I shouldn’t have doubted her.
My feet begin to move faster.
I shouldn’t have thought the worst.
I trip, but I right myself. I start taking longer strides.
She deserves better than that.
She deserves better.
I don’t realize that I’m running until my lungs begin to burn and sweat prickles my forehead, but I don’t stop. I’ve run for the last month around this minuscule town. I always ran while she was there, I ran to get away, I ran so I wouldn’t have to deal with her.
I know the irony now that I’m running toward her.
I don’t want to miss her—I can’t. There are so many things I have done wrong in my life so far, and so many things I never bothered to apologize for, or fix. But I want to start.
At the next cross street, I find her school. When I think of American high schools, I imagine something along the lines of Riverdale or Gossip Girl or—I hate to admit it—Seaside Cove.
Rosie’s high school is nothing of the sort. It is a sprawling brick building with trailers out back for more classrooms, I suspect, and a breezeway that links to the local technology center. The gymnasium is near the back of the campus, towering like some blocky colossal god, the mural of a pouncing wildcat painted on its front, but tonight there is a banner blocking most of the mural, fluttering above the entrance to the gym, that reads GARDEN OF MEMORIES, which, I suppose, is this year’s theme.
How bloody kitschy.
The parking lot is packed with autos. Students make their way to the front of the gymnasium in everything from chinos to boat shorts to tuxes, and I feel as though I have been slightly punked, since I am wearing none of those. All of these people should make my skin itch, but I barely notice them.
I barely care that they stare at me as I race up the steps to the front of the gymnasium, my hair sticking to my sweaty neck. After I catch my breath, I right myself and adjust my jacket. It’s the first time I’ve worn anything other than shorts and a hoodie in a month and a half, and I feel weirdly exposed in a formfitting tux.
This feels like a scene from one of Rosie’s books, except—despite Imogen’s insistence—I’m not sure if Amara is waiting inside.
“TICKET?” THE BORED PARENT at the table in front of the gym asks, and I hand her one. Mine. She tears off the admittance side and hands it back to me, and Quinn and Annie hand her their tickets. A soft pop-rock beat thuds through the doors into the gymnasium, and I hesitate at the threshold.
Garrett’s going to be in there. I know he is, and I’m going to have to face him alone—
Annie and Quinn loop their arms through mine.
“Ready?” Annie asks.
I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
And with my two best friends on my arms, I step into Homecoming. The three of us, together. Which, come to think of it, is probably how I should’ve gone to Homecoming to begin with. The theme for this year is Garden of Memories, and the best memories I’ve ever had are with my best friends. Like a good bra, they lift me up to stand tall.
The gym is dark and there are cutouts of hedges circling the bleachers, where a few other people who also came alone sit. I don’t see Garrett anywhere, and for the moment I’m so glad my chest burns. The lights pulse with the beat of the DJ on the stage, and parents line the edges of the dance floor.
Dad’s talking with another chaperone, and I wave at him. He smiles, happy, and mouths, You look killer.
I smile back, even though all of these people are beginning to make my skin prickle.
I’m not really the dancing sort of person. This isn’t my scene at all. There’s a reason why I escaped the ExcelsiCon Ball when I could. There are too many people, and too-loud music. My friends must notice my discomfort, because Quinn squeezes my hand.
“Do you need to go?” they mouth.
I shake my head. No, not until I see Quinn crowned. I can last that long. So Annie and Quinn lead me out onto the dance floor, even though I can feel that some people are staring—how many of them went online last night to look up the lies on TMZ? The video? The hot takes about how I was coerced into working for Vance Reigns? I want to tell them all that he isn’t like that; that yes, he sometimes makes some very stupid mistakes, but he wants to get better—and why can’t people let him?
If you aren’t allowed to grow, then what’s the point of changing at all?
Even after all of this, I believe that. Not that he has a chance in hell with me now, but you know, it’s the thought that counts. If I ever see him again I’m going to punch him right in the—
“Ooh, I love this song!” Annie shouts at us, and shimmies in her purple dress. I’m terrible at dancing, and I mostly just weave back and forth, but my best friends take me by my hands and spin me around, and I find myself laughing at it all. Because the last few months have been so incredibly confusing. I fell in love with a boy in a mask whose name I didn’t know. I was asked to Homecoming by one of the most popular guys in school because he felt sorry for me. I fought my way into a Starfield library. I destroyed a nearly priceless book. My best friend decided to run for Homecoming Overlord. I became friends with the most notorious bad boy of the internet.
And he gave me back a piece of my mother I thought was lost forever.
If this is where this chapter ends, I wouldn’t really mind, because now I know I have plenty more chapters to write. I thought my story ended when my mom died—because I didn’t think there was a book without her.
Because I know it was just the ending of a chapter. It was the close of part one. Even though Mom is gone, she’s still in every word of my story, because hers lives on in me. It lives on in the books that she read, and the ones she shared, and the people she met. Like mine will. There is a whole universe out there waiting to tell our stories. And for the first time since she left, life doesn’t feel like the end of a sentence. It feels like a prologue, and I have my two best friends beside me to follow wherever that adventure takes me.
And that, I decide, is what my college application essay will be about.
After the next song, the music quiets, and the principal climbs onto the stage with a bunch of note cards. She clears her throat and leans into the microphone. “Hello, students, I’m glad to see you all here tonight. Go, Wildcats!”
The student body cheers.
“Now’s the announcement you’ve all been waiting for—it’s time to announce our Homecoming King and Queen!”
Everyone cheers. I take Quinn by their hand and squeeze it tightly. They squeeze back. “Just so you know,” I whisper, “even if Garrett wins, you’re still Homecoming Overlord to me.”
The principal opens the letter. “And our Homecoming King and Queen are…”