Of course, that left nothing for a mani-pedi, but thankfully, my mom is as talented with a nail polish brush as she is with an eyeliner brush. And a bronzer brush. And a contour brush. For someone who rarely wears makeup, she is pretty damn skilled with it. When she finally lets me take a look in the mirror, my immediate reaction is to catcall myself. If only I knew how to whistle.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” She kisses the top of my head, taking care to avoid the curls I’ve painstakingly ironed into my hair. My cheeks shimmer with highlighter, my eyes look otherworldly aqua, and even I want to kiss my lips, which are the perfect bubble-gum pink to match my lace halter dress. “I hope tonight is wonderful for you. I know you’ve worked really hard at it.”

To hear that, most people would think I had something to do with planning the dance, which I didn’t. But my mom knows I spent hours getting in touch with Jack’s family and friends to beg them to make the drive to Atherton for the game. She knows I stayed up half the night writing and rewriting cheers and routines to make Jack look as beloved as possible and prove she has leadership skills.

She knows it meant that I threw away getting captain, that I might have thrown away being on the squad entirely, and she supported it anyway.

“Mom, I—” My attempt at a mushy sentiment is immediately cut off by the sound of a doorbell ringing, and I freeze in my seat.

She’s here.

My first ever queer date—well, first ever queer date who’s actually into me—is here.

And I’m going to the dance on her arm. In front of everyone.

Holy crap.

“Would you like me to get that?” Mom asks, clearly holding back laughter as she takes in my panicked expression.

I shake my head, but it still takes me a few seconds to actually slip out of the chair. I slide on my silver heels and check myself in the mirror one last time, making sure Jack will get the full effect of my sexy but delicate look, and then I open the door.

And promptly slip on my own drool.

Okay, not literally, but it does feel like a serious danger when I see Jack in all her hot glory. If my mom weren’t here, I definitely could not be held responsible for my actions.

The hair that was always knotted away as an afterthought is now front and center as a platinum mohawk. The sides look so smooth and soft, my fingers instantly itch to brush over them, and the rest is artfully tousled in that sexy just-got-out-of-bed way. I’d think she had just gotten out of bed if not for the rest of her looking immaculate.