I can’t help but wonder why Petra cares anyway, but instead I say, “You’re the one who said I should eliminate anything getting in the way of school. That includes prom.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d really go through with it.”
That makes me scowl harder. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, thanks for the tickets, but honestly, you might as well just throw them in the trash.”
I’m done with the centerpieces, and I start to load them in a box, ignoring the fact that Petra still hasn’t moved. She’s quiet as I finish, stacking the boxes one on top on the other and then sliding them in her direction. As president, she has to deliver them to the venue on prom day.
But I catch sight of the look on her face, contemplative but also maybe a little … devious? “What?”
She looks down at the tickets and smiles. “You know, I haven’t gotten mine yet.”
I reach down and pick up the tickets. “Then take mine. You can pay me back or whatever.” Like I care.
She reaches out for the tickets but then keeps one and extends the other in my direction. “Or we could go together.”
I raise an eyebrow at her, not taking the extended ticket. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugs and the ticket that’s still held out to me waves gently. “I’m talking about the fact that I’m not letting you skip prom because of this valedictorian thing. Either you’re going to make it or I am, and either way, it shouldn’t keep you from every experience senior year has to offer. You only get one prom, and you only get one prom date. So, what do you say? Be my date?”
I reach out slowly and take the corner of the ticket between my fingers. “Why would you want to go with me?” I know Petra has friends, girls that she sits with at lunch and goes out with on the weekends. I’ve seen them together in the halls and at the mall sometimes.
Petra rolls her eyes. “Because we’re friends, you idiot. Meet me outside the doors at eight.” She reaches down, grabs the boxes of centerpieces, and walks out the door.
AMY
IT’S THREE DAYS until prom, and I’m in a department store, searching for a dress I can afford. Since Carlos got a job, I’ve been shoving my paychecks into a shoebox in my closet to save for Stanford—California living isn’t cheap—but I scraped out a little money to pay for a dress, and now I’m wandering around a department store with Mama, Gabi, and Mari. Well, I suppose more accurately, I’m wandering around the store while my sisters run between the racks, yanking on tulle skirts and silk sashes that hang to the ground while Mama chases after them.
“Girls!” she shouts, taking off down a row, and I take the opportunity to duck into the fitting room alone. I have three dresses, one that’s pink, one that’s lavender, and one that’s black and white, and I hang them all on the hook beside me.
I decide to go for the lavender one first. It takes me a second to struggle into it, but when I’m finally zipped in, I stare at myself in the mirror.
The dress is perfect.
But I feel wrong.
I’m supposed to be excited.
But I’m not excited. I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep, and I don’t have any energy, and every time I close my eyes, I see the devastated twist of Oliver’s mouth when he asked if he was only a distraction.
The song on the speakers in the store changes, and my heart ramps up in my ears. I recognize the song immediately, feel the way my body responds to it within seconds of the opening notes playing. It’s the Ed Sheeran song that Oli and I kissed to all those weeks ago, sitting on top of the counter, pressed together like there was no tomorrow.
I should have known then. I should have known this would happen. I could feel the dread of it in my stomach the morning after, when I woke in my bed and realized that Oliver might feel something real for me. I should have listened to my gut. I should have let Oliver go on in peace.
But instead, I ripped him apart.
Now, I’m in a puddle on the dressing room floor crying, and Mama is banging on the door. “Amy!” she shouts. “Baby, let me in!”
But I can’t move. I wrap my arms around myself and press my head to the plastic partition that separates me from the changing room beside me. I can’t hear Mama anymore, but I hear the jangling of keys and then the door flies open.
Mama crouches on the floor beside me, pulling me into her arms, and here in the safety of them, I cry harder.
OLIVER
“A BITE TO eat then?” Dad asks as he climbs into my truck. Ever since that first meeting that I went to with him, he hasn’t asked me to come to another one, but I’ve insisted on driving him to them when I get the chance, just so I know he’s going to them. Maybe it’s not right of me to assume that he’ll cannonball off the wagon if I’m not there to keep him in line, but I don’t feel like I can completely trust him yet, and he must not trust himself too much either because he never protests.
Surprisingly, Dad reaches out through the open window and waves at a few guys standing against the curb, talking while they smoke. I didn’t know he had friends. I’ve never known my dad to have friends other than bartenders.
“Sure,” I say, pulling out of the space I’ve been sitting in for almost half an hour and turning the car toward the lot exit. “But not Charlie’s. If I have to eat there again, I’ll be sick.”
Dad sighs. “Why’d you have to go get a job at my favorite place, huh? There’s about a million cafés in Kansas City.”
He’s shaking his head and hanging his arm out the open window, but I’m still sitting in the parking lot, the truck still in reverse, and my headlights pointed toward the parking lot of the mall. There’s a tiny curving road that loops around the mall, and we’re sitting on the other side of it, my taillights pointed toward Grand Boulevard, where traffic is building up.
And I’m frozen because there she is. Amy. The mall is crowded, the parking lot teeming with people, and she’s walking down a line of cars with her mother and her two little sisters, carrying a plastic-wrapped dress, long and flowing and a shimmering blue color.
A prom dress.
Amy is going to prom.
Does she have a date? Is she going with Jackson? Does she even remember that I’m alive, or has she already forgotten all about me in favor of all the things in her life that aren’t getting in the way of her future?
“Oli?” Dad’s voice catches my attention, and I clear my throat before putting the truck into gear and driving out of the parking lot. But we get stopped at the light leading out to Grand Boulevard, and I can see Amy in the rearview mirror. I clutch the steering wheel when I see Amy’s mother put her arm around her and say something in her ear. Amy’s head is down, and there’s something off about her, something strange in the way she’s standing.
“It’s a green, Oli.”
I push my foot to the gas before I’ve even looked at the light. My hand slips on the gearshift, and we stall. I restart the car amidst the noise of the cars honking behind me and pull onto the road like nothing happened.
Part of me hoped my dad would just let it go, the way he’s always let it go, never really asking me about myself beyond the basics, but he says, “I knew something was off about you lately, but I didn’t think it had to do with a girl.”