AS SOON WE’RE BACK IN the limo, Nick whips a flask out of some secret jacket pocket. I couldn’t be less surprised.
He swigs it and passes it to Anna, and I just sit there, stiff-shouldered, thinking: here’s why I don’t do school dances. I know exactly how tonight will play out. Everyone will get sloppy drunk, and then they’ll talk about how drunk they are, and then they’ll beg me to drink, too. Because it’s proooom night. Because I should just try it, just a sip. Drunk people are basically zombies. Once they’re infected, they want to take you down with them. Seriously, even my friends are like that, and we’re supposed to be the nerds. Fuck that.
“Leah?” Garrett nudges the flask toward me.
I pass it straight to Bram, who then passes it straight to Simon, who passes it to Abby, and then Morgan, and I notice with a start that no one’s actually drinking it. So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is just a Nick thing.
As soon as the flask returns to Nick, he tilts his head back and chugs it. Then he makes a huge scene out of smiling at everyone except Abby. Simon catches my eye and raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head slightly. I love Nick to pieces, but this is cringe central. And prom hasn’t even started yet.
The sun’s just starting to set as we pull into the Chattahoochee Nature Center, but people are already streaming across the parking lot in groups of two and three and ten. There’s a whole line of limos parked at the curb, and it’s just so Shady Creek. My side-eye is so intense, I should be walking sideways to compensate.
Of course, the first person I see is Martin Addison—in a powder blue tux, hair gelled like a helmet. He’s walking next to Maddie, formerly of student council and currently known as the Nutcracker—ever since she punched David Silvera in the balls for beating her in the school election. I couldn’t have picked a better date for Martin if I’d tried. I’m about to snark about it to Simon, but then I spot the pavilion—and my heart catches in my throat.
Okay, yes: prom is stupid.
But everything’s lit with twinkle lights, and the hanging white curtains seem to glow against the sunset. There are giant rented speakers blasting a song I don’t recognize, but it has the most perfect thudding bass, like a heartbeat. The effect is somehow otherworldly. It doesn’t feel like this space could have anything to do with Creekwood High School, but Creekwood people are everywhere—on the paths, by the aviary, seated at picnic tables on the grass.
There are stairs that lead straight down to the pavilion, but I veer off onto the side path instead. It’s still strange, walking in a gown. It swishes around my feet with every step I take. But at least I don’t trip. Thank God for combat boots.
“Hey.” I feel a nudge.
Of course, it’s Abby, sidling up to me so closely, our arms almost touch. I feel a two-punch in my gut: flutter and yoink. I could easily grab her hand. I could lace my fingers through hers, and no one would think anything of it, because straight girls hold hands all the time. Especially at dances. They hold hands and take cheek-kissing selfies and sit sideways on benches with their feet in each other’s laps. I could honestly just—
“This is really cool,” Abby says, jolting me back to earth. She’s peering around, wide-eyed, taking everything in. All along the path, there are screened-in enclosures—habitats for birds of prey, mostly. She pauses in front of one. “Is this an owl? Is there an owl at our prom?”
And yup. It’s an actual owl, staring unblinking and motionless as we cut down the path. As if this wasn’t already the weirdest prom ever.
“Insert Harry Potter reference here,” I say.
She grins. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
We end up reaching the end of the path just as Simon and Bram step off the staircase. “Fancy meeting you here,” Abby says.
I realize with a start that they’re holding hands. Like the real kind of hand-holding, not the ready-to-spring-apart-at-any-moment kind. And they both look so sweetly self-conscious about it, even though you can tell they’re trying to be super casual.
“So, do we just walk in?” Bram asks.
Abby shrugs. “I think so.”
Already, there’s a crowd of people milling around the dance floor, even though no one’s really dancing yet. But there’s an emcee working the crowd, pumping his fist up and bellowing, “ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?”
“This is literally junior and senior prom,” says Simon.
“I can’t hear you. ARE THERE ANY SEEEEEEEEEEEENIORS IN THA HOUUUUSE?”
