Dancing with Molly - Lena Horowitz

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Saturday, April 26

My dad gave me this journal for my birthday last year when I was a sophomore. I couldn’t even remember if I still had it or not, but I saw it when I woke up this morning. I can’t believe it’s just been sitting on the bookshelf by my desk for over a year now, but I remember when he gave it to me I was like, what am I supposed to write in this? Nothing very exciting ever happens around here. So, I kind of can’t believe I actually have something worth writing down. I also can’t believe I’m really about to write it down, because Mom and Dad would freaking flip out if they ever read it. And while we’re on the stuff I just can’t believe, I sort of can’t believe that I’m sitting upright writing anything at all because when I woke up this morning I felt like the bottom of a shoe. It was like my head was in a vise, and I wasn’t entirely sure I could move my arms. All the energy in my whole body felt like it had leaked out of my spine and dribbled onto the floor.

I suppose the ecstasy had something to do with that.

(Spoiler alert: That’s the crazy thing that happened last night that I can’t believe I just wrote down in this journal.)

My grandma likes to watch reruns of this old cop show on Netflix. It’s called Dragnet, and the detective on there is always saying: Just the facts, ma’am. So, here are the facts: I did ecstasy last night for the very first time. At Jess’s house. With Brandon and Pete from school, and Jess’s friend Kelly. Also a fact: I am NOT the type of girl who would even CONSIDER doing ecstasy. Usually. But last night sort of tested the limits of what I consider usual. So, those are the facts.

Here’s why:

Jess called me after I got home from marching band practice last night. (Yes, we still have marching band practice in April. More on that in a minute.) Anyway, she told me to come over and spend the night at her place. We do this a lot, so I didn’t really think anything of it. I was especially glad that she called me because at the exact moment the phone rang, I was standing in the kitchen setting the table for dinner while Mom tossed a salad and Dad was going in and out to the deck, checking the salmon he was grilling on a cedar plank. I was really excited because after we all sat down I was going to bust out my big news:


So, I was really excited to tell everybody this, especially my mom, because she’s sort of horrified that her oldest daughter is a band geek. She’s always heaving these big soap-opera sighs about how ugly the uniforms are. (“I mean, really, polyester? In the twenty-first century? Couldn’t they give you kids something that breathes a little?”) Anyway, I was hoping that by GETTING ON NATIONAL TELEVISION with my clarinet I might put some of Mom’s epic band shame to rest, but could I do that? Oh no. No, no. Because before I could get the table set, Ashley came screaming in the front door with news of her own. She was in full-blown squeal mode:


God. It makes my head hurt just remembering the decibel level of her voice. Needless to say, my mom started crying. CRYING. Tiny tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. She and Ashley were actually hugging and jumping up and down, my mother still holding the salad tongs and flinging baby spinach across the room. I just stood there, holding the forks and watching this until my dad came in with the salmon and looked at me like, What is going on here? I just shrugged and finished setting the table while Ashley and Mom came back to earth and we finally all sat down to eat.

The irony of the situation, of course, is that I’m a junior this year and I have not been asked to prom. Not that I’d go if I was asked. In fact, it hadn’t really crossed my mind that I’d even want to go. But of course Ashley has been asked as a sophomore. By Reid Boston. The