The party was already starting when I arrived. I tried to be inconspicuous and slip in so I could drop my letter undetected, but everyone was in suits and gowns and I was the only one in casual dress. I ran hurriedly to the large stack of gifts assembled at the door and tried to drop the letter inside one of the gifts.

“Dex?” a female voice called from behind me.

I turned around to find a girl who looked like Rosie, but with glasses.

“I’m the one who called you,” she said. “I’m Rosie’s sister.” Before I could say anything else, she took my hand and pulled me inside. “Wait here, I’ll call Rosie,” then she turned to a large guy standing by the door and told the guy “Don’t let this boy leave, please.”

“I’m not staying,” I tried to tell her, but she already rushed off. I turned towards the door to leave but the large guy blocked me off.

“You heard the little miss,” he said.

When Rosie arrived, I was totally floored. She was breathtaking. Beaming in a blue dress, her hair in an immaculate tiara. Her cheeks were glowing pink, and her lips were fully red.

“I, I just came to drop this off,” I stammered as I gave her the letter.

“Stay, please,” she said as she took the letter from me and gave it to her sister.

Before I could answer her, a voice boomed from a microphone.

“And now, please welcome our lovely debutante, Emma Duvall!”

Rosie turned and walked towards the stage as the crowd gave her a round of applause.

I was left with the sister who promptly deposited me at the table in the furthest corner at the back.

“Wait until your name is called,” she said.

Feeling so out of place in the crowd, even if I was just sitting at the back, I called one of the waiters and asked for a drink. I started drinking.

The evening’s ceremonies went on. I knew well enough how this goes so I dreaded and anticipated what was coming.

As they counted off the roses, I both wished and dreaded my name being called. As the number went smaller, my dread and hope grew.

“And the ninth rose, Dexter Sullivan,” said the emcee.

My heart sank. I turned to leave. Her sister barred my way. She went to me and pushed me forward. All eyes were on me. I felt so embarrassed. Dressed in casuals against a sea of coats and gala dresses.

I tried to hold back my tears. Is this her way of getting back at me? I thought. Wasn’t I punished enough?

When I was standing in front of her, she motioned for me to take her arms. I went forward and took her hands.

“You happy?” I drawled at her as we began to dance.

I was drunk. She noticed it too as she smelled my breath.

“You’re drunk,” she scowled at me.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help drinking seeing as I feel so out of place here,” I snapped at her.

“Whose fault was it to come here dressed like that?” she retorted.

“I wasn’t planning on staying,” I said.

“Then why even come?” she said in exasperation.

“To say goodbye,” I said as I broke off the dance and left her on the floor.

I was steaming mad. How could she not see how embarrassed I was? I still stayed, didn’t I? My chest was bursting with emotion. I knew it wasn’t the embarrassment of going there just dressed in a shirt and jeans that was bugging me. At least, that wasn’t all of it.

I went straight out the door, not looking back once. The fat guy tried to stop me but I just pushed him aside. I was angry (and drunk) enough to get into a brawl.

—

I spent my weekend staying at a friend’s family-owned resort. I wanted to forget everything that happened for the past year. I told my mom I would be taking a break from school and told her not to tell anyone where I went.

In those days, when cell phones and social media didn’t exist, it was possible to be unreachable for as long as you liked.

I spent those days writing. And drinking.