I whisper “No worries, I’ll hold on to this and give it back to you guys on Monday.” I smile. “Have fun, dance. You deserve it.”
I walk out the school’s doors the same way I’d come in. Just me. There’s a figure waiting by my car. I squint under the bright lights of the parking lot. Sean. I squeeze the bag tighter under my arm, lift my dress slightly and pick up my pace. My clutch purse smacks my hip with each stride. And then I don’t care anymore so I run. At least this time I’m not running away.
Sean’s lips curve into a smile. “Hey, Prom Queen.”
“Hey,” I say trying to catch my breath.
“So, I know it’s last minute and everything but I was hoping you’d have room in your car. Maybe I could get a ride?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. I try to hold back a grin as I click the doors unlocked.
Sean lifts the keys from my hand. “Can you wait a second?”
“Okay,” I say as he leans into the driver’s side and starts my car.
Armies of butterfly wings flutter in my chest as he turns the volume up on my radio. A song I’ve never heard hits the air and even though I don’t know the words, they’re beautiful, romantic, and absolutely perfect.
Sean grabs Anne and Tera’s shopping bag and my purse, tosses them into the car and pulls me into his arms. “Got your note. I missed you too.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I reach up and wipe a smudge of blood from his cheek.
“Me too.” He looks me in the eyes and there’s a silver blur of myself shimmering in his.
I feel myself drowning deeper into his eyes more than I ever have before. My chest swells with relief, and a million tiny shards of emotion I can’t name. The fabric of his tux brushing against me and the smell of sandalwood from his collar raise the hairs on my arms. I shiver myself closer into his chest.
Sean’s hand brushes over my hair and across my jawline, cupping my chin. His lips part. “I love you like crazy.”
“I love you like crazy too.” I push my lips onto his and I’m warm, enveloped in him, in us, and in the feeling that everything is right.
Our kiss deepens and lasts until his lips move from my mouth to my ear.
He whispers, “How about that last dance?”
EPILOGUE
With the early morning sun lighting my way, I step through a maze of tombstones and markers to find her gravesite. I kneel, laying my purse down and arranging the yellow roses above the inscription on the grave marker. My finger traces the grooves in the cement that spell out her name. May Louise Morgan. I close my eyes.
It’s too late but now I know you—better than you did. Because you thought you couldn’t make it. I say you could have. You would’ve made it. You made it through so much already. You were a survivor. You were surviving. That means something. You only had a couple months to get out of here. You could’ve moved far away. You would’ve gone to college or not gone, you could’ve done whatever you wanted to do, Maisey. Become some great teacher or writer or lawyer. Anything. Met someone who didn’t know you from Belmont High, someone who’d never believe that once upon a high school, people used to treat you like shit. And maybe some day you would’ve told your story to girls like you, like Jane, and girls like me. And not everyone would’ve listened. But some would’ve. You would’ve made a difference.
I’m sorry.
My eyes open and tears fall onto her grave marker. I see her face again. This time her eyes don’t look so empty. I open my purse and spill its contents onto the stone. I unfold her letter and place it next to the flowers. Chunks and specks of gold crown, broken red and purple gemstone glisten over the stone beneath my knees. I brush and wave my hand over the shimmery pieces, scattering them across her name. The sun’s rays heat my scalp and shine off the crown pieces.
Maisey’s not here to tell her story, but that’s where I come in. I won’t forget her. I have to remember her story. So maybe someday it will reach someone. And it will be enough.
Maisey’s Letter to Bree
Bree Hughes,