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The First, Last Dance.

My palms were sweaty, weight shifting from one leg to the other. My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow. I was thinking someone would have to pry the half dollar from my hand if I gripped it any tighter. One more person ahead of me. Finally, I'm in.

It was darker than I had imagined. Great! Maybe no one would notice the gravy stain on my left sleeve. I had prepared meticulously. Hair slicked back with a huge "Elvis" wave, held in place with lots of Brylcream. Pants with razor creases, cuffs turned up just right. The pencil, thin tie didn't quite match my outfit, but it would satisfy the "tie required" rule. I had waited for this moment since I was twelve years old. Becoming a teenager shouldn't take this long.

At first I had trouble spotting Sylvia, but then I saw her standing by the coat room with some girlfriends. She was showing off the poodle on her gray skirt. The pink angora sweater she had on not only looked great with the skirt, but clearly pointed out that she was becoming a young woman. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

Sylvia was one year ahead of me in school. We were the same age, but my birthday missed the cutoff for kindergarten. We never had much in common, and had barely ever spoken to each other, but I couldn't get her out of my mind for the last year. I think it all began the day I was sitting directly behind her at a school assembly. Maybe it was the sweet smell of her shampoo, or her soft, velvety voice. She must have sensed me staring at her, because she turned, looked me straight in the eye, and flashed a brief smile. Whatever it was, it had hold of me like nothing I had ever experienced.

Just as the first record started, I took a step in her direction. Roger Petterson was already leading her out onto the dance floor. This is not how it was supposed to be. And what if he asked her for the "Last Dance"? Don't panic! Stay cool!

I positioned my-self to take advantage of the next opportunity to ask her to dance. I was prepared. As the next set was about to begin I made my move. I was nearly paralyzed when I heard, "Ladies Choice" blare over the speakers. Sylvia was already heading toward the dance floor. She was dancing with someone other than Roger. Good, there was still a chance that he hadn't asked her for the "Last Dance".

I was ready for the next set. It was now or never. I reached out and touched her shoulder. Her angora sweater was soft to the touch, and that sweet smell reminded me of that day at the assembly.

"Wanna

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