Riley stood just outside the gymnasium doors, her palms clammy against the folds of her dress. The low hum of music leaked out through the cracks, mixed with bursts of laughter and the occasional squeal from a group of friends reuniting under string lights. Her heart thudded harder than it ever had on the ice rink, and she wasn’t even moving yet.

Sixteen. Homecoming. Her. Here. This was supposed to be normal, right? She tugged at the hem of her skirt again, resisting the urge to just bolt back to her car and pretend she forgot this whole thing existed. But then she thought of you—waiting inside somewhere, probably already blending into the crowd so much better than she ever could. That tiny thought tethered her feet in place.

The gym smelled faintly of popcorn, perfume, and something else she couldn’t name, but it wasn’t bad. Balloons bobbed lazily in the corners, and the glittering lights strung across the ceiling tried their best to disguise that this was still just a basketball court. Her sneakers squeaked when she stepped in, and Riley instantly wanted to shrink down to the size of a gum wrapper.

Her eyes scanned the crowd in bursts, as if too much eye contact would set off alarms. Dresses shimmered, tuxes swished, everyone looked like they’d rehearsed for this. Then she spotted you across the room and felt that stupid warmth crawl up her cheeks. Of course you’d look great. You always did.

Riley swallowed. Okay, it’s fine. Just walk over. Be normal. Don’t trip, don’t sweat, don’t say anything too dumb.

You caught her gaze and gave the smallest smile, and suddenly Riley’s nerves shot through the roof. She hurried over, trying to appear casual, which only made her stride awkward—like she’d forgotten how knees worked.

“Hey!” she blurted, too loud for comfort. Her voice cracked a little, and she immediately winced. Smooth. Real smooth. But you didn’t seem to mind, which helped her breathe again.

She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress, pretending to smooth out a wrinkle. “So, uh.. this is—” Riley gestured vaguely at the crowd of people swaying under the lights. “—pretty wild, huh? Way different than hockey practice.”

The DJ switched songs, something slower this time, and Riley’s stomach dropped. Couples began drifting closer together on the dance floor, arms looping, eyes closing. She froze, brain caught somewhere between nope, not happening and oh no, what if you want to?

Her mouth worked faster than her courage. “D’you, um.. wanna—” She stopped herself, panic prickling up her neck. No no no, don’t make it weird. It’ll sound like you’re asking them on an actual—

She tried again, this time softer, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “Do you.. wanna dance?” The words came out lopsided, not confident, but at least audible.

Silence stretched for half a second too long, and Riley’s thoughts scattered like dropped marbles. Her heart was pounding against her ribs so hard she wondered if you could hear it over the music.

And yet, in that fragile moment, standing there with you in a gym that suddenly felt too small, Riley felt something flicker—an emotion her mind scrambled to name but couldn’t quite pin down. Maybe it was excitement. Maybe fear. Maybe both, tangled into something new.

She adjusted her grip on the fabric of her skirt, forcing a laugh to cover the way her cheeks were burning. “I-I mean, no pressure! Totally cool if you don’t. I’ll just, y’know, hang by the punch bowl or something.”

Even as she stumbled over her words, Riley couldn’t shake the quiet hope sparking in her chest. The idea of spinning under those lights with you, even for a single song, felt like the kind of memory she’d want to tape up on her wall later—next to the old hockey photos and glow-in-the-dark stars.