I want to say that she didn’t overshare and that I’d know what that looks like because I always do it. I want to say I’m glad she trusts me enough to tell me this, even if I already knew, more or less. I want to say that I wish I could’ve met Tori but also that I kind of hate her but also that I hate Dani even more. I want to ask what it felt like to realize a girl’s lips could be just as nice as a boy’s, that for some people maybe they all taste the same when your eyes are closed, and to know if it was scary or exciting or felt like scratching a bug bite after everyone told you not to.
Mostly, I want to ask if it was worth it. If that small moment between her and a girl who she shared beds and rings and nightmares with was worth losing the version of herself that her family had in mind from the time she was young, to let who she really was breathe for a minute or two.
But all I do is tighten my short ponytail and smile like the periods behind everything I ever thought about myself aren’t slowly being replaced by question marks. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”
ELEVEN
Sammie, Ags, Wesley, and I get to school early to either congratulate or comfort Lindsay on Monday. I’m hoping it’ll be the former. And not just because Agatha already printed out campaign posters and asked me to check them out post–jewelry shopping after school. Anything to stay out of the house and away from my mom.
The official ballot for prom court is being announced via our class Twitter account before homeroom, so we’ve been refreshing our feeds nonstop for the past ten minutes. Lindsay, whose default outfit is yoga pants and a cropped jersey, is wearing a blue sundress that I’m half convinced belongs to one of her sisters. That alone is enough to tell me this isn’t just about pleasing Agatha anymore; she wants this.
“Oh my God, it’s up!” Agatha screams. Lindsay gasps and reaches for Ags’s phone. Their eyes race across the screen. “You made it!” Ags grabs Linds, and they start jumping up and down together, chanting, “Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!”
Danica Peters passes by, eyes downcast. I guess winning Best Hair doesn’t guarantee a shot at winning prom queen. If it’s any consolation, the video she posted on Instagram over the weekend of Freddy Santos serenading her with an old Beatles song was the cutest promposal I’ve seen this year so far.
“Did we miss it?” Zaq says as he and Talia walk over. He shuts his notebook when he catches me trying to look at the open drawing, a flash of red nails catching my eye.
“You are looking at future prom royalty!” Agatha motions dramatically to Lindsay who, to my surprise, strikes a pose and flips her hair.
“Congrats!” Talia reaches out and gently rests her hand on Lindsay’s arm. I feel goose bumps break out on my own.
“All right, that does it,” Agatha says, beaming brighter than her neon yellow babydoll dress. “Screw our plans, O. We are all getting celebratory pizza after school. Wesley is paying.” Wesley blushes and rolls his eyes.
“I actually have plans today,” he says shyly, despite the sassy eye roll.
“I’ll take you, Linds,” Sammie says, speaking up after standing on the sidelines for most of the debacle. “My treat.”
Lindsay smiles as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and first-period bell rings. The two of them walk ahead of us while Talia waves goodbye and Zaq comforts what looks like a jealous Wesley.
Agatha sidles up next to me, hooking her arm through mine. “Guess I’m not getting free pizza today.” I console her with promises to buy her some at the mall as we make our way to homeroom.
* * *
On our way to chemistry, Wesley and I are in the middle of a riveting debate about what color we hope our grad robes will be—my vote is white and his is black—when I see Lucas waiting outside. He nods when he sees us approaching.
Wesley looks between me and Lucas quickly. “Do you want to talk to him?” he asks under his breath.
“Yeah,” I say. “Go ahead. I’ll be in in a second.” I walk over to Lucas with butterflies in my stomach.
“Hey,” Lucas says casually, like we ran into each other at the mall instead of outside a class we’ve shared all year. “I heard about Lindsay getting on the prom ballot. Tell her congrats.”
I adjust my backpack on my shoulder, careful not to accidentally yank down the embroidered neckline of my blouse. “I’ll let her know.” Given how much my friends still hate Lucas, I’ll be passing his congratulations on to Linds privately.
We stand in awkward silence for a moment, his brown eyes too heavy on my slowly heating face. I remind myself that I’ve kissed this boy, plenty of times, so talking to him shouldn’t have me this flustered. But the memory of his lips and hands on me just makes my cheeks blaze hotter.
“Wild how soon we’re graduating, huh?” he says, brushing locks of his light hair from his face with calloused hands. I nod. “Puts shit in perspective, you know? Like, I’m guessing you don’t have a date for prom yet, so I was thinking…” He pauses to pop a vape pen into his mouth and exhale a white cloud.
I cough and wave my hands, lungs suddenly full of sickly sweet smoke. That draws Mrs. Waitley’s attention, and she steps outside just as the last of the vapor dissipates. She sniffs the air once. “If you two would care to join us, we have a lot to cover today.”
“Sure thing, miss,” Lucas replies, fist tight around his vape. He motions for me to enter first, pocketing the pen. I take my seat and try to catch Lucas’s eye before he takes his, but he doesn’t look my way.
“How was your chat with Lucas?” Wesley asks as he stops doodling what looks like Lindsay on the corner of his notes.
“I—I think he may have been trying to ask me to prom.”
* * *
I feel Agatha’s eyes on me as I flick a pair of silver hoops in the jewelry section at the mall’s secondhand store.
“What?” I finally ask, nearly knocking over the display as I turn.
“Ah, so you are in a bad mood.”
“Is it too late to change your major to psych?”
“Okay.” She cocks her head. “A really bad mood.”
I turn back to the jewelry, plucking a pair of chunky plastic earrings shaped like pink lips. “These would match your shoes.”
“Distracting me with fashion,” she says as she takes them from me. She holds them up to her face in a mirror. “Smart move. But not smart enough to make me forget about your weirdness at lunch.”
“I’m fine.”
“Tamara Wilks asked Richard Baelish to prom via mini-flashmob during their sex-ed presentation in second period.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes! And I already told you this at lunch! See? You’re being weird.” She hands me back the earrings, shaking her head. “Too flashy. I need something more understated.”
“You’re wearing a Marilyn Monroe replica dress; I think you’re beyond understated,” I reply, but keep looking. We scan for a few minutes, me in silence and Ags softly humming along to the pop song playing overhead.
I’m about to quit and suggest we hit up the next store when I spot them. “Ags!” I call as I grab the earrings and hide them behind my back, pulling them out once she’s close enough for a dramatic reveal.
“Oh, I’ve taught you so well.” She takes the earrings from me, thick faux pearl studs lacquered in hot pink glitter. “They’re perfect—let’s go.” She tosses something I barely catch as she turns for the register.
I open my hands and see a pair of silver chandelier earrings, sparkling iridescently in the fluorescent mall lighting. They match my dress and shoes perfectly. She’s good.
* * *