Claire had gone all out. She pampered me in every way possible, from the dress to the shoes, to the hair and makeup. She made sure everything was perfect. I hadn't intended to fuss over my prom look, but Claire claimed it was what my mother would have wanted and suddenly I didn't have the heart to protest.

     I had to admit that I was pleased with the final result. The off the shoulder, red dress was tailored perfectly to my curves, flattering my chest and hips. Remaining true to my wish of a minimalist look: with few folds on my waist the dress flowed freely, no jewels or sparkles on the crimson, silk material. Claire had painted a natural look on my face: lipstick shade not much darker than my usual tone and a very soft touch of blush and mascara. I wore a simple pair of pearl earrings and a delicate gold chain with a crescent moon on my neck. The necklace had belonged to my mother. Emma Adams would have been pleased with every decision Claire made, and I knew with certainty that if she could see me now, she would be smiling. She especially would have been proud of Claire's excessive snapping of pictures.

     Grayson looked even better than I had anticipated. I hadn't thought he could possibly become any more attractive, but I was proved drastically wrong, for never had I thought him as alluring as I did in that moment. Black trousers snug in all the right places, his half open tuxedo shirt revealed a white top that had been fitted perfectly to his shape, allowing for the showing off of his fit chest. Crimson tie matching the shade of my dress, only one piece of his look bothered me: his usual tousled hair was combed carefully to one side. It's not that it didn't look good. He could truly pull off any hairdo, but today's tameness of his chestnut curls was not representative of the boyish personality I'd grown to love.

     Speaking animatedly with Calvin, Grayson didn't immediately notice Claire and I's entrance. Silently descending the staircase, I took advantage of the opportunity to study him fixedly in admiration without fear of getting caught. It was the contrasting sophistication of his attire and the trouble-maker smirk and glimmer in his eyes that pulled me in so deeply. Even when he did finally notice us, I struggled to tear my studious gaze. Blue eyes falling on me, the wide smile he had held whilst chatting with his father, disappeared. Face neutral, eyes hard and lips pressed tightly together, for a fleeting moment I feared I had done something to offend him. I just barely had time to shrink shyly under his stare, grasping the white banister for support as the intensity of his gaze turned my legs to jelly.

     In seconds his beam returned, even brighter than before, and instantly my worries melted.

     "Did you succeed in convincing her to wear the heels?" Grayson questioned his mother. The amused sparkle in his eyes told me he already knew the answer.

     Claire huffed, shaking her head as she shot me a defeated side glance. Despite taking on an air of annoyance, her eyes held only joy and pride.

     "She insisted on wearing the outrageously plain pair of flats."

     "They're not outrageous," I countered. "They're comfortable."

     "All the better for me." Grayson chuckled. "With no excuse of sore feet, there's really no reason we won't be able to dance all night long."

     I watched him in horror. I waited for reassurance that he was teasing, but it never came. Of course, it didn't. This was Grayson we were talking about. Rather than reassuring me, with a mad grin he broke into a cheesy dance, a promise of what the night would bring.

     "I've been practicing," he declared.

     I groaned helplessly, but I couldn't repress the smile playing at my lips. "On second thought," I told Claire. "Get me the heels."

     "Too late," she sang, grinning as madly as her son. "We're already running late."

     Despite Claire's remark that we were running late, she found a half hour to snap dozens more pictures. I lost track of the number of snaps she took, vision blurred with bright flashes. Her memory card couldn't have much space left. Promising that this was the last picture she'd snap of the day, Claire posed Grayson and I in front of the car. Getting her last picture of Grayson tying a corsage to my wrist, she waved us off.

     Grabbing my train in a bunch, Grayson held the door open as I carefully took a seat in the Dodge. One hand leaning on the hood and the other still on the door, Grayson lingered, making no move to leave, even once I was safely buckled. It was the first moment we had had to ourselves that day.

     "You look great." He smiled. "Beautiful," he corrected, as if he had shied away from the word during his first attempt.

     I smiled warmly, butterflies in my gut flying violently. "Back at you." I forced a playful smirk because the idea of showing him my sincerity was nauseating.

     Right corner of his lips quirking into a smirk of his own, he lingered a few more moments. Looking up at him, my gaze drifted to his hair again. Eyes narrowing faintly in curiosity, I wondered if his locks would be soft. Before I could stop myself, I reached forward to run my fingers through his hair. Despite the products used to tame it, his curls were in fact soft. Messing up his unusual, neat keep, I smiled with satisfaction at the return of what Katie liked to call Grayson's bed hair.

     "Much better."

     Had I not taken the initiative of fixing Grayson's hair, his wild dancing certainly would have. No amount of gel or hairspray could have sustained his dancing. He remained true to his word of dancing all night. And of course, he dragged me along. He pulled me across the entire dance floor, jumping and zigzagging around our friends. We looked like fools, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.

