Mary Jane wasn't as excited for prom as she let on. It was easy to fake it, of course, when everyone was a bit of a wreck and no one was really communicating the way they used to. And, she was far too preoccupied with her own things, like trying to make sure she wouldn't nearly die again by the hands of MK. There were still vicious whispers about what happened up in Tony Stark's penthouse more than two months beforehand. Because, on this side, it wasn't MK paying for her own mistakes, but MJ. Of course, teenagers were fickle things, and it usually only came up when they were bored or when Gwen or one of the other countless girls weren't around. That was one thing she wouldn't miss about high school. The cattiness, the gossiping, the undermining. It was all so tiring and stupid.
Despite the rift wedged between them all, however, she would miss her group at Midtown, a feeling she was reminded of in the limo ride over to the prom site. But, she smiled all the same, and she drank enough champagne to feel the buzz and help her forget all that awkwardness and sadness and pain for a couple hours. Forget about MK and Adam, and forget about how Gwen had compared her to the older redhead, and forget about how she was still in a bit of a fight with Flash. No, she was going to make the best of the situation and make this a night to remember for the rest of her life. A night she'd be able to tell her kids about when they asked how cool mom was when they were her age.
Like any party-hungry teenager in New York City, she'd been to Webster Hall before. (A pretty smile and some cleavage did wonders even if you had a crappy fake ID.) It was a cramped little space, despite the multiple floors, but that was the way MJ liked it. Up close but so loud and packed it became incredibly impersonal. Dressed in a tight and short little number that exposed most of her back, she strutted in on her heels with such ease she could have looked twenty-two instead of eighteen. She split from the rest of the group almost immediately, dragged to the side by a gaggle of girls wanting to catch her up on what'd happened so far. (So-and-so hooked up with this one up stairs, someone snuck in pot or coke or something hard, etc., etc.) The redhead babbled with them for a little before sneaking away again to get a little bit of that blessedly spiked punch and pressing her way into the dancing crowd.