The Cruel Welcome
The prom venue was a beautiful hotel ballroom.
Music filled the air. Lights sparkled overhead.
For a moment, I felt confident.
Then the whispers began.
At first they were quiet. But not quiet enough.
“What’s she wearing?”
“That looks ancient.”
“Did she borrow that from her great-grandmother?”
Laughter followed.
I tried ignoring them.
Then a group of girls walked past. One looked directly at my dress and smirked.
“Oh my gosh.”
Another laughed.
“That belongs in a museum.”
The group erupted.
I felt my stomach sink.
Then came the worst.
A girl named Brittany looked me up and down.
“Did you lose a bet or something?”
More laughter. People turned. Some tried hiding their smiles. Others didn’t bother.
I felt my face burning.
The confidence I had spent all evening building disappeared instantly.
I mumbled an excuse and walked away before anyone could see the tears gathering in my eyes.
Near the edge of the ballroom sat an empty chair. I dropped into it and stared at the floor. The music suddenly seemed far away.
Maybe I should have bought a modern dress. Maybe Grandma had been wrong. Maybe everyone else was right.
I twisted the fabric nervously between my fingers.
And then I felt something strange.
