New Perspective
Used a writing prompt and changed the point of view from the last scene. I think I like this better.
NATE
A flash of silver catches my attention from the corner of my eye. A girl in a fluffy white dress is shaking her head, the confetti in her hair catching the light. She gives Marlena a sassy grin and turns in my direction. Little quivers of excitement, like tiny springs uncoiling into spirals run through me as she brushes past me.
She steps on a discarded punch cup, losing her balance. I step forward and catch her as she stumbles, my arm snaking around her waist to keep her upright. “Woah, I gotcha.”
She smells like blackberries and sage. I want to bury my face in her hair, but instead I release my hold on her and take a step back. “You okay?”
She turns toward me, smiling gratefully. “Yeah, thanks. I almost face-planted there.”
I extend my hand. “Nathaniel Cross. Everyone calls me Nate.”
She shakes my hand. “Bethany Rice, but you can call me Beth.”
“Picture?” I ask as I reluctantly let go of her hand and lift my camera.
“I thought pictures were being taken in the other room,” she says.
“I’m on the yearbook staff,” I tell her, “and the event photographer is a talentless hack.”
“How else am I supposed to get the pictures I promised my mother?” she asks.
“I’ll make you some prints,” I offer.
She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “How do I know you’re not a talentless hack?”
I shrug. “If you’d rather pay twenty bucks for some boring studio photo, it’s no skin off my back.”
“Alright,” she agrees, “but if my mom isn’t happy with your pictures, I’m going to hunt you down.”
I raise the camera to take a picture. "You remind me of--"
"If you say Cinderella, I'm out of here," she cuts me off.
"I was going to say Titania from "Midsummer Night's Dream," I say, snapping a photo.
She smirks. "Destined to fall in love with a jackass?"
"I was referring to the whole ethereal fairy princess look you've got going on."
Beth tugs on a stand of her hair. "It must be the confetti. Marlena said it complimented my dress magnificently."
"The silver eye shadow you're rocking doesn't hurt either."
I move around her, taking photos from different angles.
"So I take it, you think of yourself as Oberon," she says teasingly after a few moments.
I grin crookedly. "Puck, actually."
She studies me for a moment. "I have a feeling you're going to cause me a lot of trouble, Nathaniel Cross."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
She raises an eyebrow skeptically and crosses her arms over her chest. "Are you this charming with all women?"
"God, no. I usually fall on my face long before this," I admit, scratching my temple nervously.
"You wanna dance?" she asks.
I swallow reflexively. "You're not asking me out of pity, are you? ‘Cause I don't think I could handle a pity dance."
"I never do anything involving pity," she assures me.
"Good to know," I say as I set my camera down and offer her my arm.
Beth steps out of her shoes and lets me lead her to the dance floor. I look down at her and blink in surprise. She looks away, self-consciously. I take her hands and guide them up to my shoulders, then bring mine to rest on her waist.
"Don't get all shy and reserved on me now," I murmur as we sway in time with the music.
She peeks up at me through her lashes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just waiting for the short jokes to start."
"My mom's barely five feet tall," I tell her. "I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Her mouth quirks up into a smile. “Thanks.”
NATE
A flash of silver catches my attention from the corner of my eye. A girl in a fluffy white dress is shaking her head, the confetti in her hair catching the light. She gives Marlena a sassy grin and turns in my direction. Little quivers of excitement, like tiny springs uncoiling into spirals run through me as she brushes past me.
She steps on a discarded punch cup, losing her balance. I step forward and catch her as she stumbles, my arm snaking around her waist to keep her upright. “Woah, I gotcha.”
She smells like blackberries and sage. I want to bury my face in her hair, but instead I release my hold on her and take a step back. “You okay?”
She turns toward me, smiling gratefully. “Yeah, thanks. I almost face-planted there.”
I extend my hand. “Nathaniel Cross. Everyone calls me Nate.”
She shakes my hand. “Bethany Rice, but you can call me Beth.”
“Picture?” I ask as I reluctantly let go of her hand and lift my camera.
“I thought pictures were being taken in the other room,” she says.
“I’m on the yearbook staff,” I tell her, “and the event photographer is a talentless hack.”
“How else am I supposed to get the pictures I promised my mother?” she asks.
“I’ll make you some prints,” I offer.
She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “How do I know you’re not a talentless hack?”
I shrug. “If you’d rather pay twenty bucks for some boring studio photo, it’s no skin off my back.”
“Alright,” she agrees, “but if my mom isn’t happy with your pictures, I’m going to hunt you down.”
I raise the camera to take a picture. "You remind me of--"
"If you say Cinderella, I'm out of here," she cuts me off.
"I was going to say Titania from "Midsummer Night's Dream," I say, snapping a photo.
She smirks. "Destined to fall in love with a jackass?"
"I was referring to the whole ethereal fairy princess look you've got going on."
Beth tugs on a stand of her hair. "It must be the confetti. Marlena said it complimented my dress magnificently."
"The silver eye shadow you're rocking doesn't hurt either."
I move around her, taking photos from different angles.
"So I take it, you think of yourself as Oberon," she says teasingly after a few moments.
I grin crookedly. "Puck, actually."
She studies me for a moment. "I have a feeling you're going to cause me a lot of trouble, Nathaniel Cross."
"Is that going to be a problem?"
She raises an eyebrow skeptically and crosses her arms over her chest. "Are you this charming with all women?"
"God, no. I usually fall on my face long before this," I admit, scratching my temple nervously.
"You wanna dance?" she asks.
I swallow reflexively. "You're not asking me out of pity, are you? ‘Cause I don't think I could handle a pity dance."
"I never do anything involving pity," she assures me.
"Good to know," I say as I set my camera down and offer her my arm.
Beth steps out of her shoes and lets me lead her to the dance floor. I look down at her and blink in surprise. She looks away, self-consciously. I take her hands and guide them up to my shoulders, then bring mine to rest on her waist.
"Don't get all shy and reserved on me now," I murmur as we sway in time with the music.
She peeks up at me through her lashes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just waiting for the short jokes to start."
"My mom's barely five feet tall," I tell her. "I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Her mouth quirks up into a smile. “Thanks.”