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.

“Guess we’re due for a Twilight marathon then,” Hannah says with satisfaction.

“Count me in!” I say. “I’m pro anything that sparkles in the sun.”

Kyle laughs and leans toward me. “You were really awesome last night. Are you—”

I don’t hear whatever he says next, because right behind him, in the distance, Tucker Watson is storming out of prom, his head bowed down as he shoulders his way through the crowd.

I stand up without even realizing it. “I have to go,” I say.

Behind me, Clementine says something, or maybe it’s Hannah, but I don’t turn around to see. Instead, I push past the mass of people still filtering in through the door, many of them standing and waiting. Waiting for someone to take their ticket. To take their picture. To get to the taco bar. And some of them waiting for nothing at all as they awkwardly mill about, trying to recognize the people they see in class every day who normally wear pajama pants and flip-flops but are tonight dressed in the Clover City mall’s finest offerings.

I try to keep track of Tucker’s head as it bobs through the crowd, but I lose him in the balloon arches. “Tucker!” I call. I can’t imagine getting on that stage without him in the audience. The memory of his smile last night before I performed flashes through my head.

Soon, I’m outside, standing in the valet carport, looking for the back of Tucker’s head. I reach down to take off my heels and search the parking lot barefoot.

“You got your ticket?” a short valet with a buzz cut asks me.

I shake my head and stumble past him.

An engine rumbles to life. Tucker’s truck. I recognize the taillights as it backs out. I remember making out with my back pressed against that tailgate.

“Wait!” I say, even though no one can hear me and it doesn’t matter.

Tucker’s tires squeal as he hooks a turn right past me with Melissa in the front seat.

He’s gone. He left. Without me. But of course he did. He came here with someone else, so of course he left with someone else.

“Waylon!”

I spin around.

Hannah stands with her hands braced on her thighs, panting. “It’s time.”

Thirty-Six

I let myself take one deep inhalation of fresh air. “Let’s do this.”

Inside, Hannah pulls me by the hand through the crowd. Being smaller and shorter, she has an easier time navigating than I do. Not to mention the heels.

At the front of the dance floor is a small stage, where all the other contestants except Melissa are lined up with Mrs. Leonard.

“Have y’all seen Melissa?” Bekah asks when we file in behind her.

“She just left with Tucker,” I say.

Hannah turns to me with wide eyes, and I nod solemnly.

“You said what now?” Mrs. Leonard asks. “Melissa left? Why, she just got here!”

“Are you okay?” Hannah asks quietly.

I exhale and nod. I don’t know if I’m okay now, but I will be. I have to be.

Behind her, Callie—her long, silky red dress perfectly matched to her red lips—shrugs. “I knew her and Tucker would get back together.”

And even though Callie is probably not even an authority on these things, my heart sinks a little lower.

Mitch tilts his chin toward me. “I like the look.”

I tug down on my jacket, adjusting it. “Thanks.”

Bryce grunts. “You look like a gay magician.”

Everyone glares at him, burning him with their silence.

Finally, Callie snorts. “You would be so lucky.”

I grin. “Hocus-pocus, asshole.”

“Whatever,” he says, and turns his attention back to the stage, where Principal Armstrong is giving a very long and very detailed speech about what happens when you drive drunk. Spoiler: everyone dies.

Hannah leans over to me. “I think gay magician might be my new aesthetic.”

“What if we win?” I ask her in a panic.

Hannah takes a deep breath. “If you tell anyone I said this I’ll kill you, but I think we might. At least one of us.”

I take her hand and squeeze tight. “You’ll always be my king.”

“And you, my queen,” she says.

Principal Armstrong drones on for a whole ten minutes while Mrs. Leonard organizes us into two lines, one for king nominees and the other for queen nominees.

“So, be smart tonight, CCHS, and whatever you do . . .” Principal Armstrong holds the mic out to the crowd and everyone drones, “Don’t drink and drive.”

“That’s your cue!” Mrs. Leonard says, urging us up the steps of the stage.

Nerves suck the air out of my lungs, and the only thing getting me through this moment is that I’m mere minutes away from knowing my fate.

“Now, it’s with great pleasure that I give you your senior prom court nominees!” Principal Armstrong says.

Like last night, the lights onstage are bright, but I can still see everyone out there on the dance floor, and the sight of all their eager faces makes my guts cringe.

Clem waves to me and then blows a kiss to Hannah. She stands with Alex right in front of Millie, Malik, Ellen, Tim, Amanda, Willowdean, and Bo, with his arms draped over Will’s shoulders.

Once all of us nominees have shuffled into our places, Principal Armstrong says, “To crown your king and queen, I’d like to invite Kyle Meeks and Miranda Garcia to join us onstage.”

Kyle and Miranda take the stage, each with a sash draped over their arms and a pillow in their hands with a crown on top. Both crowns are huge and ornate, trimmed in gold with rhinestones, and definitely not the cheap-looking plastic kind that I’d imagined in my head.

Kyle glances at me, and instead of his usual eager smile, his lips are pressed into a firm, thin line, and he won’t even make eye contact with me.

My breath hitches. Oh God. How could I be so stupid?

That’s when I know. I didn’t win. Hannah probably didn’t either. I want to kick my own ass for being foolish enough to believe that either of us could win.

Principal Armstrong steps back from the microphone and Miranda steps forward. “Good evening, juniors and seniors!” she says. “Kyle and I would like to take a moment to thank the accounting club and Mr. Copeland for tabulating voting results all week including this evening. The numbers have been checked, double-checked, and triple-checked. We would also like to thank Wilson and Meyer Accounting Firm for sponsoring the prom court crowns and sashes and for checking our final count, which was our closest prom court vote on record.”

“Nerds!” someone shouts from the crowd.

Miranda laughs. “Yeah, nerds with 401(k)s and savings accounts. Sign me up.”

A few teachers throughout the room snicker.

Enough already! I nearly scream. Just get it over with.

“Come on!” a girl shouts.

“Crown someone already!”

I hate a heckler, but they’re not wrong.

Miranda sighs into the microphone. “Without further ado . . .”

The DJ plays a drumroll sound clip, and on either side of me Bekah and Callie take my hands, which are slick with sweat. The warmth radiating from their palms spreads up my arms and into my chest, and I decide it’s okay. It’s all okay. I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know where I’ll be at this time next year. I don’t even know who I’ll be. But I know that I love the people in my life, no matter where they are.