“Thanks,” Brendan says. I step behind him a bit, suddenly embarrassed to be walking into the huge bright room together. What if people think we’re together together?

Get over yourself, shit huffer.

Inside it smells like so many types of perfume and cologne. The sun is casting golden shadows around the room as if to say, No filter required! We slowly make our way across the blue oriental rug toward various cliques’ group photos.

“There you are!” Abigail calls. She and Hilary ditch the photo they were in to throw themselves at me: Hilary’s hair is freshly dyed, and the cool blue with her dark green dress has this magical mermaid effect.

“You guys look so beautiful,” I say, touching the silk of Hilary’s dress.

Abigail fake-sobs into my neck. “I think I might cry.” Her hair is in a ballet bun on top of her head, and her red dress drapes off her shoulders. “Look at your badass grungy bride dress, Cham. Is that tape over your boobs?”

“Yep.”

“Good for you, darling,” Hilary says, eyeing Marquis behind us, who’s tied a bow tie to his tuba and is currently dancing with it. I wonder how long her British accent has been in effect.

“You look so handsome, Brendan,” Abigail says as she turns to him. Then she elbows me in the side. Not subtly.

“You’re looking handsome too. You all are,” he says, and his eyes linger on mine.

“Can you take a picture of the three of us?” Abigail asks, handing her phone to him.

We make a beeline for one of the large flower arrangements on the other side of the room. It’s a fustercluck of orchids and lilies that we squeeze ourselves in front of. At the last minute I switch places with Hilary so I’m in the middle, and I link my arms in both of theirs. “You guys,” I say, feeling suddenly sentimental, as if it’s years from now and I’m looking at the picture we’re about to take, senior year time capsule resurrected. “Look at us. We look freaking hot and we’re graduating from high school in two days. Aren’t you excited?”

“Um, yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be excited,” Abigail says, insisting we take one picture with our middle fingers up. “I can’t wait until they’re done Breathalyzing us so I can dance ass-up for like six hours.”

“Okay, smile,” Brendan says, taking a step back and nearly landing on the train of Rose’s pink lace gown. “And one not flipping the camera off? There, I think I got it.” He hands the phone to Abigail.

“Okay, now one of you two,” Hilary says, pushing me into Brendan.

I feel my cheeks burn, and then I literally almost say out loud, Get over yourself. I don’t want to be one of those people who’s embarrassed their whole life to like what they like.

“I guess I could be bothered to take one picture,” Brendan says, standing next to me. He puts his arm around my waist, and I feel how warm he is: a 98.6-degree human.