in the pink (work in progress)

That music was so loud I could feel it vibrating in my throat, and could swear my heartbeat changed its rhythm to keep the beat. I can’t even remember what the song was, but the band was a rather large group of boys from school, all of them trying their darndest to impress the cheerleaders, throwing winks and nods their way every so often. I remember most of all, that beautiful blond ponytail swinging to the beat as she danced on the arm of her beau, a pearly grin exposed beneath cherry lips, her eyes wild with excitement. The music sailed from the stage and wrapped around their bodies as they pranced effortlessly around the gymnasium floor. She soared through the air, skirt billowing about her oblivious body as she flew on his hands, folding herself around him this way and that. She steps on her partner’s toe, and her milky throat restrains a giggle as he cries out silently, his pain enveloped by music. She looks up at him, smiling apologetically, though there is laughter glimmering behind her eyes. She reaches out to take his reluctant arm, but the song concludes, her partner breathing a silent sigh of relief.
Was I jealous? Maybe... no, yes. I was jealous, but at this point, ignorant to those ugly feelings. I did know, however, that Marcia Price was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
A new song begins, this one much softer, and I take the arm of my beau, Rich. Rich was never much one for swing dancing, I think he was afraid of people poking fun at him, so we would always have to stick with the slower songs. We leisurely stepped to “blue moon”, though it wasn’t much fun; Rich was so tall I felt as if he would tip over like a brittle old tree and topple me any second, but I never told him this. My eyes were still on Marcia and Trevor, wondering how they could still dance so fluidly to something as slow as this. Their feet were in perfect harmony to each other’s movements, her hips swinging slowly to the beat, causing her skirt to wrap leisurely around her body as if it was dancing too. I felt as if I was dancing with a telephone pole, watching those two, but Rich was trying, so I couldn’t very well be cross with him for it. He always made a point of trying, though not so hard as to look foolish in any way, though I always felt foolish, especially now, dancing in that awkward little circle.