She turned. It was Dominic Reyes, captain of the debate team, known for sharp suits and sharper arguments. He wasn’t her date. He wasn’t anyone’s date tonight—he’d told everyone he was going solo to “observe the sociology of adolescent ritual.” But here he was, offering his hand with a small, genuine smile.
“Looks like you need a partner.”
On prom night, the gym was transformed with fairy lights and a rented mirror ball. Melody wore the green dress again, but this time her curls stayed perfectly in place, thanks to a YouTube tutorial and an entire can of hairspray. Leo was kind but distracted, spending most of the night taking blurry photos for the yearbook committee.
Dominic smiled. “She’d say it’s about time you two stopped practicing and started living.”
“All right, everyone,” called Mrs. Cranston, the history teacher turned reluctant choreographer. “Find your partners. We’re running the entrance and first dance twice, then open floor.”
“Hard not to. You move like water.”
Partners paired off in awkward clusters. Melody’s date, a quiet boy named Leo from her chem class, was late. She scanned the crowd—couples giggling, stepping on toes, checking phones. Her stomach tightened.