End‑of‑year season. Celebration mode is everywhere, and the school’s hallways are buzzing with decorations, cringy celebrity quotes, “original” themes, and paper streamers hanging from the ceiling that hit me in the face before dissolving into my water bottle and sticking to the bottom of my shoe for the rest of the day.
Getting ready for my first Homecoming (HOCO) started the moment I bought the ticket. It became a friend’s group chat emergency: Did everyone else get theirs? What were the dresses? Were we going long, short, sparkly, dramatic, or “my mom approved this under protest”?
My HOCO prep was memorable.
The dress hunt was the first thing on my list. My mom got so excited for my first dance that she basically ordered thousands of Nordstrom dresses to our house. Boxes kept arriving almost daily, and every time my dad checked the price tag, his soul would leave his body a little. None of the dresses fit, unfortunately. So I finally went in person and found the most beautiful short silver dress with golden details. Total Zendaya energy.
Total Zendaya energy. (Image: Isabella Akalin / Seattle’s Child)
Then came the search for a date. I have a friend from kindergarten; we grew up together, shared snacks, survived group projects, had years of playdates, and stayed close throughout middle and high school. He goes to a different school than mine, so I was careful to ask if he would come to HOCO with me, not as a date, just as my friend.
And… he said, “I think going together is more of a dating thing.” Which in teen world means “nah.” What could I say? My kindergarten glue‑eating buddy was clearly not my HOCO fable. So I decided to go with six friends instead of one “pair.” By far the best upgrade ever.
Next, hair and makeup. My mom took one look at my very long, wavy hair and decided she did not trust herself with it, so I ended up getting both hair and makeup done professionally. I loved the whole “glam” feeling, so different from my usual sneakers‑and‑jeans self, whose hair is either freshly wind‑styled or shoved into a ponytail on days when PE makes me run in circles.
I had my hair done in soft waves; I didn’t even know it could look so good. Makeup was another full production. I had my face covered in layers of cream/base/highlighter, smoky cat eyes, blush cheeks to look like I came from Hawaii, and my lips were basically glued together with lots of gloss used to achieve “shine.” But somehow, it all came together. I felt so beautiful, and after a few minutes, my face even adjusted to the near‑concrete sensation.
I loved feeling “glam,” so different from my usual sneakers and jeans,(Image: Isabella Akalin / Seattle’s Child)
I finally came home from hair and makeup, had dinner, and brushed my teeth, terrified of removing even a square millimeter of the plaster holding my face together. Time to get dressed. My mom helped me with high heels and my tight silver dress, a bold choice for someone who likes breathing. I over‑sprayed my favorite perfume and was ready to roll.
The excitement I felt in the car was surreal. My first high-school dance! I imagined everyone happy, sharp, and ready to party. I pictured a mini‑Las Vegas waiting for us, blinking lights, neon necklaces, music spilling into the parking lot.
I finally arrived at school. It was dark… Pitch-black dark! The only light came from the parked cars’ headlights. For a moment, I thought, “Wow! A haunted‑mansion theme!” And that’s when the school’s principal appeared wearing a reflective vest and an expression that said he’d rather jump into an active volcano than deliver the news: due to a power outage, HOCO was canceled.
CANCELED!
Yes. My first HOCO never happened! What a plot twist! After months of excitement, being attacked by ceiling streamers, trying on thousands of dresses, and practically gluing my lips shut with gloss, it was over before it began.
Driving back home was brutal. I removed my dress and makeup under hot tears and a sobbing mountain of tissues. My friends and I had a two‑hour emergency FaceTime session, crying and laughing like overcaffeinated juniors in emotional meltdown. My night was drowned in chocolate dessert and movie. But luckily, my HOCO story had a sequel…
Three months later, I got a second chance when the school hosted a makeup HOCO, which meant recreating the getting‑ready tale and having all these feelings in the car again. Second HOCO was way more fun than I expected, with colorful lights, neon necklaces, dancing, badminton, yummy food, and photos. The night felt like everything I hoped my first HOCO would be.
More from Teen Columnist Isabella Akalin
Want more of Isabella’s take on teen life? Read her other columns on navigating high school, family, and finding your passions:
- My embarrassing parents are kind of the best — A funny, relatable look at surviving those cringeworthy parent moments (and why they might not be so bad after all).
- How I discovered a passion for marine biology — Isabella shares how curiosity, science, and hands-on experiences inspired her dream of studying the ocean.
