drink to my nose and sniff. Sure enough, the acidic smell of alcohol is there. But it's faint. Not as strong as it could be. 

Blue-Eye gestures to his drink, and then takes a swig. "I have some too. It's not that big of a deal." 

I shoot him a glare. I'm thirsty, so I press the can to my lips and take a small sip. It's a very light burn; hardly enough to get wasted on. But I'm sure that, with my nonexistent alcohol tolerance, and a few more of these, I could get pretty tipsy quick. I sigh and take another sip. Blue-Eyes drowns his can and then extends a hand toward me. 

"Care to dance?"

"Don't expect me to dirty dance or grind or whatever," I respond. I place my can down beside his on a nearby bench and take his hand. His hands find my waist and he presses a kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and flush when he presses our hips together; our bodies swaying together in perfect synchronization with the beat. 

"Not so bad, eh?" He grins. 

I stick my tongue out at him. He gently nips at it, and I squeak. I hardly have time to recover before his lips are slamming against mine, coaxing my mouth open. His tongue slides into my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed, but allow him to deepen the kiss. His hands move from my hips, arms wrapping around my form, crushing my body into his. 

"Break it up," a chaperone shouts. 

I pull away from Blue-Eyes and press my lips into a firm line. He pouts and we start to dance again. After about two more hours, and two more drinks, I am ready to leave. It's almost ten and I'm getting restless. I rest my head against Blue-Eye's shoulder as we dance and tell him my request. He readily agrees and we start toward the parking lot. 

"That was fun," I remark as the car pulls out of the parking lot. 

Blue-Eyes is quiet for a few moments. I crinkle my eyebrows when the car drives past the usual turn off for my neighborhood. "What? Don't tell me you're kidnapping me," I tease. 

He flashes me a grin. "Something like that." 

I arch an eyebrow as the car turns into a motel parking lot. It's a shabby place with peeling paint and half-light pathways surrounding it. My lips press into a wrinkled line as the car pulls into a parking spot and shuts of. Blue-Eyes turns to me, his eyes pleading. "I know what you're thinking," he starts. "But we still have an hour left. Please? I just want an hour without interruptions. You look so gorgeous tonight, I can't resist." 

I scowl at him. "Please?" He pleads. 

I close my eyes and consider it. We have been dating for a while, and tonight is a special night. My cheeks burn as I poke one open and glance at him. "Alright. Fine."

And that's how I lost my virginity.

Two updates in one day! Aren't y'all lucky. It's only because I am trying to avoid studying for my final exam. (I really don't want to do it, guys, I seriously dislike my art history prof. She grades like a bitch) Three more chapters until real stuff starts to go down! I'm actually kind of excited. 

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