     While everyone else's dance moves were modern, Grayson guided me into those of our childhood. At some point he had even prodded me into a recreation of a routine we had long ago created. The routine involved a lot of twirling, swinging of arms and shuffling of feet. It certainly earned us quite a few glances, but I was having too much fun to be embarrassed. As ridiculous as we looked, very little was as entertaining as dancing alongside Grayson Ryder.

     Sat on an old gymnasium chair that had been draped gold for the evening, I was enjoying one of my few breaks of the night. The prom committee had done a great job with the set-up. Blue and gold podiums circling the dance floor, crafted stars hanging from the ceiling, the gymnasium was unrecognizable. Sat around a small blue draped table, I sipped punch with Shawna and Katie. Chairs facing the illuminated dance floor, we laughed loudly as we watched Grayson teach the rest of our group and Shawna's boyfriend, a dance move that I was certain Grayson had invented. There was no way anyone but him would choose to move in such a horrendous way in public.

     "Is there a second punch bowl I didn't see," Shawna inquired, looking curiously between the cup in her hand and a bouncing Grayson. "Because I'll have whatever he's having."

     Chuckling, I shook my head fondly. He had long ago abandoned his jacket, claiming that it restricted his movements. White sleeves rolled to his elbows, his tousled hair was messier than usual and damp from his constant bouncing. Cheeks lightly flushed, he looked impossibly better than he had that morning.

     We watched them until the song came to an end. Giddily guiding the five back to our table, Grayson grinned. Was he actually going to take a break? Up-beat rhythm fading into a slow melody, instantly my pulse spiked. This was the moment I had been fearing all night. I had known it was coming, but that hadn't made me any less nervous. I hated to fret over such a cliché, but I would have preferred to continue to make a fool of myself than to dance so intimately with him.

     Shawna and Patrick made way for the dance floor without a word. Katie and Jack followed suit with friendly shrugs, and Luke shyly requested Blake's hand for a dance. Most of the other students' approach could be compared to Luke's; polite, nervous, and timid. That's not what I got. I was met with striking, shinning blue eyes; Grayson's bright lips quirked into a mischievous smirk. He held his hand out almost in challenge; daring me to take it.

     Before my hand had even properly clasped his, I was pulled out of my chair. By the enthusiastic way he dragged me with him, for a moment I thought he would twirl me around the other students, dancing rapidly while everyone else swayed slowly. But finding an empty spot in the crowd of teenagers, he slowed considerably. Tenderly, he pulled me flush against his chest.

     When I had anxiously envisioned this moment, I feared it would be awkward and tense but instead I found myself easily melting in his arm. One hand placed delicately on my hip, his other intertwined with mine. Clasped hands held between our chests, we swayed to the soft melody. We were stood much closer than everyone else, even closer than Shawna and Patrick who had been dating for two years, but for once I didn't let myself dwell on the possible meaning of the moment. I let myself relax against him. Breathing his usual woodsy scent, I relished in the warmth of his body against mine. Head rested on his chest; his beating heart thumped nearly as fast as mine. I convinced myself that his quickened pulse was a result of his earlier excited dancing.

     Quiet as he took the lead, my eyes flickered shut. I forgot about my fellow students and friends and let my focus drift solely to the sound of the enchanting melody and to the feeling of Grayson's strong arms around me. Mind clear, free of troubling thoughts, I was hit with a Deja Vue: In a gymnasium much smaller than the one we stood in now, Grayson and I had danced to the same song. I was nearly as tall as he then, and we hadn't stood nearly as close as we did now. I recall it being immensely awkward and messy, likely one of our first dances ever, but I had been just as content then. Letting him twirl me in a blue knee length dress, both grinning madly.

     Lifting my head to meet his gaze, soft blue eyes looked down on me with intrigue.

     "Did you happen to request this song?" I asked.

     He hummed his answer, a small smile playing at his lips. "I don't know with whom you've practiced since then, but you're a much better dancer than you were then. My feet have been salvaged today."

     "It's not too late," I joked, nudging his foot with mine to prove my point.

     Laughing softly, the movement in his chest when he did so sent shivers down my spine. I must have imagined it, but I thought I felt him pull me a subtle inch closer.

     "You can't have practiced much since," I teased. "You're as dreadful of a dancer."

     He gasped with feigned indignance, poking me lightly in the rib.

     "My dancing is not dreadful," he objected. "It's fun... You've got to admit that I'm good at this though," he added, grinning as he nodded pointedly towards our swaying.

     "Mmm," I hummed in agreement. "I'll give you that much... though it is a rather simple dance style, pretty difficult to mess up."

     "You managed it," he teased.

     Something intimate turned so natural because it was Grayson, the truth tugged painfully at my heart. I had to be honest. When the time came in a few days, I would have to tell him the truth. If that meant losing the best friendship, I had ever had... That's just the way it would have to be. I couldn't live with the idea of never telling him. I just hoped he would deem our friendship more important than the awkwardness that would ensue following the telling of my truth. I hoped he'd realise that it would get better, that my feelings would eventually resolve. I would get over it. But to first get over it, I had to get on with it. I couldn't get over something that I had never really given a chance. As depressing as it sounded, I had to first lose all hope.