I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. The video. The makeup. The lip-synching. The push and pull with Clem. Hell, even Lucas in the back of a grimy gas station. And Tucker. Tucker was definitely not a mistake. My wounds are so fresh they sting, but I’m grateful for him and the person he believed I could be, because it turns out, I am that person. I always have been deep down. I was waiting for my moment. But there is no moment. The only moment we have is now.

I let out a shaky sigh and squeeze both Bekah’s and Callie’s hands. It doesn’t matter which of them wins. They’re both good down to their bones.

I shut my eyes tight since these lights aren’t bright enough to block the audience from my line of sight.

Miranda continues, “We are pleased to announce your prom queen and king are”—Kyle leans into the microphone to join her, and they say in unison—“WAYLON BREWER AND HANNAH PEREZ!”

There are shrieks, cheers, and a few faint boos. Bekah and Callie crowd me in a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you!” one of them says.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I say over and over again. I might be crying. Or sweating. I can’t tell.

Someone takes my hand and pulls me forward. It’s Hannah. King Hannah. I might have a broken heart and a sister moving halfway across the country, but I think that one of the best things to come out of all of this is . . . Hannah. My friend. Perhaps my best friend outside of Clementine.

Kyle places the sash over my head, and it reads CCHS PROM QUEEN. He lets out a shriek. “They told us the results right before we took the stage. I couldn’t even look at you without giving it away.”

Well, that explains his somber look. I give him a quick hug, because even if Kyle and I are only starting to find our footing, this whole road began with him and his dumb Facebook post.

I turn to Hannah, the crown glittering above her brow and the CCHS PROM KING sash proudly displayed across her chest. “Can you believe this?” I whisper to her.

She lets out a wild giggle. “No. Yes. Yes. No. I don’t even know! I can’t wait to tell my ’lita.” Her eyes begin to water.

I pull her to me in a tight hug. “Stop-stop-stop! You’re going to make me cry.”

Her fingers dig into my sides, squeezing me as hard as she can.

“Hannah?” I say. “Thank you.” For pushing me to do this. For being my friend. For so much. But if I say much more than a brief thanks, I think my guts will spill out of my mouth.

“Let’s welcome our king and queen to the dance floor,” says Miranda, “as they share their first dance as Clover City High royalty.”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’d have to dance with someone, but there’s no time to hesitate. We exit off the stage, and the DJ asks, “Any requests?”

Hannah shrugs, so I cycle through my mental playlist and say, “‘Dancing Queen’!”

The DJ gives us a thumbs-up. “Good choice, my queen.”

The music starts, and I immediately take Hannah’s hand, spinning her across the floor. We have no idea what we’re doing, but we skip around each other, dancing close and then far, spinning each other around and under, screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs. “Dancing queen, young and sweet! Only seventeen!” My open tuxedo jacket flashes colors of the rainbow as I spin.

After the chorus, I pull Hannah to me and we hold each other as we dance.

“Are you ready for your big moment with Clem?” I ask her.

“We can dance for the whole song. I don’t want you to have to give up your spotlight.”

I shake my head. “No way. This is too perfect. You have to tell her now.”

We stop right in front of Clementine, who’s beaming with pride, her hands clenched together. I take her hand and join it with Hannah’s. “Go. Dance,” I say to my sister.

Clementine’s blue eyes sparkle, and she kisses my cheek before taking the floor with Hannah, neither of them really leading and neither of them really following.

I stand near Alex and Kyle, watching them dance, the two of their foreheads pressed together, and I hope this moment is as perfect as Hannah dreamed it would be.

The DJ lets this song play out and then leads us right into another Abba classic, “The Winner Takes It All.”

Someone taps my shoulder.

I turn as everyone around me works their way back onto the dance floor, until everyone around me is slow dancing.

“Tucker,” I say breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”

His hair is messy and pushed to the side, like he’d been running his hands through it, and he’s dressed like a cowboy going to church in a dark-charcoal three-piece suit with a bolo tie and well-loved but freshly shined camel-brown cowboy boots. “It’s prom,” he says, like even he’s a little bit lost in the magic of it all. “I couldn’t miss seeing you get crowned.”

“You left,” I say, frantically searching his face for any kind of answer. “You left with Melissa.”

He slowly shakes his head, lines forming between his furrowed dark brows. “She asked me to take her home. I had to tell her. I couldn’t let her think we were here . . . together, and that I wasn’t thinking about someone else the whole time.”

“You were thinking about someone else?” I ask, hope brimming inside of me.

He nods. “Constantly. Waylon, I was an idiot. I felt like I owed something to Melissa after we’d promised to go to prom. I was wrong for thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal to you. I was wrong for not just telling you that I like you. A lot. I just—you’re going places. And I might be stuck here, taking care of my dad.”

“I have no idea where I’m going! I’m eighteen years old and I have an awful sense of direction!” I shout over the swelling music. “And the thought of falling even harder for you and us having to go in different directions scares the shit out of me! But I like you too much. And yes! This is important to me. This stupid crown matters to me. And so does drag. And so do you.” I can feel my throat closing up, trying to trap the words in my chest. But I have to admit it. I have to say it out loud. I care. I care if I win. Or if I lose. Or if I even get to participate at all. And I care for Tucker. I care for him so much. And maybe I’ll leave Clover City. Maybe I won’t. But it turns out that dreams and hopes and wishes can come true anywhere. Even here.

I take a step closer to him, and he nods as my lips crush against his, my fingers lacing around the back of his neck.

Around us, I hear a few whistles, but I let myself sink against him, as “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas begins to play. I hate that we missed the slow song, but it doesn’t matter, because as we lay our heads against each other’s shoulders, we dance at our own pace while everyone else jumps and flails around us.

Just behind Tucker, I spy another couple with their lips locked together. Bo and Willowdean. Once they come up for air, I wave to Willowdean and she waves back before nuzzling into Bo’s neck. The four of us circle the dance floor until we’re back to back.

I call over my shoulder to Willowdean. “Any big plans for next year?” I ask.

“Do you think they have Mexican food in Sweden?” she yells over the music.