“Besides,” adds Willowdean, “we had to celebrate Patrick Thomas getting banned from prom.”

I gasp. “What?” Now, that is worth celebrating.

“According to my mama,” Callie says.

I’m shocked. Patrick never got in trouble growing up. Somehow, it was always the person he taunted who managed to carry the punishment. “Wow. Kill me now. My work here is done.” Clementine had been sent home early from school because they couldn’t definitively pin the punch on her and they counted it as a one-day suspension. Which is why I’m surprised Patrick’s punishment was more severe—but after all these years and all the students he’s tortured, it was about time.

“Buckle up!” Millie calls to me as she absolutely floors it past the NOW LEAVING CLOVER CITY sign. She honks her horn and throws her arms up briefly. “Woo! Jesus, take the wheel!”

Everyone shrieks.

“Millie, he can’t literally take the wheel!” Ellen yells from behind me.

Amanda leans over, placing a hand on the wheel. “I’m not Jesus, but I’ve got the wheel!”

Millie laughs, taking the wheel again. “Sorry, y’all. I’m just so dang pumped to graduate.” She shakes the steering wheel. “University of Texas, here I come!”

Behind me, Callie groans. “Well, I’m glad someone knows where they’re going.”

“Everyone gets wait-listed,” Millie says. “You’ll have answers by the end of the month, without a doubt. And even if those don’t pan out, you’ve already gotten into Stephen F. Austin.”

“I was originally wait-listed at University of Kansas,” Ellen says.

Willowdean hisses as she turns around. “Can we not say the K word? What am I going to do without you?”

“What are you going to do without me?” Ellen asks. “What am I going to do without you on your Euro adventure?”

“Wait, wait,” I say. “What? You’re going to Europe?”

“No! I mean, maybe. Nothing’s decided. And my mama would kill me if I did.”

“That’s so cool. I don’t even know anyone who’s been to Europe, but my grammy says she’s taking me and Clem for our twenty-first birthday,” I say, sounding 100 percent like the country bumpkin I am. “But why are you going to Europe?”

“Bo asked me to go with him,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry, but is this the boy who ghosted you?” I ask, trying not to let on at all that I was snooping on her earlier today.

“He wasn’t cheating on her,” Ellen chimes in. “He was working out with old teammates and getting back into basketball after an injury.”

“And this leads to Europe how?” Based on the interaction I witnessed today, I did not see this coming.

“He was scouted by a European basketball team from Sweden,” Willowdean says like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “They want him to play in their junior league and then maybe they’ll move him up to their regular league.”

I hold my hands to my head and make an exploding noise. “They have basketball in Europe? I thought they only had soccer.”

“That’s actually football,” Callie says.

“Okay, wow, I didn’t know I could care even less about an organized sports thing,” I say, glad for a distraction from my very imminent in-real-life drag debut. “But let me get this right: your super-hunky boyfriend is going to Sweden to play basketball and he wants you to go with him and you’re considering staying here?”

“Thank you!” says Ellen, throwing up her hands. “I keep telling her that she can always go for a few months and then come back and go to school, but when else will she get a chance to live in Sweden of all places?”

“He’s not technically my boyfriend again,” Willowdean tells us. “And I’m still upset that he couldn’t just come out and tell me what was going on.”

“He was probably scared of going after it and not making the team,” Millie says. “It feels like you fall twice as far when there’s an audience.”

“Would going to Europe interrupt any big plans you have?” I ask.

Willowdean frowns. “Honestly, the only thing I had planned for next year was going full time at work and taking classes at Clover City Community College. I thought maybe I could transfer somewhere else and learn about working on the business side of the music industry . . . but no, I guess I don’t have any big immediate plans.”

“So what’s holding you back?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I’m scared that he’ll be busy all the time and I’ll be alone a lot—”

“But that might be good for you!” Ellen says gently. “Getting out there and exploring on your own.”

“And I picture everyone in Sweden looking like living, breathing Barbie dolls,” she says.

“Sounds like some beauty pageants I know,” Callie says with a smile.

Ellen leans forward. “I don’t know what the right answer is, but it’s usually the thing that scares you most.”

“So all of you at least have a sort of plan set in place?” I ask everyone else.

“I wouldn’t call my life planned,” says Callie.

“I haven’t decided which school I’m going to yet,” Amanda says with a shrug.

“I thought you settled on San Antonio,” says Millie. “They have a great physical therapy program.”

“You settled on San Antonio,” Amanda reminds her.

And even though the thought of life after high school makes me ill at the moment, it’s nice to see that other people are total codependent messes.

“So, are you going to Sweden or not?” I ask Willowdean.

She shakes her head. “Oh, Lord, I don’t know. I love him a lot. I’m scared to go and I’m scared to stay.” She sighs. “Can we please talk about someone else’s mess of a life?” Willowdean asks.

“Not it,” I mumble.

At the Hideaway, all seven of us file in with big black Xs on the tops of our hands. Tonight’s event is more of an open mic, which means I’m not actually competing for anything. It’s one of the only things keeping my nerves at bay.

“This is where we leave you,” Hannah says, after making a quick run to the bar to sign me up.

Behind her, Alex and Kyle wave at me, flashing me their thumbs-ups.

I must look helpless to Hannah, because she touches my arm and says, “She’ll be here.”

“I know.” Clem hasn’t texted or called yet, but I don’t want to nag her. I want to show her that I can be totally chill and that she can trust me not to freak out every time she does something without me. I’m a whole new Waylon. Sort of.

“Thanks,” I tell Hannah. “Text me if you hear from her.”

Behind me, I step through a parted curtain into a small open-air backstage that has been set up for anyone who needs to prep their hair and makeup. There are a few folding chairs and a table with a mirror tilted against the wall and a few floor lamps without shades. I plop my bag down on the table and unravel my headphones to plug into my phone, so I can listen to my song over and over and over again.