Sorry about my last update. It's the end of the school year, the school has fire drill quotas it needs to fill.

When we left off (abruptly, I know, I'm sorry) I hadn't even gotten to the photos avec famille part. My mother had decided to call everyone she had ever met every day of her life. I'm pretty sure this day ranks up there with her wedding and my birth. The woman was excited. Every possible famillal combination was used. Grandparents and mom! Aunts and uncles! Just the aunts! Just the uncles! The dog! The dog and grandpa!

We stood in the blistering May Maine sun, chatting (which is all my mother does whenever she's around her family) in the driveway. I'm watching the corsage I picked out for my date wilt under the heat.

Eventually, my grandfather calls me over to speak with me privately. You know where this is going.

"Now, Maine, I want you to treat this young lady with respect." I could've said it with him. Like it needed to be said at all. And like he's in any position to speak about "respect for women"; he treated my grandmother like a slave all her life.

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All I could focus on while he was talking to me, though, was this brownish-yellowish stuff on his cheek near the corner of his mouth. I was wondering "is that mustard? Mucous? Something else? Does he know it's there? Is it supposed to be there?"

I was to meet at a mutual friend's house for dinner and to get ready. I expected boyfriends and dates to be there.

I was the only one who was a date.

There were like eight girls there, and I was the only guy.

It was kind of awkward. I mean, talking about dresses and shoes and stuff while we ate (the meal was delicious, though). Soon enough, I was in the backseat of a 1990s hatchback on our way to the Eastern Promenade of Portland.

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The driver was insane. We sped over speedbumps, I had to hold on for dear life whenever we turned, music that vaguely sounded like music was blasted from blown out speakers directly behind me.

The Eastern Prom is where everyone gets their prom photos done. And while the Eastern Prom really refers to the entire eastern coast of Portland, everyone converges around Fort Allen Park, because there's good views of the water, it's easy to find (large mast from the USS Maine isn't exactly easy to miss) has a gazebo, etc. But people say mostly convened under the mast.

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The place was packed. Both local high schools were having their proms this Saturday, so it was filled with too-big tuxes, extravagant dresses, ridiculous shoes, and fake smiles.

I met my date's father. He was scoping me out, I could tell, but was nice enough. Her mom seemed like she had been crying.

We posed for a bunch of photos. Eventually, I started wandering. Remember brunette from, like, November? She was there and looked positively gorgeous. But I'm over her. I ran into an old flame from middle school, met her boyfriend (weak handshake, it was like trying to shake hands with a boiled spaghetti noodle). As I was hugging people and posing for pictures, and lying to people about how good they looked, I saw her.

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I didn't recognize her at first.

Her name is Sara. We had freshman English together. She and her friend Jess and my friend Wes sat behind me making fun of me.

If you haven't noticed by now, I fall hard.

I had always found her pretty, but we'd never really talked before. But she was wearing this stunning red dress, had her hair back, and she just looked beautiful.

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I told her so, kind of breathlessly. Then I noticed that standing next to her was another ex-flame, circa 8th grade. She looked just like she always did. I quickly said "You do to, Molly."

To be continued, eventually.