Page 142 of Finding Him
I watch as he fills our cups with something red and fizzy. He hands me one, and I take a sip—it’s sickly sweet, probably loaded with sugar, but it's cold and refreshing.
“So what do you normally do at Irish dances?” I ask, swirling my drink around in my cup.
“First of all, we call it a disco,” he says with a small, cocky grin. “And mostly, it’s people talking shite or getting drunk if they can sneak it in. There’s usually some slow dancing, but mostly people just jump around to the fast songs.”
“Sounds fun,” I say, my eyes scanning the dance floor. It’s a sweaty mess of people, but they look like they’re having fun.
“It is,” he agrees. “Wanna go dance?”
I nod, letting him lead me back to the dance floor. The song playing is upbeat, and Niall pulls me into the crowd, moving to the music. I’m a bit self-conscious at first, my movements stiff and awkward, but then Niall grabs my hands, spinning me around, and I can’t help but laugh.
Finn is already dancing nearby, with Chloe now and Claire is a little ways away with Stephen. Finn catches my eye, grinning and waving me over. I pull Niall’s hand and drag him toward them.
Finn grabs my other hand once we’re close enough, pulling me into a spin that makes me laugh. Niall lets go, watching with a smile as Finn twirls me around.
“Having fun?” Finn asks, leaning down to shout in my ear over the music.
“Yeah!” I yell back, laughing as he spins me again.
The friends I’ve made here might be people I didn’t even know four months ago, but now they felt like a second family. All of us had our own lives, our own problems, our own secrets, but we had somehow become woven together into a tapestryof colors, shapes, and personalities that all worked together to make something beautiful.
When Finn spins me back toward Niall, he catches me, pulling me close.
“I love you,” he murmurs in my ear. “More than anything.”
I smile, leaning up to kiss him. “I love you, too.”
I felt safe.
Happy.
Loved.
And I never want this night to end.
57
The Last First Dance
Niall
December, 2007
ITHOUGHTI knew beauty.
I really did. I thought I had it all figured out.
Molly was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I believe in beauty being in the eye of the beholder. And in the last four months, my eyes have beholden Molly in all sorts of ways. I’ve seen her in muddy football kits, in school uniforms. I’ve seen her with the largest smiles and with tears streaming down her face. Her hair up, her hair down. Make-up, bare faced, and tired in pyjamas.
I thought I knew how beautiful she was.
But I was wrong.
She looks ethereal in that dress, as it shimmers under the dimmed, colourful lights of the ballroom. It’s not the dress, not really. It’s her. The way the soft light catches in her hair, turning the caramel strands to spun gold. The way her eyes look like shimmering opalite jewels, except for the fact that there was nothing fake about them. They’re all hers, all Molly. And they’re fixed on me.
We’ve gotten to the slow song portion of the evening. The DJ has put on a soppy ballad, and the dance floor has thinned out, couples pairing off, swaying together under the twinkling lights.
I’ve forgotten all about keeping an eye on Stephen and my sister, because I’m too focused on making sure I don’t step on her toes or anything. My feet feel too big, my limbs too clumsy.
