A Dance To Forget

Marigold was truly a flower. Other girls her age were often petty and mean, but she always considered others, even as an adolescent. She was a low-maintenance child; An only child who had always looked after herself.

Her mother, Ryan, and her father, Kelly, were not extraordinary, except for their names. It was always a fun joke when meeting new people. Oh, you must be Ryan... No, she's Ryan. It was such a darling love story- a man with a typical woman's name, and a woman with a typical man's name, finding love. A sentimental girl, Marigold always loved to hear that story.

She loved to get lost in the majestic twisting and turning of phrases. She loved to close her eyes and let the metaphors and similes wash over her like a warm blanket on a cold day. There was never a screen-time limit in her home- the ipads and the iphones rarely even needed to be charged. If you needed to find Marigold, she was off in the quietest corner of the house, reading.

Marigold was something of a celebrity in her younger years- doted upon by every teacher. Winner of the spelling bee, the essay contest... Elementary school had been kind to her. Junior high, which is not really kind to anyone, was less wonderful. But Marigold was so special she was never pulled underwater by the mean girls, the childish bullies, or even the urge to assimilate.

With her deep hazel eyes and long layered hair, Marigold was no black sheep. And yet, as she entered the tenth grade, she felt completely out of place. She had watched nearly every ounce of originality go from her classmates. Now it was all an animalistic climb to the top; a sad game of chutes and ladders.

She just decided she didn't want to play games. And so, she didn't.

Marigold wasn't blind. And she wasn't some eccentric hermit. She understood the appeal of what her classmates were doing. But she was on a different route.

It didn't seem fun to jump from boy to boy, giving away pieces of yourself. She didn't see the appeal of destroying your insides drinking disgusting beer.

And then she met Jake.

Jake was not extraordinary, but in the high school world, he had exactly the right pizazz to quickly advance to the top- even as a mid-year transfer.

Marigold was not the only one to notice Jake.

It was the Monday before the Sadie Hawkins dance. The school had been doing a series of throwback events... None of the popular girls had realized what it was about or bothered to read the class newsletter.

Tina had staked her claim, telling the other popular girls that she had dibs on the new boy. Her Keratin-treated blonde hair glimmered in the unforgiving, fluorescent lights of Ms. Jenkin's homeroom.

Jenny Miller, Tina's informal personal assistant had worn curlers to bed to try to make her presence known. She wore too much glitter on her eyelids, but worse make-up sins were being committed.

Gia was overdressed. Then again, she was usually overdressed. Even for PE, she embellished her uniform to make it look fashionable.

On the far right side of the room, Marigold waited till the end of the class period. She wanted to ask last. She waited patiently to see if Tina, Jenny, or Gia would hand Jake the customary long-stemmed red rose the booster club was selling, but his desk sat, empty.

As the bell rang, the three meanest and most conventionally put-together girls in class left with linked arms, and Marigold rushed over to Jake's desk, where he was reaching over to pick up a pencil.

When he sat up, the first thing he saw was a golden flower. And Marigold, holding her namesake, attached to a card. Usually much better with her words, she had not really prepared for this moment. She handed over the flower and the note.

Jake looked up at her with amusement.

"The flowers most girls are using to ask guys to the dance are red, " he said simply.

"I know," Marigold said with a quiet confidence.

Jake looked at the flower and then back at Marigold.

"Do you already have a date?" Marigold asked.

"No," Jake replied.

Marigold sighed. This moment would echo in her mind for years. He didn't say "No, would you like to go." He didn't ask anything. He made it so she had to speak again. But she never got bitter. It was a gift.

"Do you want to know why I chose a yellow flower?" Marigold asked.

Jake shrugged.

"It's for friendship," Marigold said. "I think you're really cute, and I'd like to ask you to the dance. But I'd also like to be friends. So I chose a Marigold."

"Like your name," Jake said.

"I didn't know if you knew it," Marigold blushed.

Jake shrugged.

"Clever," he said, again not offering or asking for any information.

And just like that, Marigold walked away, emotionless and strong.

Jake was dumbfounded. It took him a moment, and he finally got up and followed. He didn't catch Marigold until she was all the way at the end of the hall.

"Don't you want to know if I want to go with you?" he asked.

Marigold shook her head and continued walking.

Marigold was truly a flower. At age 15 she still had the self-worth to know that she deserved someone to stop and give her their attention. To give her an answer. And if that answer was not an enthusiastic yes, she could do better.

Marigold did not attend the 1oth grade Sadie Hawkin's dance, and she could not have cared less. There would be others. And there would be other boys.