-Senior-

“What is this- for?”

“The yearbook.”

“Oh, okay… He’s- he’s just the kind of person- there’s so much to like about him. Like, there’s not one specific thing, you know? There are some people- most people- who have their pros and their cons, but, overall, you’ll just love them anyway… but… there’s not one thing to not like about him. And- and you would think that, at first- because- at first, he’s a little shy and introverted but- once you get to know him, you learn that there’s so much under the surface that you didn’t even know about before. Like, for example, he has a world record, an actual world-record. He’s the best in the world at something! Who else in this school can you say that about? Besides that, though, he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met. He’s kind, he’s smart, caring, and- and he’s really funny in like- in a low-key sort of way, you know? But it’s not just one or two things about him. It’s everything…”

Sylvia turns around in her folding chair when Green Light starts to play over the intercom.

My heart explodes. Lorde is Sylvia’s favorite and, although Green Light it’s much more of a breakup anthem than a love song, we went with it. 

We’re in the school gymnasium. I’m standing in rank and file with the senior color guard.

In our sweats and our sports gear, we step to our flags.

Sylvia’s hand covers her mouth, and I see her shock and confusion in the way her forehead wrinkles just above her eyebrows.

I spread out my arms, more or less in sync with everyone else. Way back in my sophomore year, I had wanted to be in the color guard, but today would be the result of only a few short weeks of intermittent and minutes-long rehearsals. I sashay and pirouette around my flag, my legs uncertain under me. I need to look at the other dancers to stay in step.

We kneel down and pick up our flags.

Sylvia stands up from her chair, almost knocking it over.

I unfurl my flag.

In fancy, curved lettering, “Prom?” is printed across the custom fabric. I twirl the one-word question above and below me, over and around my head.

Everything stops, and with the help of the flag’s weighted handle, I let it spiral up into the air above me, do a spin, and put out my arms.

When I catch the flag, Sylvia rushes over and throws her arms around me.

Our eyes close, and we’re in that in-between place, that place where time stops, everything fades, and the floor drops out from beneath us. When I open my eyes again, every color guard senior is crowding around us, clapping, jumping up and down.

“We’re all voting for you for Prom Queen!”

Sylvia breaks away from me, and everyone gravitates toward her.

My exhaustion hits me all at once. After weeks of planning and stressing out, the relief is overwhelming. I take a seat in the same folding chair Sylvia had been sitting in earlier.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Killer_Queen.

Killer_Queen: How’d it go?

Blush99: Good! I think?

I look up. Sylvia is heading back over to me.

“Dance Moms at my place tonight?”

It’s her favorite show. “I- Yeah! Yes, of course.”

I shake my head, pocketing my phone.

Out in the school parking lot, Sylvia hops into the passenger seat of my car.

It’s quiet in the car for a minute as I pull out onto Main Street.

“I cannot believe I fell for that,” she says next to me.

I smile.

“‘Oh, stay after class for an interview, it’s for the yearbook, we’re filming it in the gymnasium!’ It’s the yearbook, why would they be filming it?! It’s a book!”

“Gotcha good.”

“You went way overboard.”

“It was Troy’s idea, mostly. I wanted to lay all the flags out to spell P-R-O-M. But everyone just kept on adding things to it and it all snowballed.” 

“It was perfect.”

I take my eyes off the road for a moment to look at Sylvia. She flashes her bluish-green eyes back at me.

She reaches over and rubs my knee. “Can we talk about prom night?”

“Sure,” I say, taking her hand off my knee and holding it.

“I think I’m ready.”

I look at her for much longer now. We’re at a stop light.

“Ready?” I say, not exactly sure if she means what I think she means.

“I’m ready.”

I rub my thumb over her knuckles.

“I want us to have sex,” she says, “on prom night."

The light turns green.