I’m about to take the dress off and hide until graduation when the doorbell rings. “Oh god, if it’s Abigail and Hilary trying to get me to this dance—”

I run down the stairs. When they see me in this dress, they will understand that I can’t go. In a way, my mom probably just saved my life.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Myles,” Brendan is saying as my mom opens the door. He’s wearing a pale blue suit just like Elvis’s. I try to dart back to my room, but he’s already seen me. I reach the bottom of the stairs, and a smile accidentally takes over my face.

“Hey, Cham,” he says, pulling a big white balloon in behind him and closing the door. It grazes the ceiling when he comes in.

“Uh, what’s that?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest in a failed attempt to hide my runaway ruffles. “And what are you doing here?”

“We’ll be in the other room, kids,” my mom says. I’ve never seen my dad wheel anywhere so fast.

Brendan steps toward me and holds out the balloon. “I’m bringing you the moon,” he says. “I mean a moon, to hold you over while you look for yours.” He hands me the string, and our fingers touch.

“Wow.” I look up and pull the balloon to me. It’s twice the size of a usual helium balloon, with a silvery-white face. “Well, that’s—” I start, but I don’t know where I’m going with this exactly. In fact, I’m a little bit speechless.

“I know it’s not the real moon,” he says, putting his hands in his pale blue pockets. “But it was the biggest balloon they had at iParty.”

It drifts above our heads. I tug the string and the balloon comes toward my face. For a second I think I could actually be holding the moon, which is big and scary but also thrillingly unknown and seemingly infinite.

“Anyway, I’m on my way to prom,” he says, pointing at his tie. “Do you want to go with me?”

I blush and look down at his dress shoes, starting up a stuttering conversation with their black laces. “Wow, um, I, it’s just—”

“Not with me with me,” he says quickly. “Just like do you want to carpool with me?”

“Oh, I knew what you meant,” I say, laughing and hoping it’s loud enough to drown out my disappointment.

“Go to prom, kids,” my mom calls, careful to stay out of sight.

“Come on,” Brendan says, taking the balloon from me and tying it to one of the coatracks. “Prom itself can’t be worse than the pictures of prom you’d be torturing yourself with if you stayed home.”

I put my hands on my hips. “How do you know I don’t have big plans?”

He bites his lip and says facetiously, “That dress does seem to be for a special occasion.”

I punch him in the arm and he laughs. “Well, I do have a whole summer to plan out now that I can’t go to Nicaragua,” I say. “Not to mention the rest of my life.”