The Death Of The Winter Formal

1515 Words7 Pages
It was late on a Friday night, just an hour before nine, which would mark the start of Northride High’s Winter Formal. While most students and chaperones were already arriving early, very few still lingered at home; and only one hadn’t wanted to go at all.
“Teague, honey? Are you sure you don’t want to go? I’m certain all your friends will be there too, and they’d be very disappointed if you didn’t join them.” An anxious mother stood at the base of the stairs, calling up to her sixteen year old son on the upper floor. Her husband brushed past her with a photo frame, moving to hang it up while saying,
“There’s no point in bothering him, Samantha, you know he’s not going to do something he doesn’t want to. I’m not even sure he has a date to
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He closes his eyes, a soft smile curving his lips; as if he were experiencing a pleasant sort of feeling, personal to only himself. He didn’t want to go to the Winter Formal simply because he was a busy person who had complicated plans. They were loosely thought out ideas, so Teague thought them more as sketches really; because, as he has read so often, even the most thoroughly formed and built plans often went awry. So, he would try to compromise with what he had already. He was overjoyed that his parents wouldn’t be home for four hours at most, giving him plenty of time to sneak out of the house unnoticed and into the backcountry woods around their small town. He knew basically everyone would be at this stupid dance of his school’s, so he wasn’t too concerned about any obstacles.
He sat up and scootched to the edge of his bed, sighing deeply as he considered the course of actions to come. To say the very least, he was excited, though nervous at the same time. It was a very unpleasant mixture of feelings that didn’t boil over well in his stomach, but he supposed he had to suck it up and muster what he’d been praying to do since the end of Summer, when school had started. Getting up now, he maneuvered to his closet and pulled out his jacket, putting it on when suddenly he had caught a folder of papers in his peripheral vision.
“Ah! I can’t forget this,” says Teague, taking the folder in his left hand while he searched around for his bag with his right. Obviously he

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