The Formal Party (2008 - Story)

I wasn't asked to come inside, and I didn't want to anyways. I wanted to sit outside and watch the stars. They were strewn out in the navy blue velvet sky like a handful of glitter. The last of the light of the sun had faded away about two or so hours ago, and the sunset was beautiful while it lasted. I knew I probably should come inside, because tomorrow was a big day. Tomorrow was the day of the Formal Party.

The Formal Party was this huge extravagant event that everybody always got so excited about. It included boring classical music, wine and a whole lot of people who discussed poetry and other such likes of fine art. The worst part of it was the introductions. I had been taking piano lessons since I was seven (against my will), and every year my piano teacher, Ms. Presley, tried to drag me out of my corner and introduce me to all these fancy wine-sipping art fanatics. No, I didn't much like this Formal Party at all.

I glanced at the watch on my wrist. It flashed 2:54am. I sighed, pulling my sleeve over my hand again, and shivered in the cool autumn air. I better go inside and sleep. If there's anything worse than being at the Formal Party, it's being at the Formal Party, but all zoned out from lack of sleep, like a zombie. Ms. Presley didn't much care for that at all, and neither did my parents. I took one last look at the sparkling sky and went inside.

~*~

"Cadence, it's time to wake up!" I groaned, and pulled the pillow from underneath me overtop of my head, as I awakened to Amelia, the maid's v oice, and the sound of the curtains opening, accompanied by the immensely bright sunlight that came with it.
"...What time is it?" I asked, blinking, and then pushing a stray strand of my messy black hair behind my ear. I had dyed it black first when I was thirteen, and my parents were horrified that I hadn't kept it blonde like the rest of the debutantes who go to the Formal Party. (They were afraid of anything different than refined rich people, I think.)
"It's nearly eleven thirty, dear." Amelia replied, dusting the curtains absentmindedly. They never really got dusty, but she did it anyways. I flopped my head back down on the pillow dramatically. That's the latest I've woken up in the past three weeks. I thne got out of bed and headed to the shower.

~*~

I looked into my wine glass of sparkling grape juice. It tasted funny. I'd never really much cared for grape juice at all. I sight, twisting a stray curl of hair in my fingers. Yes, my older sister had insisted on curling my hair. I frowned, watching all of the people in the room. You had the old rich geezers and their stuffy mustaches, their wives, with I guarantee you, eighty thousand dollars worth of diamond incrusted jewellery on them. And their children. They were the worst type of people. Those snobby stuck up sons and daughters with their blonde hair and their perfect posture...

"Cadence.' I looked up to an unfortunate familliar face. Ms. Presley's daughter, Sydney. She stood in a navy blue evening gown, which looked to be made out of some kind of uncomfortable sparkly material. 9much like the sky last night, but exceedingly less beautiful.)
"Yes?" I said innocently.
"I just wanted to say that I hope you enjoyed my peformance this evening. Fur Elise. Such a fine piece of work, don't you think? I think I did a wonderful job. Perfection." She smiled cruelly.
"Oh, yes." I mumbled. "Wonderful." Just then, Ms. Presley joined our conversation, looking extremely extravagant as usual.
"Oh, good! Thank goodness I've found you, Cadence! My good friend Mr. Rosenthal would like to meet you!"
"Wonderful." I said, again, letting myself be dragged off into the boiling depths of socialization. We stopped in front of a man in a green button-down shirt. No mustache.
"Mr. Rosenthal." Ms. Presely tapped him on the shoulder. "This is Cadence. She's my best piano student." Oh, I forgot to mention that I was exceedingly good at playing the piano, whether I liked it or not. That's what you get when you've been forced to play an instrument for ten years. I had nothing better to do but practice, because I clearly didn't get along with everybody else. "And Cadence, Mr. Rosenthal is the head of Gales Music College in New York."
"Ah, yes." He said, and smiled a genuine smile. "Cadence."
"Well, I'll leave you two free to mingle." Ms. Presley said, and fluttered on to scold her daughter for sneaking a kiss with the owner of the music school's son, Scot. Free to mingle. Hah. I wouldn't call such things as "Mingling", freedom. It's just giving you the illusion of free will. You're put in a situation where you're being forced to talk to a whole bunch of people you don't know or like at all, but given the fact that there's a large volume of people you can choose from, apparently that's "Freedom" of choice. I would choose nobody.
"Yes, hi." I stuttered, looking down at my shoes. They hurt my feet.
"I saw your performance earlier." He said. There goes that smile again. "It was quite brilliant if I do say so myself."
"Thank you," I said absentmindedly. I must act like a debutante. I must be like everybody else, I thought. This is a very important man. But his smile was so genuine, making me feel more comfortable around him. And besides, he wasn't even wearing a tie. "But I hate that song." And to my surprise, he laughed.
"And why is that?"
"Well, the notes are all over the place. There are too many staccatos, and the overall sound of it is much too upbeat for my liking." He nodded.
"I see." And the conversation went on, and that was my last, and best Formal Party I ever went to. This year, I'm attending Gales Music College in New York, and Mr. Rosenthal is my piano teacher. My personal well-being is much better now that I've learned that being yourself is a lot better than being a Barbie doll wannabe like Sydney Presley.