Page 51 of I Wish You All the Best

I laugh a little more loudly than I mean to. “Because that will totally happen.”

“Never say never, De Backer.” Nathan starts back toward me, his eyes bouncing between both of my paintings.

“Come on. Mel’s going to kill both of us.”

“Are you going to the game?” Nathan asks.

“It’s funny, Mel asked me the same thing.”

“And?”

I shrug. “Baseball and dances? Not really my thing.”

“You know, prom is in a few months.” He adds that out of the blue.

“Oh yeah?” It’s a hard thing to ignore. Student council’s already ambushing people inside the cafeteria to vote on the theme. “Do y’all ever rest?” I ask.

I’m not saying that two dances in three months seems excessive, but …

“Tradition is tradition,” Nathan says.

“Is that all student council is good for?” I tease him. “Planning dances?”

“Hey!” He sounds angry but his grin gives him away. “We plan other things. We did a bake sale last October.”

“Was there a dance?”

“No,” Nathan says, sounding totally unconvincing. “Technically.”

“How do you dance at a bake sale?”

“Stephanie managed to find a way. So, are you going?”

“To?” I ask, knowing full well what he means.

“To prom?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Really?” His smile fades. Is he actually disappointed?

“Dances,” I say again.

“Even prom?”

“Even prom,” I repeat. “I didn’t go last year either.”

We walk all the way across campus to the gymnasium, where there are a bunch of my fellow classmates running around, trying their best to follow the orders of the girl standing around in the middle with the megaphone. “I’m guessing that’s Stephanie?” I say under my breath.

“Nathan! There you are.” She runs toward us before Nathan can answer, eyeing the cans. “Is that the paint?”

“Well, Steph, it’s not chocolate pudding.”

“Funny,” she says, while aggressively not laughing. “Okay, you two go ahead and get to painting the stage pieces, we need those first.”

“Oh, I’m not in—” I start to say, but she shushes me with a hand.

“Didn’t ask. I name you an honorary student council member, we’ll get you credit hours if you need them. Now get to work.” Stephanie points to the large wooden panels propped up on the stage. “Now!” she screeches into her megaphone when we don’t immediately run onto the stage. Stephanie almost earns herself a can of paint emptied on her precious gym floor for that.