Karen Baumgart

Listen to Karen read her story:

Dance music rips through the evening air, all pumping bass and no lyrics, but Suki barely hears it at first, her breath catching at fairy-lights tangled through trees lining the school driveway – sheer spectacle, hung like clouds of electric fireflies – and then, impossible to ignore, doof-doof beats blaring louder at the gymnasium doors, which are garlanded with braided blue-and-silver streamers (what a drama that’d been, as if voting on prom colours was actually important, when maybe she hadn’t even passed the math exam), followed by Casey shrieking across the car park, Suki! you are totally wearing that dress, queen!, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the gym, still buzzing from their pre-prom-drinks (virgin cocktails, Casey had told Suki’s mum, knowing she’d believe Suki could do no wrong, such a good girl, my Suki, always straight-As, so sensible) and suddenly it seems there is magic in the air, so instead of waiting for Casey by the girls’ bathroom, Suki moves through the press of sweaty bodies, hope stirring: maybe it is her turn for a fairy tale, even if Dillon barely knows who she is, despite being in math together since middle school…and now it is happening, she is finally speaking to him, heart racing as she leans in because of the loud music – but maybe he is also leaning in, a little? – yes, he is; she can taste the sliver of air between them, lips almost brushing, all the way up to the moment when he pulls away, more surprised than disgusted (but it amounts to the same thing, really), and then there is Casey saying Suki what happened, are you ok? and the prick of tears and, trampled underfoot, a pulpy mess of crepe streamers.

Karen Baumgart lives in Australia and adores beautiful quotes, pink things, cats and chai lattes. She used to be an English teacher, and is quite certain that writing is, indeed, the best therapy. Instagram: @miss.cake.girl Bluesky: @cake-girl.bsky.social Twitter / X: @cake_girl_

Read more from Karen:

Wensum – ‘Pretend but Feels Like Real‘
The Welkin Writing Prize – ‘You Say When the Rain Comes, it Will Be a Message From God‘