And not to be picky, but can you make him semipopular and likeable? So we can tolerate each other for one night? Oh. And can he be taller than me. And cute? Not that looks are everything—we all know I’m a sucker for a good personality—but if he had a nice smile with nice teeth, that would be great.
Okay, now that I’m actually praying for this, I feel like the most selfish jerk on earth. I know my not having a date for prom is the least of your worries, but the thing is—
I assumed I’d have a date, so like a dum-dum, I volunteered for the prom committee, but now I don’t have a date and everyone has been asking who I’m going with because no one can mind their own business!
Plus, I have a dress.
It’s THE dress. My dream dress.
It’s pink and like a cloud and so expensive I felt guilty letting my mom buy it. I AM THAT GIRL WHO WENT AND BOUGHT A DRESS BEFORE SHE HAD A DATE! I lied to my parents about it, but what choice did I have? I don’t want them to think I’m a loser.
So yeah. If you’re there and you’re listening, could you send me a sign that everything is going to work out? Because prom is in two weeks and it’s not looking favorable.
I give myself a glance in the mirror, pull my brown hair back into a ponytail, and tie it with a scrunchie. Sending off my silent prayer ending with anAmen and hallelujah, time to make magic.
Alone.
Yup, that’s me. Harper Conrad: forever dateless.
What am I, a glutton for punishment?
Ugh.
Why do I do this to myself?
Because I’m excited about prom! Blame it on every single romance novel I’ve read, and television and the movies, not to mention all the dress posts I’ve seen that are now part of my algorithm when I’m mindlessly scrolling.
I’m a victim of great marketing, okay?
I want to be a part of the big day. I want the gym to sparkle. I want it to shine! Glimmer!
I know what you’re thinking: Harper must be an art nerd or a sucker for painting and drawing.But that’s the first thing you’re wrong about. I am not artistic. I cannot draw a stick figure.
I cannot paint.
The second thing you might be assuming about me is that I’m a Goody Two-shoes for volunteering—usually the class officers have to beg for help. But not with me on the committee—nope. I’ve recruited enough people to have a full team of students to decorate.
I’ll take my bow later…
For now, I have men to manhandle.
Making my way to the garage, I select one of the massive pieces of cardboard we’re using for the occasion and prop it against wall, checking to see that it’s tall enough to be a realistic height, forI am in charge of the knights.
According to the directions our committee head gave me, I need at least ten knights in armor to decorate the gym.
I shiver with excitement. Is there anything more romantic than a fairy tale theme? Or “A Knight Under the Stars,” as our school is calling it.
Eek!
Perfection.
Still. Now that the cardboard is in my possession and at my house, the task feels daunting.
“Of all the things you could have been in charge of, you choose painting knights,” I grumble. Ugh.
I groan, looking down at the sample drawing that I’ll use to project onto the garage wall so I can trace it. Ten times.
“Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?” I add. “How nice would it have been to be in charge of the ticket sales? Or the photo booth?”
