By A.F. All around Fairbanks, adolescents prepared, scrutinizing their reflections. Beige warpaint was carefully applied, and ties were straightened; all in the pursuit of beauty. A difficult, flailing dance in the collective, dissecting societal eye of their peers, their neighbors, their friends. But there is magnetism in the flailing. Hairs were greased and sprayed to a perfected cool-whip cone curl. Exquisite dresses were furbished, and corsages placed in a most definite position.
The occasion? Homecoming. There were around 300 students in attendance, and all available chaperones had their hands full. Across the gym- which had been flawlessly transformed into a fairy-lit dance floor- I heard someone scream for no reason and my hairs stood on end. Yes, it was quite a night. Girls with floral dresses bobbed and weaved around their peers wearing more contemporary somber outfits; the majority of the boys stuck to the tried-and-true black suit and tie. All around the lobby, teenagers laughed while sipping opaque Italian soda through their teeth. The far-reaching bass from the speakers reverberated in my chest one hundred feet from where the actual action was; the mosh pit. Well over a hundred students gathered in the dancing horde, hollering lyrics to favorite songs and performing crowd-pleasing dance moves garnered from viral videos. A spectrum of lights shone upon the dancers like a motley shower. Dancers inside were seemingly granted an invulnerability to oxygen deficit; when I stepped inside for a slice of the moment, I found that the mixture of sweaty bodies, the pushing and shoving of my party-mates (particularly, excited boys) and proximity to the thunderous sub-woofer speakers made me very nauseous. Needless to say, I stuck to buying the gracious folks at the coat check soft drinks and rice crispy treats.
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