“All yours,” Izzy says, handing me my card.

“Could I have the tag too?” I ask. She gives me a puzzled look, but the existence, location, and contents of my senior year time capsule are entirely private, thank you very much. I hold out my hand and she gives it to me with a shrug and a smile. “Glad you got your sign from the universe. That dress looks great on you.”

“What?” I ask. She points through the glass door at Brendan, who does a particularly violent head-shake-thing. “Oh, no,” I correct her. “A boy is not my sign.”

“’Cause there’s no such thing as a sign,” she says in a stage whisper that I ignore. She flips the lights off and takes out a key chain. “Wanna hear a Jesus joke?”

“Not really?”

She opens the door for me and we stand on the sidewalk in the late-afternoon light. “So a man is drowning and asks Mr. God to help him,” she says, locking the door with a few clicks. “Shortly after, this boat comes by with a crew offering the man a ride. The man refuses and says that God will save him. Not long after that, the man drowns and goes to heaven. He asks God, ‘Why didn’t you save me?’ God responds, ‘You idiot, I sent you a boat.’” She looks at me expectantly and I laugh. “Just saying,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Okay, thanks, I’ll make sure to tell my dad that one.”

The sun is low in the sky, illuminating Brendan’s silhouette. Izzy puts a felt hat on and waves. “Well, off ya go, Cinderella.”

“Okay, see ya,” I say, looking down and realizing I’m still in my orange running sneakers. Classic. She disappears down the street looking like she has someplace to go. I feel a little jealous for a second. But then I realize that I do too.

21

Days ‘til graduation: Still 2

WE’RE STANDING BEFORE A PALACE FIT FOR SUBURBAN GOLFERS and us, the most recent almost-graduated class of the Gill School. On the clean-cut fake green lawn, a sprawling building with big glass windows is framed by decorative trees. Pink and white lanterns hang from them.

“It’s kind of beautiful,” I say to Brendan, looking up at the main entrance to the country club, where a banner with silver lights spells out GILL SCHOOL PROM.

“It is, isn’t it,” he says, then looks down at our feet. “Cool sneakers.”

“Shut up,” I say, and push him toward the door.

As we walk, I kick up some of the red flower petals covering the stone walkway. Through the big glass windows we can see everyone in their suits and gowns and corsages and boutonnieres, taking pictures, talking loudly. I look at Brendan again, and my face gives way to a smile. “Everyone looks good. This whole place does.”

“Prom Scrooge satisfied?” he asks, admiring one of the lanterns hanging in a nearby tree.

“I’m just saying the decorations are pretty and we all look a lot better in fancy clothes.” We both flash our tickets, and a man in a suit opens the big glass doors for us. “Welcome to Gill School prom,” he says, politely avoiding my X-tits. “Hope you have a great night.”