<div class="floatright">(http://i1087.photobucket.com/albums/j480/Erion2451/829c9e1d120be8b04d1a009cbe6ee7f5_zpswkfm55yx.jpg?t=1496069439)</div><strong>NAME:</strong>Gwynn Cameron (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=268436.msg13236812#msg13236812)<br/><strong>WEARING:</strong>Pink Sundress (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=222581713)<br/><strong>DAY:</strong>Friday, June 9th - Graduation Day!!<br/><strong>TIME:</strong>Night<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong>Caulton Residence - Backyard Pool  -> Damian's Bike -> Arrival at Henderson Farm<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong>Dancing, and Philosophizing, mention of alcohol and marijuana<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>Megan, Miriam, Tommy, Damian, Jeremiah, Marco, Open<br/><hr/>Gwynn was somewhat hungry, and thirsty, but the siren call of the dance floor was too captivating to ignore, and without a second thought, she was out there, in front of the DJ, moving to the music, amidst some of her closest friends, Megan and Miriam.  Lost in the arms of her first love.  Her body moved without much thought, and her mind drifted.<br/><br/>She loved to dance.  Her earliest memories involved dance in some form; whether standing on her father's shoes and dancing a simple two-step with him, or creating her own spastic moves to a children's song in the awkward carefree fashion of a toddler.  Her mother claimed she had natural rhythm, but even if she had not, she'd been enrolled in dance since preschool.  Ever since, she'd trained; jazz classes, ballet, modern, Horton and Graham, even tap for a few months.  When she and Roxy began to hangout, Gwynn had even insisted that she learn bachata, which led to salsa, and even swing.  She'd done anything and everything to perfect and master her technique, and to round her out as a good dancer.  She'd even joined the cheer squad in order to stay in shape, and because it was the only way to dance at her high school.<br/><br/>It hadn't been enough.  The school she'd had her heart set upon since her parents had first taken her to see real live professional ballerinas; it didn't want her.  Not this year, at least.  Maybe not next year, either.  Even if it did, Juilliard didn't take transfer credits.  She'd have to start all over.  An entire year of college flushed away simply because she wanted to go to an institute that only took twelve new girls a year.<br/><br/>It was ridiculous.  It wasn't like Ailey/Fordham was cheap.  It was prestigious.  One of the best in the world.  It had its own company, and the school would make her a better well-rounded dancer.  It would even provide her with the tools she would need when she turned thirty-something and her career ended.<br/><br/>Did it make any sense to continue to follow a dream?  Does the school matter that much?  Should she just be happy with what she's already achieved, and focus on the next step?<br/><br/>Miriam brought her back to the here-and-now with a gesture that Gwynn didn't completely understand, at first.  She gave her friend a questioning look.<strong>"Is what good?"</strong>she asked as she tried to remember what all Miriam had just done.  Green eyes focused on her friend's empty hand, though, its fingers were curled and pinched together like she was holding something.  A cigarette?  No, that was generally held between the index and middle finger.  This was like... a joint?<br/><br/>Gwynn laughed at herself.<em>Duh, hello Megan,</em>she thought, with the voice of her favorite white martian.  She stopped dancing, and looked between Miriam, Jeremiah, Megan, and Damian, and registered their seeming approval, or disapproval, to the idea.  Three out of four wasn't so bad.  Leanne had gotten her high, for the first time, just a few months ago, in February, when Gwynn had returned from her Juilliard audition.  It had been kind of silly, but unarguably fun, and had helped her shake off the overwhelming disappointment.<br/><br/>She glanced at the imaginary blunt from the corner of her eye, and pondered thoughtfully.  It was graduation night.  They were celebrating the culmination of four years of work, remembering the good and bad, the triumphs and the sorrows, and taking their first steps onto the rest of their lives.  One little joint wouldn't hurt.<br/><br/><strong>"Umm, yeah.  Okay,"</strong>she told her sister-from-another-mister.  Her eyes then drifted to Miriam's and bounced to Jeremiah's.  That meant they had to leave the dance floor, right?  Even as permissive as the Henderson's tended to be, she doubted they wanted people smoking inside their barn.<br/><br/>As if to confirm her unspoken question, Damian stepped onto the dance floor - she was going to have to drag his ass out here later, where she could grind up on that, and let his hands roam freely over her body - and told her, and the other girls, that he and Jeremiah were going to get food, beers, and then they'd sneak off.<br/><br/>A brief glance was given to her girlfriends before she shrugged,<strong>"oh, okay.  See you soon."</strong>She smiled at him.  He was so thoughtful, and caring, and just made her knees wanna buckle.<br/><br/>Not long after the guys left, one returned.<strong>"Hey Marco,"</strong>she said with a wide smile.  Finally, a guy willing to get his groove on.  Her smile widened at his compliment,<strong>"thanks.  How was the other party?  Is Roxy with you?"</strong>she asked curiously.<br/><br/>She wondered if they were going to head back to the vehicles.  If they did, she could dig her purse out of Jeremiah's car and get her cellphone.  She had to admit that she felt both liberated and completely naked without it, but, minus Roxy and Leanne, she was with everyone she wanted to be with this evening, and she didn't really give two figs if anyone else was trying to get a hold of her.<br/><br/><strong>"Would someone mind texting her?  Tell her to get her ass over here."</strong>She said with a teasing, yet half-serious, tone.<br/><br/>It seemed Marco was on the same wavelength as Miriam.  It was kind of ironic; these superficial categories and unseen lines in the sand, which had somehow formed over the last twelve years.  Jocks and preppies, nerds and losers.  The whole classification system was flawed.  How many of them floated somewhere in between?  For instance, Specimen A: Marco.  Just because he was extremely athletic, in peak physical shape, and hell'a gorgeous, didn't mean he didn't smoke as much pot as the biggest pothead.  The only difference was that Marco had other interests, natural talent, and a drive that the average stoner lost along the way.  Hell, how many of her friends smoked on a regular basis?  How many slacked off and did dumb shit?  Why was it those actions could define others, but not them?  It all boiled down to perception, and to buying in to all the bullshit and hype.  Kids like Benny could've done more, been more, if they cared.  And people like Aaron should be right here, with her and her friends, if he could've ever gotten out of his own way.  It was sad, and frustrating, and, she guessed, just part of being a teenager.  For the briefest of moments, she wondered what it'd be like to come home next summer, if she came home.  How many people, by then, would have shattered the facade of high school?  How many would grow out of the mold they'd poured for themselves and actually resemble people, and not the simple stereotype they'd defined themselves with?  How many would be stuck in the same old rut, unable to escape, incapable of freedom.<br/><br/>God, she needed to go find Oliver.  He was likely to be the one person who could answer it all.<br/><br/>She watched Megan and Marco pair off without thinking much about it.  She'd taken a step closer, in an attempt to make Marco feel accepted and included in their little group.  Then, stepped back when she noted how very close he and Megan began to dance.  A wry smile touched her lips as she paired off with Miriam.  Once within the same sphere as the other former cheerleader, Gwynn shot her friend an amused smile, and a "well-let's-see-where-this-goes" look.