People started gathering.
A few drifted over from the punch table. A couple of girls left the photo booth line. A slow-dancing couple near the DJ booth stopped dancing and turned around to watch.
Then the phones came up higher.
That’s when the whole room changed.
It stopped feeling like prom. It started feeling like something people wanted to record. Something they’d post later. Something they’d laugh about at graduation parties.
Nathan clapped his hands once. Loud.
“Go on, then.”
I frowned. “Go on what?”
“You dressed up for it,” he said. “So give them the moment. Give them a show.”
A few people laughed.
Chad smirked. “Yeah. Dance.”
Somebody behind him repeated it. “Dance.”
And then the word started moving through the circle. Person to person. Louder and louder. Until it turned into a chant.
“Dance. Dance. Dance. Dance.”
People were clapping along with it.
They weren’t cheering for us.
They were trying to make us prove we could take it. Like we were some kind of act. Like we were the halftime entertainment.
My face was burning. My eyes were stinging.
I looked for a teacher. There were chaperones somewhere. I couldn’t see any of them.
Noah leaned in close to my ear.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be brave.
But the truth came out first.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I want to.”
His face softened.
“Then we go.”
He started to turn me around, toward the doors.
But Jada caught my wrist.
“Wait.”
I looked at her. “Jada. Please.”
Her eyes flicked over to Noah.
And my stomach dropped before she even said a word.
“You didn’t tell him?” she said to Noah.
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.