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The car’s engine starts.
Gabriel and I both look at each other, and I see a hesitant hope in his eyes. Hope that this time things will be different. Hope that the mistakes of the past haven’t ruined our future. His gaze shifts to the front and his jaw tenses. He’s trying to keep himself in check, but I can recognize his anxiety at being in the backseat. I can see him struggle as he tries to keep still. My heart goes out to him and I have to clasp my hands together not to reach out across the seat to hold his hand through the journey. Even if it kills me.
I want to forgive him so badly. But can I? Can I forgive him for putting a petty revenge above me and my work? Will he ever be able not to meddle? He is a meddler by nature. Can a person really ever change?
“So…” I say when I can’t bear the silence any longer. “What are you trying to prove here?”
His smile is tense but also sexily crooked, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Nothing. I’m taking you to prom, that’s it.”
“And what happens after that?”
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if I say I’m done?”
He sighs. “Give me tonight, Blake.” The plea sinks into my heart like a knife. “If afterward, you want nothing to do with me, I’ll take you home and get out of your life for good. I swear.”
His eyes search mine, and I know I’m making a mistake by agreeing even to this much. I still can’t trust myself around him. It’s too soon. But Marissa gave me no choice. So here I am, between a rock and a hard chest, with no escape.
The car stops in front of my old high school. The driver opens our door, and Gabriel helps me out of the car, saying, “Shall we?”
“You mean you organized a dance at my actual school.”
“Wouldn’t be prom otherwise.”
The moment I step out of the car, my resolve to act cool vanishes in a sea of missed memories.
Everything looks like the pictures of this night eight years ago that I spent weeks obsessing over, wishing I’d been able to attend.
The theme was moonlight under the stars, with crescent moon decorations scattered all over in gold, dark-blue, and silver accents, and glittering strings of lights.
The school entrance is framed by a balloon archway with a booth where Peggy Johnson and Cassandra Clark are checking people’s tickets before letting them in—just like they did on the real prom night. Their hair is different, but their outfits are the same.
More people are coming up from behind us and from the lawn, all wearing slightly out-of-date clothes. The men in tuxes and boutonnieres. The women in gowns with corsages and clutch purses.
I recognize a bunch of old classmates as they pass me by.
A few even stop to say hi or tell me how excited they are about the impromptu reunion.
I sort of sleepwalk to the admission booth where Gabriel hands over our tickets.
We pass under the balloon arch, walking down the school halls where the lockers have been draped in glittery tulle and loose balloons hang on the ceiling.
When we reach the gym, I’m almost afraid to step in. When I do, the party is already in full swing. Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” is blaring from the speakers around a DJ booth, and many circular decorated tables are arranged at the edges of the gymnasium, creating a dance floor in the middle. A white disco ball that looks like a full moon sends glimmers of light across the gym. A movie screen with scrolling photos of students from our senior year is mounted on the left wall. And there’s a portable gazebo for taking photos in the corner.
A few teachers I recognize are presiding over tables of drinks and refreshments to the right.
Everything is exactly the same as my senior prom: the setting, the people, the music.
I don’t know what to do or what to say. I’ve stepped back in time to a night I wished I could’ve lived so many times. And now he’s giving it to me.
I should be in shock, but all I can do is smile as I look around me.
The DJ switches the music to “Cheap Thrills” and I can’t stand still any longer; I recognize a few girls from my old cheerleading squad and join them on the dance floor. We cheer and jump in rhythm with the beat of the music as if we saw each other just yesterday at cheer practice instead of eight years ago on the last day of high school. I dance and dance and dance, switching partners, saying hello to so many of my old friends, laughing, singing along with the music, until I lose my voice and can’t feel my feet anymore in my heels. I step to the side of the refreshment booth, where Mrs. Perrymore offers me a glass of punch.
She was one of my favorite teachers and one of the chaperones on the night.
