Here’s a glimpse into one of the many projects I’m working on. It’s really just a concept, not too much more than what I’ve posted. If you’ll kindly look past the grammatical errors and awkward sentences, that would be fantastic. It’s just a rough draft. But please, please, let me know if you like it and want to read more 🙂
“Floor-length gowns and four inch heels were not my style. But what else do you wear to a mysterious midnight gala that was by invitation only. We were almost to the antique mansion, and my best friend Phoebe and I could hear the classical music. I touched her arm.
“Are you ready for this? Because, this is super weird. Seriously, think about it. What if we get involved in some sort of criminal activity or something?”
“Lyric, this is the chance of a lifetime. I can smell the adventure. Now come on. We can only take fashionably late so far.” She grabbed my hand and dragged a stumbling me to front door.
A guy, probably around twenty years old and wearing a sharp looking tux, was at the front door.
“Invitations.” Was the only word that man ever said to us. It wasn’t even a question. It was a demand. We handed the small cardstock squares with fancy calligraphy to him. He simply nodded politely and opened the door for us.
And that was the last time I ever saw him.
I think it was Vivaldi wafting through the air, but I’m not positive of anything about that night. Everyone looked perfectly comfortable there, probably around fifty people. Young men in suits and women in ball gowns floated effortlessly around the room. I wondered if any of them had been invited the way Phoebe and I were.
I gently touched my blonde hair, hoping the French twist I had worked so hard on would stay.
“Come on, there’s Branden,” Phoebe led me to the handsome man who had given us the invitations.
“You made it,” He observed politely. I didn’t even know what to say, but Phoebe was already taking charge.
“Did you think we would pass up the opportunity to attend a gala hosted by Pacific University’s elite?”
“Touché,” Branden gave Phoebe a half smile. “Well, girls, mingle, eat, and dance. Enjoy yourself.”
He walked off before I could ask why we had been invited.
Phoebe turned to me, positively giddy.
“Oh my gosh, I handled that ridiculously well. Did you see his face? I was so cool, too, it was just like BAM response!”
I tried to quiet her down, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “Ok, ok, I get it. Now shall we mingle?”
“We shall.” And it was all I could do to keep up with those strappy red heels of hers.
She was a sight to behold, completely at home in her attractively cut red dress, and her elegant hair-do. Her alluring smile caught every male’s attention.
Me? I’m afraid I’m just slightly more awkward in social situations. I wouldn’t go so far as to say outcast, or wallflower, but small talk has never been my strong suit.
There was a single person besides Phoebe there that I knew. A girl named Kira Drake. I had my writing class with her. She was friendly and we talked a second about our creative writing assignment due on Friday. One thing about college is that there was always something due, even worse than high school. Seriously, it kept you on your toes.
A waltz started about half an hour in.
“May I have this dance?” I turned to my right to see where the voice was coming from. A guy, around my age, possibly older, was holding out his hand, peering at me with piercing eyes. For some reason he reminded me of old black and white movies; the tux, gray eyes, black hair combed neatly in an old fashioned way.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to waltz,” I apologized, hoping he would take it as a no. Instead he took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
“Nonsense. I’ll teach you.”
“Oh, um, okay.” I tripped after him. He led me in a simple 1-2-3 pattern that became natural quicker than I had imagined it would.
“My name’s Lyr-“
“Lyric Anastasia Romanoff. I know.”
I blinked at him, but I realized he must be a member of the party that invited us. “That leaves me at a bit of a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Jason. Jason Clyde.”
“Well it’s nice to meet you Jason,” I remarked. He gave me a quick smile.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
Were we flirting? I’m 76% positive we were flirting. “