Student story-So you think you can't dance

By Meredith Osborne

As my roommates and I were getting into the elevator, we were thinking of what could be going on at the dance.

“What if like, two people just met at the dance and fell in love and got married?”

“I hope they play good music.”

“We better not be overdressed.”

When the elevator doors opened to floor G, most of our questions had been answered. (The first has yet to be determined.) Loud, rap music pulsed through the ballroom doors and girls in dresses scuttled through the entryway. The Flint Hills Publication Workshop dance was in full swing.

We were instantly greeted by cups bearing the faces of our king and queen hopefuls. We charged through the room, ready to survey the dance floor. Empty.

The crowd was enjoying a the common spectator sport known as “empty dance floor gazing.” This sport takes place at most high school dances, within the first 15 minutes of the doors opening. Everyone uncomfortably stares at the dance floor and wishes they had the courage to dance. Practice moves are seen in the corner. The crowd’s gaze never falters until someone is brave enough to break the ice.

In this case, it was a group of girls from Notre Dame de Sion. Giggling and holding hands, they screamed onto the dance floor, abandoning any sense of pretentiousness.

The Sion presence had a ripple effect. They let everyone know that at camp we could both memorize journalism’s style rules and dance to “Thriller.” By “we,” I meant everyone but myself, of course.

Do I know how to dance? Yes. Do I like to dance in my room, looking at myself in the mirror and performing various acrobatics that could in no way qualify as one specific move, only a series of seizures? Maybe.

When it comes to group dances, I seem to only know one move. Some may be familiar with the “bend and snap” from Legally Blonde, however, my signature move is something I like to call the “bend and clap.” I bend my knees. While clapping my hands. Did you get that? In unison.

Finally, my friends convinced me hit the floor. I tried some other moves. Point at the ceiling. Point at the people I was dancing with while randomly shaking my hips. I saw a camera flash and realized I could be photographed doing this accusatory move. Dejected, I walked away from the scene.

Every time I thought I could give dancing another try, I would remember my previous failure, walk back to a table and sit by myself.

I will forever remember those fearless girls who jumped on the dance floor first. If you are reading this right now, how about lessons?

Meredith Osborne is a senior at Kapaun Mt. Carmel High School and a student in the advanced writing class at the Flint Hills Publication Workshop.