Legality, maturity, adulthood, womanhood, full-bloomed, ripeness, etc. I'm too excited to own all those names and descriptions to consider myself. It won't be long for me to step down that elegant stairway, decorated with blooming hybrid tea roses of dazzling peach color, coordinated with the same shade ribbons. Mom chose this resort as a venue for my debutante ball. It has an event hall with space fair enough for the celebration, a peculiarly grand and sublime scenery, a more classy ambiance, and a grandiose central staircase with a dressing room at the top.
" I want to present to you our most gorgeous debutante!!.. Cloe Gargante!!!" The powerful and booming voice of the master of ceremonies echoed around the entire hall. The next thing I heard was the unanimous and overpowering applause, with a slight shriek from my visitors.
The moment I stepped out from the dressing room, a flashing and blinding spotlight made me wince, obstructing my vision. Although not long enough for my eyes to get used to the brightness and slowly expose the event hall's context. The rarest and fairest peach tea roses that I specifically requested. Besides, being my favorite flower, it matched perfectly with my coral, peach silk gown adorned with crystals, around my neck down to the sternum, and glitters aligned in the slit from my thigh down to my feet, 'til the excess fabric that's softly touching the floor. The cold, fascinating, varicolored lighting induced such lustrous and elegant glows over the ambiance and decorations.
My eyes went through my visitors, my relatives, classmates, and friends. These eyes got restless, wandering back and forth, looking for someone I hadn't seen; it's my best friend, Ziggy. Allowing the fact that I'm aware of the indefinability of his presence since he had been teed off. It made me look back on the melee that happened in a basketball game and what Ziggy said about Nixon after punishing him. "You scoundrel, you cheated on my best friend!!". Made me suffer this fierce, bittersweet pain as that memory of that scenario haunted me. I got distraught with him, talked roughly to him, and accused him of rabble-rousing my relationship with Nixon. It's just that, in these present circumstances, I have had a chance to understand that his words are no deceit at all. He didn't hanker after something else for his sake; instead, he's just carrying a chip on his shoulder for me. Still, my heart's set on praying for him to show up.
At the foot of the stairway, I clapped my eyes on my mother standing side by side with Nixon. Enacts me brooding with a smirk. "Huh! There's the magnificent Nixon, the swain who's simultaneously boating on two rivers. Heh! He doesn't have clues yet that I'm cognizant of everything he has done."
I tried to make my way down the stairs sure-footed and free from interruption, in an endeavor to look gorgeous on camera, despite the fact that there's a sense of outrage, nerve-racking inside me.
When I made it downstairs, Nixon offered his hand, only to give him a sullen glance, and went straight to the stage without brushing up against him. I can feel his slight touch at my back, guiding me 'til I reached and ensconced myself in a small divan that the party coordinator prepared and will serve as my throne that night. Nixon, as my escort, stands right beside me.
The party's in full swing; one by one, my eighteen candle, which are composed of my lady cousins and friends, light up their candles and set forth their messages and wishes for my birthday. Afterward, they placed the candles on my birthday cake that's almost as tall as me. I feel amused and satisfied, gazing at how gorgeous my birthday cake was. It's even more beautiful than I imagined.
Upon my contemplation, I rubbed my eyes in a certain corner behind the cake. I was able to perceive someone, a man, wearing a tuxedo like the rest. Just wondered why he was standing alone in that shady corner, away from the crowd, seeming to observe or hide.
In a while, the men lined up in sequence for my cotillion dance. Began with my uncle, who was supposed to be in my father's place, who had departed, followed by my male friends, and lastly Nixon. They are my eighteen roses, may not be in the last bust. Ziggy was supposed to be there, supposed to be one of them. Mom includes him in the list as one of my eighteen roses, but he's not there. I counted them in line, and it's just 17; one of them failed to attend, and it was Ziggy.
One after the other, they handed me their peach roses and danced me to the old-fashioned yet elegant tune of the waltz. The exact dance that Zig taught me years ago when we were just kids. He promised to dance with me at my debut, as he also promised to be my last dance. But nevertheless, he didn't even show up. I can't hold back my tears as we carry on with the cotillion dance. Everyone might think that I'm just emotionally happy and what I shed are tears of joy, but what I truly feel is contrary to what they expected. I found out that my boyfriend is cheating on me, and the only guy that I've been expecting and wished for years to dance with me didn't make his appearance on this very day as he promised.
Nixon approached with his noticeably insincere smile. "Happy birthday, babe." Hand me his rose and leaned down to kiss me. I intentionally turned my head away, making way for his lips to just land on my cheek, not on my lips, where he was supposed to.
As we were dancing. "You look so beautiful in your gown. Makes me love you more." He commends.
"Thank you, I hope I can say the same." With a smirk, I look away as I respond, not giving him even a glance.
"You don't look happy. Is anything wrong?" There's confusion in his inquiry.
"Yes, and I want you to tell me the truth to make everything right!"
There's a stain of surprise in his disconcertingly serene and thoughtful stance. "Wh-what did you mean?"
"It's Amabel; I want you to tell me the truth. Who is she in your life?" Nixon is taken aback, showing his evident and involuntary discomfiture. "During the Year Ender Party, she was your first passenger. You sent her to the party first before you fetched me home; that makes us terribly late!"
"Oh! Come on, haven't we already talked about it?" He said.
"Yesterday, I saw you at the mall; I followed you at the arcade. Nixon, I saw everything; I saw you kissing! I even saw you during the basketball game. You and Amabel came out together from a room. Nixon, is it the reason why Ziggy hit you? Is it because he knows about your rendezvous with Amabel?" I haven't been able to restrain myself and spill out to him everything I know.
"Babe, I'm sorry, yes, we have something, but I think we can work it out."
It only took less than a second as my raging palm found Nixon's face. " We're not going to work it out; we're off!" I slapped him hard and my voice harder, loud enough to get everybody's attention, including my mom. The expressive, silent, and open-mouthed spectators- some even shrieked in surprise as I wondered my eyes around the partygoer makes me want to disappear into thin air.
Without a second thought, I speed out, sending myself away from the crowd. Fast enough to make sure nobody could follow me and threw away the roses blocking the way of whoever was planning to come after me.