You're ridiculously young, and you're ridiculously hopeful, and you're ridiculously stoned.
You're in a planetarium for a laser show, and it's crowded with other kids like you, and the sweet smell of weed is everywhere. It clings to your hair, and to the pink dress that falls to your knees, and you feel like you're actually your age for once. It's silly, maybe, being nervous and jittery when you've done all the things you've done, but that doesn't change the fact that you are. It isn't even a date, but that doesn't matter because he's there, and you're dancing in the aisle to some cheesy song they're playing, and you can barely move without bumping into another couple in the dark.
You're talking to him about this boy you like, the one who doesn't like you back, and you're asking his advice. It's brazen for you, but you never smoke weed, and you don't even realize that you're so very close from making a fool of yourself.
He asks if he knows the boy that you like, and you tell him "oui," and you know he won't make the connection. He doesn't, but that's okay, because you're pretty sure he wouldn't be here with you if he knew how you felt. You put your cheek on his shoulder, and you close your eyes and try to breathe like you aren't the most nervous you've ever been.
"The song's done," he says after awhile, and you realize the music actually stopped ages ago, you just didn't notice it.
Sheepishly, you stretch onto the tip of your toes, and you kiss his cheek, and you thank him for something; the dance, coming out with you, being there, being.
You find your seats again, as the laser show begin, and you rest your head on his shoulder and tuck your feet beneath you, and right then you're just a girl, nothing more, nothing less.