SCHOOL DANCE TONIGHT proclaims a banner. My best friend Zoe and I stare up at it.

“You’re going, right?” she asks in her demanding way.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “It seems kinda lame. Everyone goes with their boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever, and I don’t wanna get caught up in that sappy stuff.”

“Aw, come on, girl! You act like these events are just for other people. We can party together! It’s not like they’re forcing you to wear a dress or anything! We could even go in our PAJAMAS!”

I sigh and agree to go. It will make Zoe happy, I think. There’s no future in having Zoe be unhappy.

An hour later, I’m at home, receiving updates to my orders, via text: “WEAR UR MICKEY MOUSE SLIPPERS, MELANIE! That will TOTES complete our PJs theme!” I sigh and look at my oversized yellow slippers, thinking she can’t be serious. It’s just for one night. It’s just for one night. It can’t be that bad. I mean, even though they will be playing terrible music and everyone will be acting all cool and snooty, at least I’ll have Zoe with me. I keep telling myself it’s no big deal, but I know school dances are just awkward. Half the girls will be dancing in weird dresses or skirts, and the other half will be lurking in the back, waiting for their “Prince Charming” to ask them to waltz. Yeah, right, like that type of thing even happens.

The whole idea feels so weird I try not to think about it. I can’t even bring myself to tell my parents. Another hour passes and before I know it Zoe is at my front door wearing the most ridiculous fire truck pajamas I’ve ever seen. I have to force myself not to smack my forehead. Instead, she’s the one who freaks out.

“OMG, what are you WEARING, Melanie?!” Zoe stares in disbelief at my ragged jeans and shirt. “I told you we’re wearing pajamas, silly! Go back upstairs and change for the ball!”


“Are we really going to do that, Zoe? It kinda seems like social suicide...” But from the look on her face, I know already I’ve offended her. “Okay. Just kidding. I love the whole pajamas idea! I just forgot to change. Let me go do that right now!”
The bubbly smile returns to her face and I sigh with relief. I jog back to my room and throw on my monkey pajamas and dorky slippers, and prepare to face the music. Great. When I show up at school looking like this, the ruling elite will classify me as EVEN MORE of a loser. If that’s even possible.
As soon as we walk into the dance room, I feel like shrinking into a ball and stuffing wads of cotton into my ears. The loud music hammers my brain and the flickering rainbow-colored lights seem to pick out my bad mood for everyone to see. Zoe, on the other hand, is already doing the Worm right in front of everyone, as if the fire truck pajamas weren’t embarrassing enough. So I just stand behind her with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms while she flops about on the ground like a fish gasping for air. I glance around to see how others are reacting, and that’s when I notice someone pushing through the dimly lit room. The figure is taller than everyone else, and there’s something very familiar about him. OH CRAP! I think to myself.
“ZOE! MY DAD’S HERE! MY. DAD. IS. HERE!” I yell over the music.
She stands clumsily and brushes herself off. Her eyes dart from side to side as she thinks.
“We can’t let people see you with your dad! That would be like—SO EMBARRASSING!” She hisses. I roll my eyes and wonder where her concerns about embarrassment were when she was doing the Worm in front of the whole student body.
Zoe grabs my hand and pulls me away toward the cafeteria, where they’re selling pizza. I try to keep up with her, but I stumble and trip over those fat, annoying slippers. Of course, the slippers fall off. There’s no time to stop for them, though. Zoe is already yanking me away again, completely oblivious to my lack of shoes. Thankfully, the cafeteria is almost empty. All the cool kids are dancing in the other room, so we sit down. I hope my dad can find me here, I think to myself. As long as he doesn’t ask the office to call me on the PA—.
“Attention, everyone,” the announcements boom. “Would Melanie Mullhouse please come to the front office? Your father is here for you!” I feel myself turning as red as a tomato. But there’s more. “Also, we have found some large, very large, yellow slippers! Would the owner please retrieve your footwear?” I stand sheepishly and jog to the front of the school in my sock feet. Zoe watches me go, for once uncertain of her next move. When I arrive at the office, I am greeted by a stern and grumpy look from my father.
“Melanie! Why didn’t you tell us you were going to the school dance? You can’t just run off without letting your mother or me know what you’re doing! And where are your shoes?” It looks as if he will have a fountain of questions for me. I quickly walk over to the table to snatch my slippers.
“Sorry Dad. This came up fast and I forgot to tell you. But couldn’t you have just called me? I’ve had my cell phone with me this whole time!”
“I’ve been calling you, young lady, but you haven’t been answering! That loud pop music you kids listen to is probably going to ruin your hearing. I don’t understand why you like it.”
Just then, Zoe catches up to me, a slice of pizza in hand.
“Wow, this is super embarrassing. Why is your dad here?” she whispers to me. “You’re like some sort of messed-up Cinderella! Instead of Prince Charming coming to return your slippers—the front office does! HAHAHAHA!”
“Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Zoe,” I mutter. “You know what? It was a terrible idea to come here in the first place. I’m going home.”
Zoe doesn’t seem to care. After a half-hearted wave, she runs back to the dance room.
On Monday, I am 110 percent sure I will be the laughingstock of the whole world. Zoe will find some way to seem like she wasn’t with me the day of the dance, and probably will share her “messed-up Cinderella” joke with everyone. For the rest of my days, I will be known as the girl who found her dad at the ball instead of Prince Charming.