Brendan walks to the middle of the stage and says, “Welcome to Senior Night!” He’s holding a microphone and wearing another tutu over his jeans.

“That dude never turns down an opportunity for attention,” Gene whispers, and by the sounds of the whispers around us, I assume other people are saying something similar.

“Maybe he’s really lonely,” I whisper back, and then I lean over Gene. “Hey, Hil, does Brendan have friends? I only ever see him with Student Council people, and I figure since you’re an officer—”

“Sure, he does. Student Council people,” Hilary says. She’s sitting next to a beautiful arrangement of yellow tulips and blue bulbous flowers that travel up a thick stem and come to a point. The tissue they’re wrapped in is sparkling and GODDAMMIT I FORGOT TO GET ABIGAIL A BOUQUET BECAUSE I WAS SO BUSY WITH MY FREAKING ARMPITS.

Gene leans over and examines my face. “Hey, don’t worry, he’s so cheerful all the time.”

I fiddle with the shoelace of my combat boot. “Yeah, but everyone puts on an act when people are around.”

“I don’t!” Gene has a funny smile on his face, like we’re telling jokes around a campfire together. “Do you?”

“Of course not,” I say.

“Sorry for the technical difficulties,” Brendan says. He’s tapping the microphone, and it’s piercing my eardrum with its thumping. “Please welcome your dance team, led by senior captains Abigail Castillo and Rose Williams.”

They shimmy onto the stage as everyone claps. They have big fake eyelashes on and baggy pants and tight shirts and special sneakers that moonwalk or something. “I’ll let their dance moves speak for themselves, or move for themselves.” Brendan laughs and the auditorium becomes more silent than it’s been all night. “Let’s do it!” Brendan yells, and a cross between a hip-hop and an electronic song blasts through the speakers in every corner of the auditorium.

The lights fade to black except for two white spotlights that are following Abigail and Rose as they body roll toward the audience. The music begins to rise, their bodies shaking faster as the beat quickens. Just before the beat drops, they freeze, Abigail with her butt an inch from the floor and Rose balancing nearly on her head.

The crowd gets very, very silent—and then my phone rings.

“Seriously?” someone yells into the darkness. The beat drops and Abigail and Rose keep going, but they stumble a little.

“Shit.” I reach into my pocket, which is screaming like a newborn baby, but I can’t get the phone out of my jeans without standing up.

Mom is on the screen. I turn it to silent and hit ignore. A second later it’s vibrating in my pocket again. I ignore it until I get the fourth call.

“I hate when Ma just keeps calling like that,” Gene whispers.

It’s not really like that. Mom doesn’t call four times in a row unless—

“Um, actually I should get this. Be right back.” I hop up and stumble in the dark over people’s feet and legs. “Sorry, excuse me,” I mutter as I step on something squishy enough to be a leg but small enough to be a foot. I hurry up the dark aisle and burst into the hallway by the fire extinguisher. Ahead is a bright pink poster with a smiley face that says SAFE SPACE. Liar.