“Do I think you should?” She mocks me, rolling her eyes toward the roof of the car. “Easton, if you don’t go in there and talk to her, I may do it myself. And trust me, you donotwantmeplaying Cupid.”
“That sounds like it would be a nightmare.”
“Damn right I’m a nightmare.” She smirks. “Now go. And don’t worry about me tonight. I can handle myself.”
I hesitate, glancing at the gym, then back at her. “You sure?”
She waves me off, already reaching for her phone and sliding it into her purse. “I’ll be fine. Tyler Fisher owes me a slow dance because I caught him staring at my ass yesterday, and I plan to collect.”
I shake my head, opening my car door and stepping onto the pavement. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“I do. Sorry, not sorry.” She unfolds herself from the car and tosses a wink over her shoulder. “Now quit stalling and go find your girl.”
Go find my girl.
My girl.
I watch my date strut toward the gym entrance as if she were on a runway during Paris Fashion Week, radiating confidence with every step, and for a moment, I realize that Maddie Miller is more real than she gives herself credit for.
She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s a pain in the ass with depth—and a hell of a lot more authenticity than she knows shehas.
With a deep breath, I head toward the gym, heart pounding. Palms sweating.
This is it.
Time to find Harper.
Chapter 36
Harper
This is my senior prom.
So far, so good.
The gym looks like a glitter bomb exploded. The fake chandeliers we hung dangle precariously from the basketball nets and rafters—the decorating committee clearly went bonkers withwaytoo many silver streamers after I left the walk-through.
It feels surreal seeing all the decorations we worked on come to life—the cardboard knights standing guard at the castle facade, each one meticulously painted with gleaming silver armor, bold red crests on their helmets, and swords raised like they’re ready to defend the dance floor.
One knight near the refreshment table holds a banner that readsA Knight Under the Starsin elegant calligraphy—but I notice some jerks drew a mustache on him and added googly eyes to another.
The shimmering curtain of lights cascading over the DJ booth adds to the magic, flickering in time with the pounding bass. The dance floor is a sea of movement under flashing strobe lights,students packed so tightly that I’m amazed no one’s tripped over their heels yet.
The DJ’s song choice—an overplayed club mix—makes my head ache with every beat.
Say it with me: HELLO, MIGRAINE!
The combination of the lights, the music, and the crowd feels overwhelming but oddly satisfying. This chaotic, shimmering mess isexactlywhat we were going for.
Feeling lost in the mass of people, I let out a slow breath, stepping all the way inside, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
Halp!
Someone find me!
I weave through the crowd, heels clicking against the polished floor, on a mission to find my best friend. Macy texted me that she’s here already—thank goodness—and standing at the refreshments table.
It comes into view, and there, under the flashing lights, is my bestie, glittering in her lavender dress, brunette curls perfectly styled like she’s stepped out of a prom magazine. She spots me and waves frantically, shoving past her boyfriend to embrace me as usual. If there is one thing I can rely on, it’s Macy’s enthusiastic greeting.
