That night, Gentry returned to the scene of the prom.
His heavy feet boarded the yacht once again, and brushed through the double doors, entering to a few slow-dancing drunks swaying to the hazy melody of a slow and grimy song that seemed out of place. But no one noticed anyway; no one was listening to the music. Most people stayed in their seats and some nosily swarmed around Kylie, who immediately looked up at Gentry from the moment he walked through the door, bawling out his name like a rooster crawing out the morning. He looked away as she stumbled across the floor yelling breathlessly, “I thought you ditched me!”
Just a few steps after her, Mike fumbled accross the floor with slow and clumsy steps, barely dodging the tangle of arms and legs skattered across the floor. Blue light glinted off his cheeks and bare head, which was nearly shaven clean by a buzz-cut that that made his face resemble a giant thumb. His short, thick neck bulged out from his too-tight collar as he slowly lifted one hand and grunted out a reserved “Hey.”
Gentry stared at him for a very long time. He was still staring as Kylie stumbled onto him, and threw her freckled arms around his neck,
“Where were you?”
“Hey.” Mike said again, standing in front of them with legs apart and firmly planted on the ground. He looked uncomfortable as he coughed quietly, and again said, “’Sup.”
“’Sup.” Said Gentry.
“We should get her home.” Mike said in a low voice, “She can barely stand.”
At this, Kylie suddenly cried:
“… Come on.”
“No!” Kylie held on closer to Gentry, worming past Mike’s fumbling attempts to grab her, “We’re going to the after-party.”