Junior High Dance _

They were being driven to the school gymnasium by her parents, the orthodontist and the librarian. Both their stomachs were in knots – the boy and the girl in the backseat. They hadn’t yet kissed or even so much as held hands, so the faint tickle of rubbed elbows back there – to say nothing of the looming slow dance – made them want to die.

The orthodontist and the librarian felt secure dropping them off knowing there’d be chaperones and that they’d raised a daughter capable of making sound decisions. Plus they approved of the boy’s upbringing by his university professor parents and therefore trusted his judgment and intentions.

Besides, did you get a look at those two back there? They were petrified, white as sheets. The last things on their minds were love or heavy petting or terminating an unwanted pregnancy. Of that, the orthodontist and the librarian were certain.

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