The music swells as we step onto the dance floor.
It's slow. Intentionally so. The kind of song that demands attention, that leaves no room to hide behind movement or noise. Around us, couples settle into place, bodies aligning like they've rehearsed this moment before. Just like prom.
Mason's hand rests lightly at my waist, waiting. Not assuming. I notice that immediately.
I place my other hand on his shoulder.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then the rhythm finds us.
We start slow. Careful steps, measured distance. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric of my dress, the steady rise and fall of his breath. He smells faintly like cedar and rain, something grounding.
"You still dance like you're bracing for impact," he murmurs.
I huff softly. "You still talk too much."
I danced with him before in prom. With no one to go with. I went with him. Only at that time, I wore a suit.
He smiles, barely. "Some things survive time."
The lights above us glow dim and warm, casting shadows that soften edges. The gym doesn't feel like a gym anymore. It feels suspended, caught somewhere between then and now.
"You look different," Mason says.
"So do you."
"I don't mean just—" He stops himself, jaw tightening briefly. "You seem… calmer."
I consider that. "Maybe I'm suppressing the wild."
We sway, steps syncing naturally despite everything that once stood between us. Despite competition and tension and years of silence.
"I thought you hated this place," he says.
"I hated what it made me feel," I reply. "There's a difference."
His grip shifts slightly, firmer now, not possessive—steady. "You left like you couldn't breathe."
I look up at him. "I left because I wanted more."
"And did you get it?"
The question lands heavier than he probably intended.
"Yes," I say. "I did."
Something unreadable flickers across his face... relief, maybe. Or regret. Or both.
The song dips, the melody stretching out like it doesn't want to end. Mason guides me through a slow turn, hand lingering just a second too long when I face him again.
"You were always hard to keep up with," he admits quietly.
I raise an eyebrow. "That sounds like a you problem."
He chuckles, low and genuine. "Probably was."
"Were you trying to over throw me?"
"Yes."
Well he did win. Valedictorian and whatnot.
My eyes drift, just for a moment, scanning the room instinctively.
Felix isn't there.
The realization hits softer than I expect, but it still settles in my chest like a quiet ache. Not loss. Just awareness.
Mason notices the shift.
"Looking for someone?" he asks.
I meet his gaze again. "No."
It's not a lie. Not entirely.
The song changes seamlessly into another slow one, the DJ clearly leaning into nostalgia. A few people groan playfully. Others pull closer.
Mason adjusts, lowering his voice. "I never got to say goodbye."
I stiffen slightly. I ran away from him on purpose. I didn't want to hear the whining. I didn't want to hear him brag how he got into a better college than me.
I don't say anything.
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the music and the sound of bodies moving around us.
"Do you ever wonder," he continues, carefully now, "what would've happened if you stayed?"
I shake my head. "No."
That surprises him.
"I don't regret leaving," I add.
"Was I that much of a problem to you?"
"Yes." I blurted out, rather too quickly. "I hated you, probably, I still do."
"I hate you too, Blaise." But his tone didn't match his word.
The song reaches its final notes, drawing the moment out like it's reluctant to let go. As the music fades, Mason doesn't release me immediately.
Neither do I.
Applause ripples around us as couples separate. I step back first, smoothing my dress instinctively.
"That was… unexpected," he says.
"I warned you about my feet."
He smiles. "You didn't step once."
I turn away before he can read too much into that.
Mayven intercepts me near the edge of the floor, eyes sparkling.
"Okay," she says, dragging the word out. "I'm not saying anything. Yet."
"Please don't," I reply.
She grins anyway. "You okay?"
I glance back at Mason, who's now talking with someone else, posture relaxed but gaze drifting back toward me like he's checking in.
Then I think of Felix. The way he stepped away without complaint. The way he gave space instead of expectation.
"I'm… processing," I say.
Mayven nods, accepting that. "Good. Means you're not running."
We make our way toward the refreshment table. I grab a glass of water, the coolness grounding me. My pulse is steady, but my thoughts aren't.
I replay the dance in fragments. The closeness, the ease, the history humming beneath every step.
It meant something.
But not everything.
Felix reappears near the exit just as people begin to filter out. He spots me, hesitates, then walks over.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
For a moment, the air between us is delicate, like a glass ornament balanced too close to the edge.
"I didn't want to interrupt earlier," he says gently.
"You didn't."
He studies my expression, thoughtful as ever. "Did you have a good time?"
I consider the question carefully. "Yes and no."
A smile curves his lips, not forced, not disappointed. Just real. "I'm glad."
"I am too," I add. And I mean it.
Mayven clears her throat loudly. "I'm going to go say goodbye to approximately everyone," she announces. "Don't do anything emotionally irreversible without me."
Felix chuckles. "No promises."
She winks and disappears into the crowd, with Luke following her.
We stand side by side, watching the room empty slowly.
"You don't have to explain anything," Felix says quietly.
I turn to him. "I know."
"And for what it's worth," he adds, "I'm not in a rush."
Something in me loosens at that.
"Neither am I," I reply.
Outside, the night air is cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. Cars pull away one by one, headlights streaking past like moments you can't hold onto for too long.
Mason passes us on his way out, pausing briefly.
"Good night, Blaise," he says.
"Good night, Rockwell."
He nods at Felix. "Take care."
Felix returns the gesture calmly.
When Mason leaves, the silence that follows isn't tense.
It's clear.
"I can walk you to your car," Felix offers.
I smile. "I'd like that."
I wait for Mayven to come outside. Felix was already gone.
She plops on the passenger seat, tired.
"It was nice seeing everyone again. But SO EXHAUSTING!"
I chuckled.
I noticed something from the school wall. I get out of my car, and walk towards it, Mayven calling out my name, confused.
It was graffiti art. On the brick wall of the school.
MY graffiti art.
Next to the art, was a black plaque.
Roxanne Blaise Ramirez
CLASS OF 2017
That old man who would suspend me for it, actually treasured it.
"Roxanne." His voice called out my name.
I didn't have to turn to know who it was. I knew it was the same old man.
"Principal Diaz." I smile. "Hello, you old man." I turned around.
He was wrinkly, but still fit. Hair grayer than last time. Hair still long and luscious. A beard, if he grew it, he'd be Dumbledore. Piercing blue eyes, that one stare from it, you'd shut up.
Didn't shut me up though.
He chuckled. "And here I was afraid, you'd be more respectful."
"What's with the framing of the art?"
"You're like a granddaughter to me, Ramirez. The school felt quite when you graduated. There was no other student like you. No student that was smart and a rebel. I look at this everyday, reminding myself, that, it's ok to be free. It's ok to break rules."
"Geez old man, when did you get all sappy." I chuckled.
We talked for a bit, and then we said our byes, and went separate ways. In a way, he was close to me. Like a grandfather.
I entered the car, and Mayven bombarded me with questions.
But from the conversation, and the reunion. I realized, I needed to let myself lose. I needed, to be me again.
A rebel.