Dancing to My Own Beat

(Another result of a writing prompt.)

It was Halloween night, around 10:30. The double doors swung inward with a bang, and in stepped what looked like Carabosse herself, in all her tawdry finery and gaudy makeup. A hush fell over the crowded ballroom as the glamorous newcomer stepped down four steps and onto the dance floor. She wore a smirk and looked straight ahead as she made her way across the room. She came to a halt next to the preps, who were all dressed up as Cinderellas or Rapunzels, and stood looking around at the rest of the frivolity.

The music started playing again and the buzz of conversation grew in volume. I casually made my way over to the punch bowl, where I was within earshot of the preps and the new arrival.

"Way to look like a goth, sweetheart," one of them was saying to Carabosse. "You don't exactly fit in with us."

"I'm trying something new, genius," Carabosse said, shifting her weight to the other side and flipping her long, dyed-black hair over her shoulder. "Different can be good."

"Different like evil? Come on."

"All right, cookie cutter Cinderella, let's see how many dances you get!"

Cinderella smiled her sweetest smile. "It's on," she said.

This was too interesting. I stayed by the punch bowl, looking nonchalantly around, keeping my ears tuned in to the preps' conversation. Ten minutes, then twenty, passed, in which I consumed three more glasses of punch than was really necessary. Finally, one of the geeks broke from his group and nervously approached Carabosse, egged on from behind by his equally geekish companions. "Since you seem to be without a partner," he began awkwardly, "would you -"

"Uh," she interrupted, holding up one of her bejeweled hands, "thanks, but no thanks." The rest of the preps dissolved into snorting laughter as the geek abruptly turned on his heel and acted as if he had been going to get a drink all along.

"Thanks for your support," Carabosse snapped at the preps.

"What kind of partner do you expect to get when you look like the wicked witch of the west?" Cinderella simpered, sipping daintily from her glass of punch.

"Well, I don't see guys lining up in front of you."

I finally sat down, tired of their pointless conversation and way too full of punch. I sighed and checked the clock; it was 11:03. The party had started three hours ago and I hadn't been asked for a single dance yet. I glanced down at my cocktail-length dress, which was made from pure white satin and accessorized with cubic zirconia jewelry. It was simple, but elegant. Or so I had thought before I saw all the other elaborate costumes the different cliques had concocted. The preps were all dressed as fairy tale characters. The athletes had reluctantly agreed to put on dresses,, all in bright shades of orange and red. The goths were in black. At least the cheerleaders were covered. The geeks were...the geeks. And then there was me.

I had never really belonged to any group. I had always tried to make my own statements and start my own trends, but being myself had never earned me much popularity. The most notice I ever got at school was a brief smile in the hallway, usually from one of the other noncomformists. But we never really associated with each other. I guess we were always too busy being different to notice that there actually were people out there who were like us.

"Excuse me," said a voice. I looked up. It was one of the - hold on. Which group did he belong to?

"Would you like to dance?" he asked. "I noticed that you weren't really talking to anyone. We might be about the only two people here without a clique."

"Well," I said, taking the hand he offered and standing up, "maybe we should start our own."

As we walked onto the dance floor, I couldn't help smiling to myself. Maybe being different had its merits. After all, Cinderella and Carabosse were still standing on the sidelines, watching as the music changed and my partner and I began to dance.