I’ll take it.
“Thanks,” Hannah says over the music. “So we check in with you and then what?”
“Enjoy prom! We’ll be crowning king and queen in forty-five minutes.” And then she floats away into the crowd.
“What’s longer?” Hannah asks. “Forty-five minutes or forty-five years? Asking for a friend.”
I feel like I might puke if I even open my mouth right now, so I just shrug.
On one side of us, the dance floor is flush with people grinding on each other who greatly outnumber the teachers trying to pry them apart before anyone gets pregnant.
I turn back to Hannah and Clem. “Can we please find a dark corner where we can count down the next forty-five minutes in peace?”
Clementine sighs and stares at the dance floor with a forlorn look on her face. “But afterward we dance? Win or lose?”
Hannah takes her hand and kisses each of her knuckles. “Win or lose.”
Clementine holds her other hand out for me, and we find a table at the back of the room, near a large bay window overlooking the golf course.
I watch as friendly faces trickle in. Millie is in a striking hot-pink tea-length dress with light pink polka dots. She’s draped on the arm of her boyfriend, Malik, who’s wearing a vintage-looking tux with black pants, a baby-blue jacket, and a matching ruffled tux shirt. On Millie’s other arm is Amanda, in a black jumpsuit that dips down low in the back. Close behind them are Ellen, who wears a vibrant yellow gown that perfectly drapes her frame, and Tim. He pulls her through the crowd with their pinkies interlocked in what might possibly be the cutest public display of affection. Rounding out the group is Willowdean, her curls tamed into finger waves and a green velvet gown hugging every curve. She stands by herself, glancing around the room.
A hand reaches out from the crowd behind her, and Bosteps forward in a well-fitted tux. With his free hand, he yanks at his collar and Willowdean laughs as she reaches up for a kiss and then wipes away the smudge of lipstick she left with her thumb.
I shrink back and concentrate on my phone. I like all of those people—a lot, in fact. But I don’t have the bandwidth right now.
While the DJ (who I’m pretty sure is just someone’s brother with a Spotify Premium account) cycles through a few slow songs, the three of us sit there scrolling through our phones when Kyle and Alex saunter up hand in hand in their matching teal bow ties.
“Wow, so this is where the party’s at,” says Alex.
“Do y’all even know how hard we worked on these decorations?” asks Kyle as he plops down beside me. “And you’re over here on your phones.”
I look up from my phone, where my thumb was hovering over Tucker’s contact information. (Would it be so weird to text him even though we’re in the same room?)
“The decorations are perfect, Kyle,” Clem kindly tells him on behalf of the three of us.
Kyle bows his head solemnly. “Thank you.”
And admittedly, the balloon columns and arches are pretty epic. String lights drape from corner to light fixture to corner again, weaving a glittering web all over the ceiling. And every table is ornately decorated with tall centerpieces of vases full of branches dripping with crystals and strips of film. Along the side of the room is a nacho barand a punch bowl, which is well guarded by various faculty members.
“Kyle,” I say, “this is the shit.”
He perks up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You really think so? Last night, after your performance, Alex and I came straight here so we could get a head start on the twinkle lights. You would not believe how many yards of lights this took. It means a lot to know that you like it.”
“Totally. I especially love the collection of Cullen family cutouts over by the voting booth.” I point over to a couple of well-loved Twilight cutouts that are held together with packing tape and a prayer, including Edward, whose hair is bending forward.
“Alex’s older sister is a former Twihard,” he says over the music.
“Hey,” says Hannah, “once a Twihard, always a Twihard.”
Clementine’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry. What?!”
Hannah shrugs and pulls Clem down into her lap. “I loved those movies when I was a kid.”
Clem crosses her arms over her chest. “Fine. Jacob or Edward?”
“Neither. Team Jessica Stanley.”
“I don’t even know who that is!” Clem cries.
