“Bring a date!” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Ming already asked Victoria Albee. Fifth wheel is a good place. I’ll be the single hot guy with the safety net of a friend group; all eyes on me on the dance floor.”

“You’re still the freaking worst,” she says, shaking her head and laughing a little in disbelief. “Well, I do have a prom binder. . . .” I laugh, and she hits me. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I say, arms up. “And who are you kidding? It would be so much weirder if you didn’t have a prom binder, Troy.”

She throws her head back and laughs, and it’s the best sound in the world.

Chantale is waiting outside the reception hall, and I can spot Dad, Ma, and Lion at a table at the back, chatting loudly as Haitians do but scanning the room for me.

“So, um . . . I’ll see you around?”

Corinne rolls her eyes as if to say, Obviously. Chantale gives me a quick, barely perceptible nod before slipping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

“It was a good performance, Henri,” she says coolly but not with any resentment I can actively pick up on. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Mrs. Troy.”

I watch them disappear down FATE’s hallway and into the night while I rejoin my own tribe. There are no fist pumps or skips in my step but only because I pay very close attention to both my forearms and feet.

“Good luck with McGill,” Corinne throws over her shoulder without turning back.

Ma, Dad, and I say goodbye to Lion at the nearest subway mouth (since he has “two more stops planned for this suit”) and agree to grab a cab home. It’s an unnecessary splurge considering the 1 train is running on time, but it feels like that kind of night.

“No parties,” Dad says on the way home, “but you can have your phone privileges back.”

With a few clicks, the parental locks are removed and the ocean of GIFs and memes I missed from Ming pours into my phone. The boy has absolutely not been doing any biology. I’ve also been tagged in a few dozen photos from tonight. It was a good night. Although there is no way Yadira or I will ever see that trophy again, going by how tightly Greg is clutching it in the video.

My in-box is at twenty-eight new emails—mostly school stuff. They tend to pile up when you don’t get to check them. However, only one stands out from the in-box, and whatever sound I let out is enough to startle Ma awake from Dad’s shoulder and for the poor driver to swerve narrowly from a passing biker.

Name: Admissions

Domain: @McGill.edu

Subject: Congratulations

Epilogue