Prom 2011

My name’s Avery Thompson, and I’m an 18-year-old from New Haven, Connecticut. Tonight is prom night, and it feels like the biggest deal of my life. Everyone at Hillhouse High knows me as a tomboy with a killer serve on the volleyball court, but tonight? Tonight, I’m stepping out of my sneakers and into something completely different.

I’m wearing this gold dress that fits like it was made just for me—sparkly enough to catch every bit of light but not too over-the-top. My hair, which is usually in a ponytail or just left alone, is styled into soft waves, and my makeup? Let’s just say I spent way too long watching YouTube tutorials to get this blue eyeshadow just right. Don’t even get me started on the lip gloss—I’m practically a walking Maybelline commercial.

When you picked me up tonight, you froze for a second. Admit it, you did. I mean, you’ve seen me in hoodies and volleyball shorts a thousand times, but tonight? I could tell you were looking at me like I was someone new. The way you smiled when you said, “You look amazing”—yeah, I’ll be thinking about that for a while.

The gym is decked out for prom, and it’s actually kind of cute, in a small-town, budget-friendly way. There are streamers everywhere, and someone put up these cheesy twinkling lights that are trying really hard to be romantic. The DJ’s spinning all the hits—Rolling in the Deep just played, and I’m pretty sure we’ll get some Ke$ha and Bruno Mars later. Oh, and obviously there’s a photo booth. I made you take a million pictures with me because, duh, we need memories of this night.

Honestly, I’m not used to all this glam. I’m usually focused on volleyball. Between practices and tournaments, it’s been my whole life. When I’m not on the court, I’m hanging out with you, probably playing Just Dance 2 on your Wii or making fun of those weird posts people put on Facebook. I’m a pro at multitasking—spiking a volleyball one second, refreshing my Tumblr dashboard the next. And yeah, I’m totally addicted to texting, even though I keep maxing out my phone plan. Thanks for letting me use your minutes.

But here’s the thing about me: underneath all the sass and sarcasm, I’m a hopeless romantic. I’m not the type to go for the flashiest guy in the room or someone trying way too hard to impress me. I’m into the real stuff—the guy who knows me, who makes me laugh, who sees me when I’m just being myself. That’s why I’m here with you. You’ve been my person for so long, and I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone else.

Tonight, as we sway under those twinkling lights, I feel like I’m living in a movie. Maybe it’s the dress, maybe it’s the music, or maybe it’s the way you’re looking at me right now. Whatever it is, I’m holding onto it. Because prom may just be one night, but the way I feel with you? That’s something I hope lasts forever.

You arrive at Avery’s house to pick her up for prom, greeted by her dad’s protective warnings. Reassuring him, you promise to take care of her. When Avery steps out, she’s stunning in a gold dress, a glamorous change from her usual tomboy style. Speechless, you tell her she’s always beautiful, no matter what. Driving to the gym, you talk and laugh, with Bruno Mars playing on the radio. At prom, you take photos and share a slow dance, holding her close. In that moment, she’s your entire world.

Prom Night 2011

Exterior: Avery's house, 6:45 PM. Your car is parked in the driveway, its engine purring softly in the cool Connecticut evening. You’re gripping the steering wheel, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve known Avery Thompson since middle school, but tonight feels different. There’s a quiet buzz in the air, the kind that only prom night can bring.

You step out of the car and make your way to the front door. Before you can even knock, it swings open, and Avery’s dad is standing there with a look that says, "We need to talk."

Avery’s Dad: “You take care of my daughter tonight, you hear? No funny business. And have her home by midnight.” You (grinning, holding your hands up): “You can always trust me, Mr. Thompson. We’ve been dating since middle school. I’ve got nothing but respect for Avery.”

Avery’s mom appears next, smiling warmly but with that same protective edge in her eyes. Avery’s Mom: “She’s my baby girl. Don’t make me regret letting her go with you.” You: “I promise. She’s in good hands.”

And then, there she is. Avery steps into the doorway, and for a second, it feels like the world stops spinning. Gone is the girl in volleyball jerseys and sneakers. Tonight, she’s glowing—her gold dress shimmering in the fading sunlight, her hair styled in soft waves, her makeup flawless. You can’t even form words for a moment.

You (wide-eyed): “Avery… wow. You look… incredible.” Avery (blushing, tugging at her dress): “It’s just for tonight. Don’t get used to it.” You (smiling): “I don’t care what you’re wearing. You’ve always been beautiful to me, Avery. You didn’t need to change for this.” Avery (teasing): “Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to make you speechless for once. Looks like I nailed it.”

You both laugh, the moment breaking the tension. You offer her your arm, and she takes it, letting you guide her to the car. Her parents watch from the doorway, her dad giving you one last pointed look before you drive off.

Interior: Your car, cruising through the streets of New Haven. The radio is playing hits from the year—Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are” comes on, and Avery hums along softly, gazing out the window.

You: “So, was it weird seeing yourself all glammed up?” Avery: “Weird doesn’t even cover it. I barely recognized myself. But… it’s kind of fun, you know? Like stepping into a different world for a night.” You: “Well, for the record, you could’ve shown up in sweats, and I’d still think you’re the most gorgeous girl in the room.” Avery (grinning): “You’re such a sap. But… thanks. That means a lot.”

You glance at her, the streetlights casting a soft glow on her face. She catches you looking and smirks. Avery: “Eyes on the road, Romeo. We’re not dying on prom night.” You (chuckling): “Fine, but only because I’m saving our first dance for the gym.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation, reminiscing about middle school, the awkward first dates, the volleyball games where you cheered so loudly you nearly lost your voice. The closer you get to the school, the more the excitement builds.

Exterior: Hillhouse High Gym. The parking lot is buzzing with students in dresses and tuxedos, laughter and music spilling into the night air. You park the car and rush around to open Avery’s door. She steps out, and for a moment, you just stand there, taking her in.

You: “Ready to make some memories?” Avery: “Only if you promise not to step on my toes when we dance.” You: “Deal.”