“You’ll be alright,” he says, and my eyes tear up even more.

Dad’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, like a proper father on prom night. To say I’m surprised is an overstatement. Usually, he’s a headmaster first and a father second. Maybe discovering that his only child is being hunted by a vicious, wealthy, powerful cult has shifted his life views a bit?

He takes a picture of me with his phone, no warning, just a flash in my face that has me blinking back stars. Yep, yep, okay, he’s definitely in dad mode tonight.

“Charlotte,” he says, looking half-pleased at seeing me in my dress and half weirded-out that I have five boyfriends to take to prom. I mean, I’ve never been an overachiever in anything in life: lower than average grades, passable surfing skills, a karaoke voice that’s beyond forgettable.

I guess the one thing in life I’ve decided to overachieve is the boyfriend thing. Pretty sure I’m nailing this shit.

Oh, and also, I have awards in blurting embarrassing crap, and acting like an asshole without meaning to. Those are my other rare talents.

“Dad,” I say, trying not to get choked up again. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” he says, a bit of that blustery headmaster voice in his tone. “You’re my only daughter. Besides, I promised your mother I’d get pictures for her. Why don’t you kids”—unnecessary emphasis on the word kids, but that’s okay—“scoot a little closer together.”

Spencer, Ranger, and Tobias stand on the step behind me while I stay in the center with Church on my left and Micah on my right.

My heart is beating so loud, I can barely hear my dad when he tells us to smile.

But I do, I smile big.

He takes several pictures with the group, and then makes the boys rotate, so I have one couple photo with each.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, and we look at each other for a moment before he finally turns away. Our relationship is improving, but it’s not perfect. And that’s okay.

“I’ll see you at the dance,” he says, disappearing out the door and heading down the path ahead of us.

Before we step out the door, Spencer grabs the white wool coat I got for Christmas from my mom and slips it over my shoulders. The night is cool, but it’s obvious that spring is on its way, keeping the frosty bite out of the air.

Students stream around the side of the main building, heading for the propped open door that leads into the ballroom. Already, I can hear music playing, loud pop songs that used to be my jam back home. I mean, I still like them, but I’m starting to experiment with other genres, too. Church always puts on classical music when he’s studying, and it’s starting to grow on me.

We head inside, and it’s like entering another world.

There’s an arch of fresh flowers above our heads, a professional photographer with a full-sized gazebo to the right, and servers bringing drinks to the round white tables.

There’s one in the very front, next to the dance floor, with a sign on it that reads Reserved for the Student Council. Someone’s added sit here and we’ll beat you up in red on the bottom, probably the twins or Spencer.

“I have to say, with all that money you rich people horde and refuse to pay in fair wages to your workers, you sure know how to put together a nice party.”

“Aww, thanks, babe,” Spencer says, putting a hand to his chest. Yep, the irony’s completely lost on them. He grabs my hand before I even get a chance to sit down and pulls me onto the dance floor, like he did earlier today. Nobody else is dancing yet, but that doesn’t stop the turquoise-eyed boy I fell in love with from spinning me around in a completely and utterly unpracticed sort of way.

“You’re not the best at this, are you?” I whisper, leaning my head against his chest and breathing in his scent. He smells like temptation, but temptation that’s been given into, indulged. The spicy mix of his cologne is twisted up in his own unique scent, something indescribable but irreplaceable. Between the feel and smell of him, the strings of rose lights lit up with gold bulbs, and the sway of our bodies, I feel dizzy. But in a good way.

“I’m not a dancer, not like Church,” he says as I lean back and look up into his face. “And, apparently, neither are you.” I slap him in the chest with a palm, and he flashes one of his naughty grins at me. “We could take lessons together though. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

“Bet you’d like that,” I retort, and he shrugs, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and purple tie that makes his eyes seem even more vibrant than usual.

“Bet I would. I’m certifiably obsessed with you, Chuck-let.”

He holds up my hand and encourages me to do a quick spin as the music comes to an end, and my father gets onstage to make an introductory speech. Typical Archie. He lives for speeches and assemblies and award ceremonies. Pretty sure that when he realized he couldn’t attend them anymore, he decided to become a headmaster so he could host them.

Spencer and I take our seats just before the servers come around and take our dinner orders. Dinner orders. Like we’re at a restaurant or something. There are only a few choices on the menu, but damn, it’s all swanky stuff.

“Why am I so surprised by all of this when we’re the ones that planned it?” I ask, tapping a fork against my lips. There’s not a girl at that party who doesn’t walk by and look at me sitting at a table full of hot dudes without some sort of reaction.

“Because you’re a shitty assistant, and you never pay attention?” Micah asks, but he softens the blow of his words with a grin. The twins are wearing different colored suits tonight—Micah in red and Tobias in black—and I have to say, they make a very pretty picture together.

“I am a shitty assistant, aren’t I?” I ask, grinning as a server pours sparkling apple cider into our glasses. I’d love a little champagne right about now, but … I glance over to find dad standing at the edge of the room, entertaining a few of his favorite students. Eventually, someone’ll spike the punch. Happens at every high school event I’ve ever been to.

“You really, truly are,” Tobias says as I grab some of the sparkly little stars that are spread across the surface of the table and flick them at him. “But we liked having you there.”

“Definitely a prettier sight at that desk than Ross was,” Ranger says, his suit a deep blue that’s almost black. It suits his sapphire eyes and razored rock star hair. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the room for trouble. And by trouble, I definitely mean Mark. Or Selena. Or Gareth. Or Aster.

Ugh. Too many villains to keep track of.

“You’re not trying to look into cult stuff right now, are you?” I ask, giving him a harsh stare that he returns with narrowed eyes. I point at him, and his mouth twists to the side in a guilty smile. “You are! No more. No more detective stuff. This is our senior prom, and we only ever get one of these, and I didn’t go last year at all because I was in Santa Cruz—”

“Okay,” Ranger says, leaning forward and putting his hand across mine. “I’ve got you, Charlotte.”

“We could all use a break, I think,” Church agrees, pulling a flask out of his suit jacket and offering it surreptitiously to me under the table. I flick a glance in dad’s direction as I unscrew the cap, swigging some of it, and then passing it to Spencer. “And now that we know that Mr. Dave and Nathan are working on the problem, we have our solution.”