“Oh,” we both say, and laugh. I run a sweaty palm over my hair frizzies and look out the glass doors, where the sky has darkened. The lanterns in the trees are even prettier now, and though the wind has blown most of the petals off the walkway, they still look beautiful piled against the building.

“Yeah,” I say, deliberately avoiding our reflection in the mirror to our left. “A walk sounds good.”

It’s the cool, damp weather that’s the worst for my hair, but I try not to think about that as we walk toward his car. The stone walkway gives way to a parking lot, and the trees with their lights get fewer and fewer the closer we get to the golf course. His dress shoes make a clicking noise against the pavement, and every few strides our fingers touch by mistake, sending my atoms haywire. We stop outside his car and I take in the lights and the sounds of the country club behind us.

“Jacket?” Brendan asks, opening the car door and offering me a blue fleece.

“Please.”

I put it on and look up at the sky. I’m starting to become very aware of my skin, and every inch of it that’s making contact with the air.

“So what were you saying,” he asks, “when I so rudely interrupted you and suggested this cold walk?”

“Um…” Shit shit shit. I glance at his bow tie, then back up at the dark, clouded sky, wishing I could locate just one star. Time to graduate, Chamomile. Time to fucking graduate. “I was lying earlier,” I squeak, then look him in the eyes and steady my voice. I poke his arm, which seems decidedly uncool and even less sexy. It becomes a weird caress and I manage, “I was hoping you were asking me to prom.”

A smile twitches on his lips and I wonder about them—how they move, what they feel like.

“I was asking you to prom,” he finally says. The wind carries the sound of his voice around the whole parking lot. I’m glad I’m the only one to hear. “I just didn’t want to come on too strong.”

My heart falls upward, which is something my heart has never done before. It’s becoming very hard to make eye contact—I can’t look away, but if I keep looking into his eyes, I don’t know that I’ll stay in one piece.

“Well, okay, that’s good, ’cause here we are at prom.” I point awkwardly toward the giant sign now hanging sideways, then consider pulling the fleece over my head. Instead I tug at its zipper. A foghorn sounds someplace far from us, an alert that the dense air is hiding something. It’s here, right here.

“Um, I like you,” Brendan finally says, fiddling with the flower pinned to his shirt. “At first I thought you were kind of an asshole, and maybe I still do, but… you’re really beautiful, Cham. Even when no one’s looking.”

The way he says it, I know he doesn’t mean You’re so hot. I used to love it when Gene said that, but this stirs something different in me, like there’s a whole universe inside me.