Dancing to Dreams At the Cinderella Ball

Gallery

Glam and Glitter at the Cinderella Prom

About 100 participants danced this Saturday in the annual Cinderella Ball, a prom for students with disabilities. At a prom like no other, the labels, insecurities and inhibitions that are ingrained in high school life lost their footing on the dance floor.

» LAUNCH PHOTO GALLERY

Brad Leininger of Woodbridge woke early Saturday to shuttle his wife to the airport. His 16-year-old daughter, Annice, who usually sleeps in, was up when he returned about 7 a.m. She was wearing her floor-length black gown.

"I said, 'Neeci, you have to take it off. You don't want to wrinkle it. You don't want it to get dirty,' " Leininger said.

A few hours later, father and daughter were at the House. Volunteers with curling irons and lip gloss had converted it into a makeshift beauty salon. Sisters Alexandra Velesz, 23, and Victoria Velesz, 18, helped Neeci, who has Down syndrome, fuss over girl stuff.

Once Neeci's nails were pale pink and her eyes had a dusting of shadow, Alexandra Velesz asked, "Do you know how you want us to do your hair?"

"Down," Neeci said.

"Do you want us to curl the back?"

"Oh, yeah."

Just before 6 p.m., U.S. Marines in dress uniform flanked two paths to the Willard doors, holding gleaming swords in an arch as each guest arrived. After a dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans, followed by ice cream and mini cookies, came a motivational speech from Kyle Maynard, who was born without arms below the elbows or legs below the knees. "American Idol" winner Ruben Studdard sang.

Mary Joy Willsher, 22, who will graduate soon from Hylton High, tugged on her father's hand, urgently pulling him into the ballroom as she scanned the tables. She turned to him, a little exasperated, and explained that she was looking for a friend: "A boy!"

It turned out Ben Bittner, a classmate, was that boy. He had been waiting for Mary Joy, who has Down syndrome, to arrive. They sat together at dinner and later danced.

Once the dancing started, Stella put away the computer. She speaks little, but she and Aaron Cardwell, her friend and classmate, seemed to understand each other just fine.

Aaron joked that her "diamonds" were blinding. "The only thing I can say is you outshine me so much," he said.

As Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" started, Randy Hildebrandt, an Air Force officer in dress uniform, whisked his daughter, Caleigh, onto the floor. Holding hands, they danced, her deep purple dress glittering as her wheelchair spun.

"We're going to close the house down," said Caleigh, 14, of Benton Middle School in Manassas.

"That's right," her father said. "We are shutting it down."

Sure enough, they were still going strong just after 10 p.m., when the D.J. announced the night would wrap up with a slow song. Hildebrandt lifted Caleigh, who has spina bifida, from her chair, holding her close for one last father-daughter spin. Across the room, Aaron bent his knees, hunching low. He and Stella danced cheek-to-cheek.