52

India's been texting me in all caps since 6:00 AM.

By 8:00, she and Egypt are at my front door with three things:

A pink folder labeled Operation: Prom Queen

Two iced matcha lattes (because I always pretend I like them)

And a Bluetooth speaker blasting Beyoncé's "Alien Superstar"

"Let's go, Sleeping Beauty!" Egypt yells. "We're dressing your fine behind like the sun is your spotlight!"

"And if you don't cry happy tears in the fitting room," India says, "we're starting over."

I barely have time to put on lip balm.

We hit three stores in an hour.

Egypt has already fallen in love with five dresses she's not even wearing. India is throwing sparkly stilettos at strangers like she's on Say Yes to the Mess. And me?

I'm standing in front of a mirror at Boutique #4, holding a champagne gold dress to my body and trying not to throw up.

It's beautiful.

Sleek. Off-the-shoulder. Hugs every part of me I've spent most of my life hiding under hoodies and oversized cardigans. It looks like it belongs to someone who glides, not someone who overthinks her breathing.

I already know Egypt and India are going to scream when they see me in it.

I also know my brain is going to scream louder.

"You okay in there?" India calls through the curtain.

"Sen?" Egypt adds. "If you pass out I'm busting in."

I sigh. Turn toward the mirror.

I've survived a lot of things.

But this feels weirdly harder.

The zipper on this dress doesn't care that I used to flinch at my own reflection. That for years I couldn't eat without hating myself. That being seen makes my skin crawl sometimes.

This dress expects me to show up.

As me.

I finally step out.

They gasp like a K-drama scene.

"Oh. My. Goooooood." Egypt is already clutching her chest like she's witnessing a divine event.

"Senna." India walks in slow motion around me. "You look like revenge and poetry."

"You look like a girl who's about to ruin someone's life and then win a scholarship for it," Egypt says.

"You look-" India pauses. "Like yourself. But shinier."

And suddenly my eyes are stinging.

Not because I don't believe them. But because some deep, buried version of me finally does.

"Is it too much?" I whisper.

"No," India says instantly. "You've spent a year being quiet. Let the dress scream a little."

My phone buzzes.

It's Luca.

Luca:

I just realized I never asked what color your dress is.

Is it legal for you to show up looking better than 99% of the room?

Luca:

Actually don't tell me.

I want to be stunned. Speechless. Emotionally destroyed.

Also I miss you. That's unrelated but important.

I snort.

Egypt peers over my shoulder.

"Aww. You're blushing."

"No I'm not."

"You blush with your whole face. Like a cartoon."

India smirks. "Are you gonna tell him you said yes to the dress?"

I pause.

Then type back.

Senna:

Hope your heart can handle it.

By the time we leave the boutique, we're $250 lighter (thanks to my parents chipping in), I'm holding the most beautiful dress I've ever touched, and Egypt is already planning my prom hair like she's prepping me for the Met Gala.

And for the first time since I almost didn't make it to prom season at all...

...I think I might actually be ready to celebrate surviving.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It starts with Bear kicking open my bedroom door like a SWAT agent.

"ARE WE DOING THIS OR NOT?"

"Auggie already made the sign!"

"India says we're dramatically behind schedule."

I'm still brushing glitter off my hoodie.

This was not part of the plan.

Then again, nothing ever is when Bear is your tiny project manager and Auggie's drawing hearts all over your cue cards.

"We've got three hours," I say. "We can pull it off."

"We're gonna crash her English class?" Bear asks.

"No crashing," I say. "We casually appear. Soft surprise. Like romance ninjas."

"You're the worst liar in the whole state," India says, walking in uninvited. "Do not wing this."

Egypt follows, armed with a ring light and cupcakes.

"I brought emotional support sugar."

I'm already sweating.

This was supposed to be chill. A little sign. A single rose. A non-humiliating moment of "Will you go to prom with me?" whispered sweetly in a hallway.

But now I've got:

Two sugar-high boys

Two meddling girl bosses

One handmade banner with "Will You Prom With Me?" spelled wrong on purpose ("because it's funnier that way," Auggie said)

And roughly 0.5 seconds of confidence left

2:30pm

India texts:

"She's leaving chem now. THIS IS IT, STAIRBOY."

I peek around the corner.

Senna's walking down the hall, notebook in hand, earbuds in, brows furrowed like she's planning to fight the periodic table. Her long curls are in a messy bun. She's wearing her glasses.

She's beautiful.

I panic.

"Abort?" I whisper.

"DO IT NOW," Bear stage-whispers, pushing me forward.

I step into the hallway.

Senna freezes mid-step.

"Luca?"

I give her a nervous smile.

Then the music starts.

Auggie, holding my phone like a little DJ, blasts "Can I Call You Rose?" by Thee Sacred Souls because "Senna likes music that sounds like falling in love slowly."

India throws fake rose petals in the air. They immediately get caught in the ceiling fan and start raining down violently.

Egypt's filming with one hand and eating a cupcake with the other.

Bear dramatically unrolls the banner, which almost hits a teacher in the face.

It reads:

"Will You Prom With Me?" (I made this sign with Bear and Auggie. Please say yes before they explode.)

Senna blinks.

Looks at me.

Looks at the chaos.

Looks back at me.

"Luca... what is happening?"

I step closer.

Hold out a single white rose.

"I know you hate public things," I say. "And you told me never to cause a scene. But I also know you like slow songs, cupcakes, and my stupid face. And I love you. Like... a lot."

She stares at me.

Silence.

Utter silence.

Then Bear yells:

"YOU HAVE TO SAY YES HE USED GLITTER GLUE."

And Auggie adds:

"I HELPED!"

Senna starts laughing.

Like, real laughing. Hand to her chest. Shoulders shaking.

She walks right up to me.

Pulls me down by my hoodie strings.

And whispers:

"Of course I'll prom with you."

Then kisses me on the cheek.

India screams.

Egypt drops the cupcake.

Bear fist-pumps so hard he hits a locker.

Later, when the hall's empty again and everyone's gone back to pretending they're too cool for love, Senna pulls me aside.

"You really planned all that?"

"Had help."

"You're ridiculous."

"You said yes."

"I meant it."

"So you're mine for prom?"

"I've been yours since the stairwell, dummy."