Page 24

For days leading up to the winter dance, I let myself obsess over everything. The shape of my dress. The ache in my chest. Even the pattern of Kane’s tie. It sounds ridiculous, but at the time it felt monumental. It would be our first date. The first time there was anything romantically inclined between us. I was ecstatic.

On the night of the dance, I had worn my mother down with my anxiety.

“Everything is going to be okay, Sara,” she kept repeating. I think she believed it too. We were doing better, the frost between us beginning to thaw. I knew it would not last. It never did. My mother always drifted back into her dressed up melancholy, into the orbit of my father’s world, or the bottom of a vintage red. Apparently, vices weren’t vices if they were expensive and you looked presentable.

When I twirled in my dress—a deep crimson gown that hugged every slender part of me—she pressed her hands to her mouth like she was seeing an angel. Then my father bursted into the bedroom with his old camera and snapped photos before I could even pose. “You look beautiful,” he croaked, only to cough and clear his throat when my mother laughed at him.

“She’s only going on her first proper date,” she teased, but they both looked at me with that expression parents get when they realize their child is slipping into adulthood and there is nothing they can do to stop it. A mix of pride and grief. If only I could bottle that look forever. It was the only time they displayed affection since we moved.

“It’s only a dance,” I said, smoothing the gloves at my elbows. “Everyone needs to relax.”

“Come on,” my dad said, tapping my room’s wooden threshold. “There’s a boy waiting downstairs. We shouldn’t keep him waiting, should we?”

As we descended the stairs, they took turns whispering warnings about curfew, safe choices, and watching my drink. The usual parental chorus that was foreign on their tongues. I wondered if they had someone else tell them about caring for adolescent daughters. Because my mother once ransomed me when I was twelve and we hid in the Catskills for months until my dad would pay her a higher sum of money in their divorce proceedings. Plot twist, they never divorced.

Their voices became a faint hum behind me because my heart had taken over, beating so hard it drowned them out. Kane was there at the bottom. And suddenly every night sky we’d laid under felt dim in comparison. He stood still in his black tuxedo, the bouquet trembling in his hands from how tightly he held it.

With a camera ready, his mother Anita snapped photos while hovering nearby. His rich, tanned skin highlighted an eager gaze, and I returned it. He studied me with something unspoken. Something that threatened to undo me. And I knew in that moment I would do anything to have his gaze upon mine for eternity.

“Sara,” Kane breathed. His voice was deep in that still-clunky way most teenage boys haven’t grown into yet. We stood there suspended in a quiet pocket of time while the adults melted away into background noise. His gaze was almost too much to hold. My skin felt like it had been set alight.

I had the terrible thought that the moment could vanish, that Kane himself could evaporate under the weight of my hope.

When he took a small flower from the bouquet and tried to pin it in my hair, our fingers brushed. The butterflies went feral, gnawing at the core of my belly. Let me out. Let me tell the world about the boy I dream about every night. It was so obvious. Anyone watching would know I was in love with him. Pathetically so.

I was an idiot.

My dad handed him the car keys with the solemnity of a knight granting a sword to a young warrior. “Take good care of her,” he warned, earning an eye roll from me.

Kane had been nothing short of respectful since we’d moved in.

“Are you ready, Sara Wren?” Kane asked, his voice low.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I whispered.

By the time we drove into the horizon, the sunset had drowned itself in the sea, dragging the rest of the world with it.

The evergreens blurred into silhouettes vanishing behind our speed, and I allowed anticipation to pool in my stomach.

Kane would be leaving in a few months. Deep down, the thought hinted heartbreak and tears. Change always did. I knew he was leaving and never returning. Why would he? There were no strong ties to this town. No one to hold him back. And I certainly never would.

At school, the parking lot swarmed with teenagers, their laughter fogging through the cold night. My stomach twisted.

Kane reached over and lightly touched my wrist. “You know I’ve never been to a dance before?” he said. “Not once.”

“To be fair…” I murmured, “you’re not exactly approachable.”

“You think I’m scary?” He looked genuinely curious, which almost made me laugh.

“You live in your own little universe,” I said. “People don’t know how to reach you.”

He didn’t reply, only stepped out of the car, and before I could move, he was already opening my door.

Inside the gymnasium, the stares started immediately. Rumors had followed us for weeks after people learned we lived in the same house. Teasing from the football team. Glowers from girls who suddenly hated me for reasons I couldn’t even name. None of it was my fault. I simply existed as did he. It wasn’t until Kane slammed one of the football players into a locker that the rumors stopped. And somehow, that made things worse.

We moved through the crowd, fingers linked without my realizing it. Girls cast lingering looks his way. The boys whispered under their breath. Kane moved to hold his hand at the small of my back like a silent barrier.

“I thought you said no one ever asked you,” I muttered. “Every girl looks like they want to jump your bones.”