Page 100 of Within These County Lines

“Of course.” I grin. “The dance is tomorrow. I hope it’s not too short of notice.”

“Please.” He waves his hand. “I’ve been trying on prom tuxedos for a decade, waiting for this day to come.”

“Is that a yes?”

He spins around and grabs my head. “Yes!”

Xander may never get the chance to live out his firsts—his first prom, first boyfriend, first kiss, or first love.

But as long as we have this summer, I’ll give him everything I can.

42

The next day, Xander insists I pick him up for the dance like I would if it were real-life prom.

I wish I had a stretch Hummer with disco lights or a vintage convertible. I would steal one for him in a heartbeat if I were fully invisible. Instead, he gets my beat-up truck and a fraying aux cord.

If he really wanted the full Penango prom experience, I’d show up on a tractor. But I draw the line at smelling like diesel and showing up with greasy fingers.

He instructs me to meet him at the gas station about a mile from Rainbow Valley.

His formalities make me laugh, but after my actual prom night was overshadowed by Murray reminding me it would be our last event ever as a couple, I’m enjoying the redo.

It’s almost like I get to turn back a few pages in my choose-your-own-adventure story and pick a different path. I wonder what chapter this choice will take me to.

This night has to be special for Xander. Partly because I feel bad for being wrong about how to break the curse, but mostly because this is his first date to a dance ever. He’s been waiting for this moment for over ten years.

No stores in Penango have boutonnieres available overnight, so I make my own with flowers from Mom’s garden. I pick a few pink roses from a bush, cut off the thorns, and tie them together with pieces of rope. It looks decent, but I have no clue if it will match his outfit.

He says to dress nice but won’t tell me what he’s wearing.

I’m not sure how fancy to be. I figure it’s going to be pretty casual since it’s a summer camp dance. I settle on white sneakers, navy pants, a white short-sleeved button-up, and a floral skinny tie. It’s too hot for any more layers. It’s a happy medium.

Or so I think.

When I get to the gas station, Xander stands beside the ice machine waiting for me. And suddenly, my outfit feels like a mistake.

He’s wearing an orange tuxedo with white lapels, a white shirt, white shoes, and an orange bow tie. He’s a walking Creamsicle pop.

I can’t put my truck in park fast enough. He’s like a teddy bear hanging at the county fair—impossible not to want. I jump from the driver’s seat, race around the hood, and stop about a foot away from him. He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut.

We just stand there. I smile, breathless.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi.”

“You look so handsome!” he exclaims.

I examine him closer. His face is clean-shaven. The sideburns are gone. His curls are shiny, like they’ve been scrunched and styled with cream. In his right hand, he grips a bottle of Froot Loops–flavored vodka and two red plastic cups.

“You look so cute,” I say. “I’m sorry I’m not in a tuxedo.” I tug on my tie.

“Don’t be.” He grins. “We’re each in our own unique styles. It’s perfect. And plus, no one can see me. I can be a bit outrageous.” He mimics an evil laugh.

I pull him into a hug. An overpowering cloud of cologne, a blend of fresh-cut trees and citrus, floods my nostrils.

“I got you something,” I say.