The Nights Not Over Yet
I felt the limo slow and I glanced out the window, almost there. The driver curved around a garden bed and parked. I had arrived at the front steps of the community hall in a long, sleek limo. I stepped out, my polished shoes crunching on the gravel beneath. I stooped my head to avoid bumping it and making myself look like an idiot, then straightened my jacket and adjusted my tie. Picture perfect and flawless. I was eighteen years old and ready to have the night of my life: The Debutante...