The first sentence…
“Her best friends were the fellow dancers she got to see only a few times a year when their parents decided to drive them to out-of-the way competitions.”
Her best friends were the fellow dancers she got to see only a few times a year when their parents decided to drive them to out-of-the way competitions. Margaret (she liked to be called Magster, as coined by her grandfather, but her parents refused to call her that) sat in the back of the Volvo. Quietly, no matter how much THEY tried to get her to join in any conversation. THEY finally gave up, and drove along basically in silence, broken only now and then with little quips to each other, back and forth.
Magster taped her fingers in time to the tune that was playing in her head, Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill.” She’d never admit it, but some of THEIR taste in music had rubbed off on her. Kate was the Queen, but Florence and Bat for Lashes and Tori and Fiona and Sophe Lux and Joni were up there as well. “Is there so much hate for the ones who love? Tell me we both matter don’t we?” ran up her personal hill.
Five hours in the car passed as slowly as five hours would for any young teen stuck in the same enclosed space with the maternal and paternal units. It was forever.
Forever finally ended, as the car pulled into the parking lot of The Wayman Inn. Magster saw some of her fellow dancers prowling around the parking lot while all of THEM greeted each other, hugs and kisses and punches in the arms and LOOK AT THAT SLUT flirting with Beth’s dad, with Beth’s mom gritting but showing her teeth through not really clenched teeth.
Magster and Beth circled around that group, finding each other and smiled big HEY smiles. They joined the other dancers, their friends, their BFFs, their pack. Tonight was going to be…magnificent.