At lunch, Megan almost dropped her sandwich when I told her.
“Hannah. People like Caleb don’t just decide things like that,” she said, lowering her voice. “Please. Be careful. Something about this feels… wrong.”
I pushed my tray away, suddenly unable to eat.
Part of me knew she might be right. A larger part of me desperately wanted her to be wrong.
That afternoon, I went into the second-floor bathroom to splash water on my face. Brittany came in behind me, her perfume arriving before she did.
“So. Prom with Caleb.”
I did not answer. I kept my eyes fixed on the sink.
“Enjoy your one night, sweetie,” she said, voice dripping honey. “Make it count.”
She smiled at me through the mirror, then walked out.
My mother came home that night smelling like the diner where she worked her second shift. I told her everything.
She sat on the edge of my bed, took my hand, and looked at me for a long moment.
