“Blood circulation is a bitch,” I say.

She laughs. “So you saw that?”

I wink down at her. “Secret’s safe with me.”

She sighs, and it’s the kind of sigh only induced by hot lumberjacks. “Thanks.”

Onstage, Millie Michalchuk wears a sharp black skirt suit with a baby-pink blouse and a bow tie that looks like cat whiskers. It’s the kind of outfit that says I am very serious about everything including looking cute.

She announces us one by one, reciting a brief bio she must have written for each of us, because I have no memory of writing one myself. Everyone else’s bios are lists of extracurriculars and academic achievements while mine mentions choir and my “tight-knit” relationship with my twin sister. Even Hannah surprises me with the fact that she’s in the top 5 percent of our class, but—maybe it’s my imagination—I swear that after I’m announced, the cheers from the audience are louder and more enthusiastic than they are for the rest of the queen nominees. I can’t help but wonder if my performance on Saturday night was memorable for others too.

The queen nominees sit in a row in chairs while the king nominees sit staggered behind us on stools.

Tucker leans forward and says, “Can we talk after this? About prom?”

I smile and nod wordlessly. Is Tucker Watson going to ask me to prom? It takes every ounce of self-control for me not to whirl around and demand he spit it out right this moment.

Millie asks us each a few basic questions, like our favorite classes and who our heroes are. (My answer, Ursula the sea witch, is met with applause and whoops of delight.)

“Okay,” says Millie, “Waylon, I’m going to let you start us off with this one. What’s your favorite memory from your time at Clover City High?”

I laugh, momentarily forgetting that I’m onstage in front of the entire senior class. “Nothing.”

The air is sucked out of the auditorium and it’s so quiet I can hear my heart thumping in my chest.

“And everything,” I quickly add. Because I have absolutely nothing to lose right now, I decide the only way I can answer this question is to be honest. “I’m only eighteen, ya know? I can’t tell you yet if these will be the best or the worst years of my life. What I can tell you is that I love my friends—some of whom I’ve only made in the last few weeks.” I search for Willowdean and Ellen and Amanda, who are giving me their most encouraging smiles from the second row. Ms. Laverne stands at the back of the auditorium in her white scrubs and cardigan, waving frantically, while Corey and a few of the Prism kids are watching me intently. “I think one day it will be easy to look back on this time and see that I was this gay kid trapped in a small town. And yeah, sometimes I feel like that. But sometimes I’m with all of you and I see that we all feel trapped and the only thing stopping us from feeling free is our fear of what others will think.”

In the last row, Patrick Thomas snickers with Aaron and some other guys.

I feel myself recoiling away from the microphone in my hand, but I grip it tighter and continue on, my voice unwavering. “But for us seniors, we have barely two weeks left of school. This whole chapter of our lives is about to end! Some of us might not ever see each other again. Some of us will get married. Some of us might only be friends for now and others friends for life. What’s holding us back from falling wholly into the people we want to be? Why are we waiting to spread our wings when, if we could leave behind all that fear, the next two weeks could be our greatest memories of this place?”

The second I’m done I look at the microphone in my hand like it’s possessed me.

And then, slowly, everyone begins to clap. Willowdean stands, followed by Amanda and Ellen. A few others do too. Callie and Melissa, on either side of me, join in.

Blush heats my cheeks and I nod once before passing the microphone.

The rest of the panel is sort of a blur. I say things. People even laugh at my stupid jokes sometimes. Hannah doesn’t completely croak when all eyes are on her, and the whole thing ends up being pretty not bad.

“Final question,” Millie says, “and perhaps the one your peers are most curious about. Who are you taking to prom?”

The crowd lets out an ooooooh and a few wolf whistles. My stomach sinks. Millie, I love you, but this question! Is! The! Worst!

Hannah goes first, biting her lip as she takes the microphone. “The most beautiful girl in the world and my girlfriend,” she says, a shyness in her voice I’ve never heard before. “Clementine Brewer.”

On the front row, Clem buries her face into the collar of her shirt for a moment, so that all you can see is a forehead and two braids with two little clear bauble hair ties at the end. She peeks her head back up, like a very cute turtle, and blows Hannah a kiss.

The auditorium eats it up.

Hannah passes the mic to Callie, who looks over her shoulder to Mitch. “Mitch, will you go to prom with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says with a drawl.

“Oh, hell,” I mutter, because that’s when I know exactly what I have to do. I have to put my money where my mouth is. I have to make these last two weeks of high school the best weeks of high school, and that starts now. I’m going to ask Tucker Watson to prom the moment we get off this stage. I’m not waiting for him to ask me. I’m taking the plunge. I’ll show up in my own damn pumpkin carriage and pick him up. Honestly, I’d do it now with a full audience, but I don’t know who Tucker is out to or if he is at all, so my grand gesture will just have to be 10 percent less grand.

Next is Bekah Cotter, and with a giggle, she says, “I’m going with the best dates a girl could ask for—my best friends, Lilly, Bethany, and Mia.”

“We love you, Bekah!” a small chorus of girls sings from the center of the auditorium.

Beside me Melissa takes the mic as she wipes a sweaty palm down the front of her skirt. “I, uh, wanted to take someone who I’m close with and means a lot to me, so my date for prom is . . .” She gulps so loudly you can hear it in the mic. “Tucker Watson.”

There are a few gasps and awws, but mostly all I can hear is a sudden ringing in my ears.

“I knew it! I knew they would get back together,” someone seated near the stage says.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Tuck!” some guy shouts.

I breathe in. I breathe out. You’re on a stage in front of tons of classmates. This is not the time to freak out. This is not the time to panic. Even though you just found out that the stupid, cute, smart lumberjack boy who’s been leading you on for weeks is going to prom with his ex-girlfriend. Delightful, really.

I allow myself a brief glance over my shoulder, expecting to find Tucker giving me some kind of sign that Melissa has it wrong and that he meant to ask me to prom. He hadn’t gotten around to it yet. There has to be an explanation.

But instead Tucker is looking at Melissa and Melissa is looking at Tucker. He gives her the boyish grin I’ve come to fall so hard for, except this time it’s not meant for me. This time I’m on the outside looking in.

Twenty-Eight

The moment Principal Armstrong takes the stage to dismiss us, I push past the other contestants to get the hell out of there. I had managed to give a quick answer to Millie’s question, saying that I planned to be free and single at prom. Woot.