Normal 0 false false false EN-US ZH-TW X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:PMingLiU; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} As a person so socially inept that, until two weeks ago, had never been to a dance since the seventh grade, didn’t have a Facebook page, and couldn’t tell a “stud” from a “spud” or ABBA from Michael Jackson, I can say that it doesn’t take much to live the magic of prom. The question all my friends asked me was, “Why now? What made you go to prom?” “Your efforts were not in vain—it was all because of you that I now have a new birth of life,” I replied. For several weeks they had pestered me with enough well-executed, Bambi-eyed pleas and requests to do the “shaky thing” that I reluctantly decided to attend prom. In addition to the generic “You’ll regret not going for the rest of your life,” there was, “Don’t talk to me again if you don’t go,” and “Why wouldn’t you go? Girls in dresses in the dark.” I dusted off my tux, picked up the corsage and bought the tickets. And got a date. Using a Toblerone chocolate bar in a rose-shaped box and my best Spanish, I asked sophomore Vinita Singh during a Science Olympiad practice. Anxiously, I waited out the next three days before I got a “yes.” The morning of the day of prom, after getting three hours of sleep, waking up at 4 a.m. for the State Science Olympiad Tournament in Cedar Rapids, and returning at 5 p.m. totally exhausted and zombie-like, I was ready to hit the dance floor. The more tired, the more hyper, and the more hyper, the better. A brief timeline of events: 7:00 p.m. I arrive at Olde Main and meet and my group of friends, nearly all of whom are juniors, and Vinita. In between enjoying the scrumptious meal, socializing and taking photos for Facebook, we do the standard mischief: shoot spit balls, fill in some of the satisfaction survey cards with fake names, and make inappropriate jokes. 8:00 p.m. Burak, my right-hand man, along with his date, Sophie, takes Vinita and me to Scheman. 8:15 p.m. Seniors Jess Nelson and Miles Greenwald and I pose for pictures. Jess, in an elegant blue suit, carries and twirls me in his arms. 8:30 p.m. I walk onto the floor, and immediately take in the density of the people and the temperature. Let’s look at the science: an increase rate of cellular respiration causes higher power output from bodies, and there’s little convection to dissipate the heat generated. 9:30 p.m. The first slow dance song comes on. It’s initially awkward for Vinita and me, but we start moving counterclockwise to the rhythm and hold each other—the old-school way, with one hand grasped. It might seem a little embarrassing, but I note that others around us started copying us. Apparently, old school is not yet on its way out (except that finger pointing disco thing). 10:15 p.m. I do my signature (and only) tested dance move: the “shaky thing.” The result: a circle gathers around me. I don’t think I’ve ever spontaneously and simultaneously moved so many parts of my body and collided into so many other people in my life. If there’s a way to voluntarily get me in the target heart rate zone, this is it. 10:40 p.m. We try to go up to the second floor in order to take bird’s-eye photos, but Mr. Todd, in a commanding voice and black suit, stops us. “There’s a wedding up there,” he says. If only he and the others members of the teacher security task force had sunglasses, they could be the men in black. 11:45 p.m. After more jumping, shaking and sweating, I crash and fall asleep and get carried on John’s back. It’s comfy enough for me to get 15 minutes of shuteye. 12:10 a.m. The dance officially ends. The DJ offers his compliments, and the students give him their complaints. 1:00 a.m. We go to Perkins (one of the only decent 24/7 service restaurants around). Burak and Sophie order coffee. I get apple juice and undoubtedly crash again. As late-night customers walk in, they all stare at me and laugh; I image that, by this point, I am so sleep-deprived that I probably look and act wasted. Too bad Coca-Cola doesn’t lace its juice with caffeine. 2:00 a.m. Burak and I agree that it’s time to take me home, and prom night ends for me, at least for now.