The Candy Wrapper

I think almost every aspiring actor has imagined, at least once, that magical feeling of stepping out onto a wide, glossy stage, being handed a gold man by your favorite star, and saying into a microphone in tears, "I'd like to thank the Academy." That dream came true - kind of - yesterday, at the 2013 Spring Red Carpet Dance, bedecked in curled eyelashes that I'd created by borrowing/stealing the strangest little mechanism, and a spritz of my friend A's perfume that stung my eyes when it caught me by surprise; I'd never used it before. I donned a floor-length red ballgown exactly the color of a red rose and a semi-precious stone necklace from my grandmother. As I walked in down the wipe-your-shoes mat that had been moved downstairs due to its maroon color (it had become a red carpet), the folds of the dress swished at my feet. My toes screamed for air in the size five shoes I had borrowed from K, me being a size eight and a half, but that hardly mattered.

After about an hour of gallivanting around with my friends in a too loud gymnasium, the contest began for costume/outfit. There were a bunch of categories: most daring, best tux, best hair and makeup, best Old Hollywood, and the coveted best dressed. There was, however, a catch: Once you won a contest, you were out of the running for the others. For me, it was between best gown and best dressed, but I decided to go for best gown because I was the only girl in floor-length. When the category was called, third to last, I stood up proudly and walked across the front of the room first, about fifteen behind me. First was second place; it went to a girl in a short, turquoise, flowered dress - P. Hmm... I worried. Maybe any dress counts as a gown... and my dress sure isn't the best... "And the Oscar goes to," said Ms. M, the grade advisor. Suddenly, I noticed her finger. It was pointed at me. K2 shrieked and literally jumped up and hugged me. K3, a member of the "Academy," handed me a cardboard Oscar (held up with candy wrappers), a bag of sour jellybeans, two chocolates, and a five dollar gift card to Dunkin' Donuts (which I gave to my friend, J4). As we all walked back into the crowd, someone told me to make a speech. I stepped out onto the wide, glossy stage. I already had by gold-painted man. There was no microphone, but at the top of my lungs, I shouted, "YAY!"