“Does he realize he’s white?” Abby asks.
But everyone screams and howls in response, and it’s completely surreal. Under the pavilion, the lights are dim and tinted orange in a way that makes people’s skin seem to glow. I catch a glimpse of white in my periphery, which turns out to be Taylor in a full-on glide. Evidently, she’s decided to wear Kate Middleton’s wedding dress to prom.
“Is she . . . ?” Abby asks.
“Yup.”
“Wow.”
We exchange grins.
“Taylor, don’t ever change,” I say.
Then Garrett appears at my side. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you, Burke.”
Right. My date.
“Want to dance? I’m ready to dance.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.” He takes my hand. “Come on, I love this song.”
“Um. Really?” The deejay’s playing some wordless techno song that sounds exactly like robots having sex.
“I mean, the lyrics are genius.”
I peek at his face, and all at once, I realize: he’s nervous. I don’t know if that’s really clicked for me until now. But he’s smiling too widely and scratching the back of his neck, and a part of me just wants to hug the poor kid. Or hand him a beer. He just needs to relax.
I let him take my hand and tug me to the dance floor, right up front, near the emcee. “YO YO YO. ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THA HOUUUUUUUUUUSE?” Suddenly, there’s a microphone in my face.
“Yes,” I say flatly.
“Say it louder for my peeps in the back! ONE MORE TIME. ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?!”
“Yes, we’ve established that there are seniors in the house,” I say into the mic. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Abby giggling.
“Come on. We’re dancing.” Garrett tugs me closer, his hands finding my waist.
“Are we really slow dancing to this random techno song?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes a little, but my hands settle onto his shoulders. And then we sway. There’s barely anyone dancing—people are mostly just hovering around the dance floor—and it’s hard to shake the feeling that everyone’s watching me. I think self-consciousness is in my bones.
But then the song changes to Nicki Minaj, which seems to flip the switch. People storm the dance floor. I disentangle from Garrett and end up pressed up between Simon and Bram. And—okay—other than the musicals, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon dance. But he’s pure Muppet. He’s basically bobbing up and down and shuffling his feet—and as stiff as he is, Bram’s even worse. I grin up at both of them, and Simon takes my hands and twirls me. I feel almost breathless.
I guess all the teen movies were right: prom is slightly, slightly magical. There’s just something about being crammed onto a dance floor with all your friends, surrounded by twinkle lights and dressed up like movie stars. Simon grins down at me and bumps his hip against mine. Then he grabs Abby’s hands and they spin together in circles. Bram and Garrett are attempting some kind of shoulder swerve, and I’m pretty sure Martin Addison’s reeling in the Nutcracker like a fish.
“ARE THERE ANY SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENIORS IN THE HOWOWOWOWOWSE?”
“YES, WE’RE SENIORS!” Abby yells. Then she catches me looking and shoots me a bashful grin.
The song changes again, the beat thumping softly, and everyone crowds in a little closer. Simon grabs my hand and lifts it, and suddenly, I’m stretching both arms skyward, smiling with my eyes closed. And it’s exactly the feeling I get when I’m drumming. I’m caught up in the music—just totally lost to it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so weightless.
Until it smacks me like a cannonball: all of this is ending.
Holy shit. We’re graduating. We have—what—five weeks of normalcy, and then the whole world resets. Intellectually, I’ve always known things would be different after graduation. That’s just life.
But I guess it’s finally hitting me—the magnitude of this change. I don’t think I’ve looked it in the eye until this moment.
“I miss you,” I say to Simon.
“WHAT?”
“I MISS YOU!”
I mean. Fuck everything. I already miss them. I miss Simon and Bram and Nick and Garrett and Nora and Anna and even Morgan. It already hurts.
“GOD, I MISS YOU, TOO,” Simon yells, smiling—and just when I think he doesn’t get it at all, he flings his arms around me tightly and leans close to my ear. “You know I’m going to lose my mind without you, right?”
“Me too,” I say softly, leaning into his chest.