The suit is … good God. It’s deep green velvet with cropped pants rolled at the cuffs and a pristine white dress shirt buttoned all the way up. In truest Jack fashion, she’s foregone heels to pair it with immaculate white tennis shoes, and a watch with a thick brown leather band and a face the size of a saucer glints from her wrist.

Dapper is the word that comes to mind.

Well, it’s the clean word, anyway.

“Hi,” I somehow manage despite my mouth going completely dry.

“Uh, hi.” She scratches behind her ear as her eyes travel up and down my dress and back again. “You look, uh.” Her eyes dart to my mom, standing a few feet behind me. “Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” If my mom’s trying to keep the laughter out of her voice, she is desperately failing. “Nice to see you again. Take good care of my daughter tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I trust there’ll be no—”

“Oh my God, Mom, stop. No one believes you’re a master enforcer and you know we’ll probably both drink a tiny bit and neither of us is driving and obviously neither of us will be doing drugs. Can we go now?”

“Hug and kiss, first.”

I let out a big huffy sigh, but when it comes time to wrap my arms around her, I squeeze a little tighter and longer than usual. I know how lucky I am to have a mom who supports me in everything I do, who doesn’t blink at the fact that a girl in a suit is taking me to homecoming. I give her an air-kiss so as not to smudge my lip gloss and then grab Jack by the arm and yank her out the door before she can even finish calling out “Bye, Ms. McCloud!” like the suck-up she is.

The door’s barely closed behind us before I find myself up against the wall of our building, Jack’s mouth hot on mine. I let myself melt into it immediately, one hand stroking the soft velvet of her jacket while the other brushes her newly shorn hair. It takes until we’re both just about out of oxygen before she finally pulls back, rests her forehead against mine, and says, “Sorry. I just. You look.” She laughs breathlessly, the scent of minty mouthwash ghosting over my lips. “So fucking good.”

“Trust me, I get it,” I say, coasting my hand over the tips of her mohawk, careful not to disturb it. “Oh, I get it.”

“You like it?” she asks.

“Uhhh, yeah, I like it.” I tilt my head up to kiss her again. Even with me wearing heels, she’s still a couple of inches taller than me. “Was I not clear?”