Pumpkin Page 22

I turn to Hannah. “So what have you and Bekah cooked up for your projects?”

But she’s not looking at me. Instead she’s waving over a group of white girls I vaguely know in the same way I know everyone in this town, and Millie Michalchuk is among them. The group slides into the booth behind us and Hannah points at each of them, but I can barely keep up. “Amanda, Millie, Ellen, and Willowdean. Where’s Callie?” she asks.

The chubby blond one who I recognize as an employee here swivels around. “She and Mitch are working on some prom court thing.” She waves to me. “You can call me Will.”

I nod. “I’m Waylon.”

“Oh,” says the thin girl with silky dark hair, “we know who you are. And I’m Ellen.”

Millie giggles. “You’re kind of a legend.”

I smile at that. “Millie, right?”

She nods.

“I’m sort of like your biggest fan,” I gush.

“Whoa,” says the girl next to her in a cute tracksuit. “That’s gonna go right to her head.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” says Millie matter-of-factly. She nudges the girl beside her. “And this is Amanda.”

“But seriously,” Willowdean says. “We will do anything we can to help y’all win this thing. And honestly, I need all the distractions I can get.”

Hannah grunts. “We stand no chance of winning. We’re here to make a statement.”

Willowdean rolls her eyes. “This is how she was with the pageant.”

Hannah smirks and holds up a finger. “Let’s stop pretending you entered that pageant to win.”

“She’s right,” I say. “We are most definitely not winning.”

“Hey now,” Millie interjects. “That’s not the kind of attitude that will take the crown.”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “Y’all know Bekah will win, and maybe Bryce or that Tucker guy. He seems boring and inoffensive enough to please the masses.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I blurt.

The five of them all perk up at that.

“I wouldn’t know . . . for sure . . . about him being boring,” I add. “But I haven’t exactly had good experiences with him in the past.”

Will leans her head against the windowpane and takes a long sip of her root beer float.

“Is she okay?” I ask the other girls.

“I’m fine,” Will says.

“Anyone who says they’re fine isn’t fine,” I tell her.

Ellen touches a hand to Will’s leg.

Behind the counter a tall cute white guy with shaggy honey-colored hair reaches for the intercom. “Uh.” He clears his throat and all the girls except Hannah squeal. “This is . . . my name is Bo and this is for my girlfriend, Willowdean.”

Now he’s got the attention of the entire restaurant.

Ellen gasps and pokes at a frowning Will. “Oh, Will, look!”

“Who cares about prom?” Will mutters.

“He’s trying,” Ellen says, and pushes Will out of the booth until she’s standing. “Give him a chance.”

Will huffs a sigh and crosses her arms.

Bo flips through something on his phone and then puts it down on top of the intercom buttons so that it acts as a makeshift speaker as the opening notes to a song I remember Grammy humming along to when I was a kid begins to play.

Ellen clutches her hand to her chest. “It’s Dolly! Awww! He’s speaking her love language.” She leans across the table and whispers, “He’s been sort of MIA lately.”

“Oh,” Hannah says with a hint of suspicion in her voice.

In a key I didn’t even know existed, Bo begins to sing, “Baby, when I met you there was peace unknown, I set out to get you with a fine-tooth comb. . . .”

Bo steps toward her and takes her limp hand. He pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her, placing his chin on top of her head, and she looks a little bit like a rag doll, but you can see her whole body soften as she slowly warms to him. After two more verses, the chorus hits, and half the restaurant is singing, “Islands in the stream, that is what we are, no one in between . . .”

Bo and Willowdean dance, and we’re all captivated, honestly. Forget matching bow ties. This is the kind of promposal dreams are made of. Cheeseburgers and Dolly Parton and the kind of love that feels lived in and complicated.

The song ends and every single one of us erupts into applause. “Prom! Prom! Prom!” a few people even chant before getting hushed.

“Willowdean,” says Bo, swooping down on one knee.

Wow. He’s really going all in, isn’t he?

“Will you go to prom with me?” he asks.

“Ho-ly shit,” Hannah says far too loudly. “Now that’s a promposal.”

Willowdean’s faces shuffles through various reactions before she asks him something in a voice too low for any of us to detect.

Bo stands and shakes his head.

Ellen hisses painfully. “Oh, this is not good. Abort, abort, abort, abort.”

Willowdean’s brow furrows and her lips sink into a frown again as she pulls her wrist free and walks out the door.

“And that’s my cue,” says Ellen as she scoots out of the booth.

“And that’s our ride,” says Amanda.

“It was nice to meet you,” Millie whispers to me as she scoots out of the booth, a milkshake in one hand and a boat of fries in the other. “I’d be happy to give you a tour of the news studio.” She winks. “Anything for a fan.”

As they file out the door, Bo pushes through the line of people waiting to place their orders to get past the counter and into the back room.

“Ooooh, that stings,” I say.

Alex slumps back against the booth. “Is it weird that I think it’s sort of very romantic in a doomed way? Like, he put himself out there.”

Kyle smiles. “I love you.” He claps his hands together. “So I have news.”

“Are you pregnant?” I ask.

Clem snorts, but stops the moment she realizes we’re still in a weird place.

Kyle gives a thin, impatient smile. “No, we are not expecting, but my parents are leaving town next weekend to visit my great-aunt Connie in Del Rio, and I, Kyle Meeks, have decided to host my one and only high school party.”

Our table falls silent. “I’m sorry,” Hannah says. “But did you have a stroke? Did an alien species invade your body?”

Beside Kyle, Alex bounces with excitement. “This is the real deal, y’all. A real party with real booze.”

Kyle takes Alex’s hand. “We’ve already made a plan for what parts of the house will be off-limits and who’s on our invite list. Think of it as well-designed chaos.”

“Ahhhh.” Hannah nods. “You know how our peers love an organized house party.”

“I’m sure it will be great,” Clem says.

Hannah reaches into her pocket and slams down a crumpled-up red flyer. “Not as great as this.”

Clem picks up the paper and reads, “All-ages night at the Hideaway! Bring a friend! Bring ten! Amateur Divas of Drag Contest! Cash prize!”

Her eyes light up as she turns to Hannah. “Is this that bar you were telling me about? With the Dolly drag queens?”

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