GARRETT’S EXACTLY ON TIME, AND I step out onto the front stoop to meet him. He looks at me, opens his mouth, and shuts it. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless.
“Holy shit, Burke,” he says finally.
“Holy shit, Laughlin.” I tug the end of my hair.
I guess I do feel kind of pretty. Now that I’m dressed, the hair totally works, and I’ve got the rosy cheeks thing and the smoky eye thing and the freckled shoulder thing all happening at once. And as it turns out, my boots are the exact same shade of gold as my cat purse. So, that’s a thing that’s happening. I’m wearing combat boots to prom.
Garrett just stares at my mouth. I guess I’m glad he’s not staring at my boobs.
He gives me a bone-white corsage for my wrist, and Mom helps me pin a boutonniere to the lapel of his tux. Then she herds us outside the house for the photo shoot from hell. It doesn’t help that Garrett has no clue where his hands go. First he hooks his arm around my waist—then my shoulders—then back around my waist. I half expect him to whip out his phone to consult Google on the issue.
When it’s finally time to go, he opens the car door for me—and it’s honestly super weird to be wearing a prom dress in Garrett’s mom’s minivan. Garrett’s as quiet tonight as I’ve ever seen him. I can’t help but steal a few glances at his profile.
“You clean up nicely, Garrett,” I say finally. And it’s true. Garrett’s so annoying half the time that it’s hard to remember he’s handsome. But he is. He’s got a nice jawline and thick hair, and those bright blue eyes.
“So do you,” he says. “Really.” For a moment, he’s quiet. “Are you excited for prom?”
“I guess?”
“You guess? I love your enthusiasm, Burke.”
“Wait, let me try again.” I clear my throat. “I guess, exclamation point.”
He laughs. “Much better.”
I look at him and smile, but I feel this quiet smack of guilt. Because Garrett really is so funny and decent. He’d probably be a great boyfriend. He’s just not for me.
And I should probably tell him that. Hey, Garrett. Just a heads-up! All that movie prom stuff you’re picturing? Isn’t happening. There will be no choreographed dance. No longing eye contact. Definitely no smoochy prom kiss.
Hey, Garrett. I’m sort of painfully in love with someone else.
At least I finally get the point of tuxedos. They make boys 75 percent cuter. And it’s not just Garrett—it’s all of them. I almost die when I see Nick, Simon, and Bram.
Currently, Simon, Bram, Nora, and Cal are enduring an epic photo shoot with the parents. Nick’s sitting alone on the stoop, tapping his fingers on the edge of the bricks. But Anna runs straight toward me, Morgan trailing behind. And because I’ve turned into an actual cliché, I jump straight into the whole routine. Oh my God, I love your dress! Oh my God, are you so excited?
Anna looks too cute. She really does. She’s wearing a two-piece gown with just a hint of tummy showing, and her hair is pinned up and braided. Anna and Morgan are both really tiny, and sometimes when I’m around them, I feel like the Hulk.
But no.
Because my brain can shut up, for fucking once. Hello, brain: please let me feel beautiful.
I think I actually do. Feel beautiful.
Morgan shoots me a cautious smile. “You look so gorgeous, Leah.”
I freeze. I should have prepared for this. I knew I’d have to be around her. But I kept putting that out of my mind. She did apologize. And Abby forgives her. I mean, that’s something.
“Thanks,” I say. “So do you.”
“Can we talk?” she asks softly.
It’s strange. I keep going back to what Anna said—that maybe I’ve blown this situation up to make the good-bye feel smaller. I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit. Morgan fucked up all on her own. It’s not like I asked her to be racist so I’d miss her less.
“Okay,” I say finally. I glance back at the dogwood, where Simon’s dad is zooming in for awkward close-ups of Nora’s and Cal’s faces. I gesture vaguely at the road. “Over there?”
“That works.”
There’s this weird, taut silence as we walk down the driveway. I tug my skirt forward and settle onto the curb. Morgan’s eyes keep flicking toward me, like she’s waiting for me to speak. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to feel.
She leans back on her hands and sighs. “So, I apologized to Abby.”
“I heard.”
For a minute, we both sit there, looking anywhere but at each other.
“I fucked up,” she says finally. “I can’t believe I said what I said. I feel so shitty about it.”
“You should.”
“I know.” She shuts her eyes. “I know. Like, yeah, I was upset. I was so—God, I can’t even explain what that felt like. Getting rejected.”
“But that’s not an excuse, Morgan.”
“Oh, I know. It’s not. It not okay. Like, I call myself an ally.” She exhales. “But then the second it gets personal, it all flies out the window. I’ll never forget that I said that.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t have to forgive me. I get that. I just wanted you to know I’m so fucking sorry. I’m going to do better.”
I glance at her sidelong. Her lips are pressed together, and her brows are knitted tightly. She’s so painfully sincere. It’s written all over her face.
But secondhand forgiveness is so messy. I never know where to land. If Abby’s over it, should I be? If Simon forgives Martin, should I forgive him, too?
