“I wouldn’t be caught dead on the dance floor,” I say. “Not because of you,” I add quickly, as I register the look on his face. “Just like in general. Okay, toodles.” I turn on the heel of my orange sneakers. Toodles?

By the time I cross the brightly lit room, almost everyone is seated for dinner. Waiters are coming out with baskets of bread and pitchers of Shirley Temples because when Gill School goes out, it goes all out. Crossing the room in my sneakers while everyone else is wearing heels, I feel like I’m going to cry again. Even if I do talk my way into Nicaragua, it’s just postponing the inevitable. As they go off to college and who knows what else, I’m going, where, home?

In the lobby I stop by the table with the fancy cucumber-and-mint water for a drink. Nothing says special occasion like water with leaves in it.

“Happy prom night, Cham,” Evelyn says, coming up behind me as I pour myself a glass. She’s wearing a purple dress with a silver bow tie, and it’s an improvement over the yellow Curious George suit. Still, she’s not exactly the first person I want to see.

“Happy prom night to you too,” I say wearily, lifting the glass to my lips and preparing my palate for some very gourmet water. I have a feeling this is gonna be awkward, since she probably has to fail me and all.

“How’s it going so far?” she asks, plucking a carnation from the vase at the end of the table and sniffing it before putting it back.

“Well, I just gave up my seat to the girl my ex-boyfriend is now attending prom with.”

She laughs and I chug the rest of my water, begging the burp in my throat to stay put. We’re silent for a few seconds, but it feels like a few years. I look around at the decorations in the lobby: the bouquets of flowers, the photo booth in the corner with the props. “You know, Cham,” Evelyn says. “I’ve been thinking about your presentation. I admire your honesty.” Admire it enough not to fail me? “I was also thinking that there’s a place to go for people with questions.”

“Lemme guess, Google?”

She laughs. “I’m talking about philosophy.”

I blink at her. “Does it have a physical address I don’t know about?”

She places her cup down on the polished wooden table and sighs. “I’m going to ignore your sass. Look, some people turn to philosophy because they want to, and some people turn to it because they need to. I needed it, and maybe you do too.” I look down at my orange sneakers clashing with the blue oriental rug and fix some of my boob tape. Maybe an X-marks-the-tits-spot is all my boobs have ever needed. “Here,” she says, reaching into her purse and handing me a book. “No one really talks about how scary graduating is. I appreciate your acknowledging that in your presentation yesterday. It takes a lot of courage to admit what you don’t know. It reminded me of something I read in here, and I thought you might want to check this book out.”