The Dance

I walk out of the sweaty gym where most of the 7th and 8th graders are dancing in hustling packs. I need a three second break from the flashing strobe lights and the pounding music. The hallway is surprisingly quiet in comparison, and there are small circular tables lining the sides with slightly eerie blue lights hanging above them. At first glance I think the hallway is empty, but soon I realize that is very wrong. Around each small table is a group of friends slumped into the shadows. They are all hugging some crying person, or consoling a whimpering friend. I wonder what could be going on. In each little group there seems to be a problem causing tears and broken hearts. I try to imagine what could ever make me so sad on a night where everything, from the music to the lights, seems so happy. Yet, how could I ever imagine this if I myself are not in their shoes. I am merely an outsider, barely making a ripple in the surface of their lives. Their stories I can only guess by the looks on their faces. I've had enough; the last song is barely started to fade out of my head. I turn around and walk slowly back into the gym. Into the crowd.