I open my mouth to speak. I don’t even know what I’m about to say.
Before I can say anything, Garrett appears. “Hey, so the limo guy’s around the corner. Has anyone heard from Abby?”
“Oh, she’s not here yet?” I cringe as soon as I say it. I’m even worse than Taylor. Abby’s not here yet? Wow, I totally didn’t notice! It’s not like I’ve been obsessively scanning the road for her car!
God. What if she skips prom? What if she can’t handle the awkwardness? I should text her. Just to check in. I even start to pull my phone out of my purse. But just the thought of it makes my heart sink. What would I even say?
Eventually, Simon drifts over, hooking an arm around my shoulders. “Okay, Abby’s almost here—she’s stuck in traffic. We should go ahead and do group pictures, though. We’ll just do the guys first.” Then he leans in and whispers straight in my ear. “You look amazing.”
“Pshh.”
“I’m just saying.”
“So do you.”
He grins and tugs my hair, and then he collects Garrett for pictures. Cal’s already left with Nora, but Simon’s dad lines the rest of the guys up under the dogwood tree. They’re quite a squad—I’m not going to lie. They look like a boy band. Garrett’s easily the tallest, so Mr. Spier puts him in the middle, with Bram and Simon on one side and Nick on the other. They’re all doing the prom dude pose with their hands clasped near their crotches while Simon’s mom frantically snaps pictures. It’s pretty amazing.
But I’ve got one eye on the road, and every time a car approaches, my heart starts pounding. I know she’s almost here, but it feels like that moment won’t ever arrive. Time is dragging so slowly, and everything’s blurry and dreamlike. I try to focus on the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. Anything to keep me centered. I feel like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon.
Then Abby’s car pulls up, and my whole brain clicks into place. Her mom turns into Simon’s driveway, and Abby slides out of the passenger seat, gripping her skirt in one hand and holding a clutch in the other.
She lets her skirt fall.
And fuck my life forever.
She looks like a cloud. Or a ballerina. Her whole dress is pale blue tulle, light as air, with straps crossed neatly between her shoulder blades. Her hair is pinned up loosely, her bangs swept to the side, and her lips and cheeks are soft and pink. It’s too much. I swear to God. This girl is too much, and I’m way too far gone.
She looks at me, and her eyes flare wide. Wow, she mouths.
For a moment, I just stare at her. Twenty-four hours ago, I was yelling at her on a football field, and now she’s grinning at me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or gutted. Like, come on: you’re not even going to be awkward about that? Not even a little?
I’m jolted back to earth by Simon’s mom, who sidles between Abby and me, clapping her hands together. “Your paparazzi awaits.” She’s wearing an oversized red T-shirt that says, in giant black letters, FEAR THE SQUIRREL.
“Why should we fear the squirrel?” I ask.
“Because,” she says. And then she turns around to show off the back of her shirt. Which has a picture of a squirrel and the words HAVERFORD MOM.
“Their mascot is a squirrel?” asks Abby.
I catch Simon’s eye across the driveway. Bram knows? I mouth.
He tilts his head, looking confused.
I take out my phone and text him. Bram knows about Haverford?
Simon pulls his phone out of his back pocket, glances at the screen, and grins. He writes back, He knows. Smiley emoji.
We head over to the dogwood, and Simon’s dad arranges us for pictures. Peak awkwardness. I don’t know if Simon’s parents are clueless or if they’re messing with me, but they seem determined to place me between Abby and Garrett in every. Fucking. Picture. Except the ones where I’m supposed to stand by Morgan. “Huddle up close, guys. Act like you like each other.”
How do parents do this? How do they always manage to say true things without knowing they’re true?
Mr. Spier is just about to step in it by demanding a couples’ shot of Nick and Abby—but Simon heads it off at the pass, and then the limo pulls up. I slide in between Garrett and Nick while Simon’s mom pokes her head in to snap more pictures.
The inside of the limo is essentially a strip club. Not that I’ve actually been inside a strip club. But there are seats on both sides, and a thin, fluorescent stripe along the wall, like a color-changing glow stick. And there’s a minibar—with bottles of water instead of booze. But still. I feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Like a Kardashian, or Beyoncé. I don’t want to look out the windows, or I’ll remember we’re in Shady Creek.
“I bet people think we’re famous,” says Simon.
“I mean, that’s what I’d assume, seeing a limo full of high school kids rolling through the suburbs in April,” Abby says. “Definitely a film premiere.”
“Or the Oscars,” chimes Bram.
“Couldn’t be prom.”
“Shut up.” Simon grins and elbows both of them at once.
Then Garrett stretches and—honest to God—slips his arm behind my shoulders. Master of subtlety. I scoot forward, just an inch. Far enough to put a little space between us, but not far enough for anyone to notice.
Except Abby notices. She raises her eyebrows, almost imperceptibly, and shoots me a tiny, secret smile.
And yeah.
Holy shit.
This is going to be quite a night.