The dress is a little snugger than it was when I bought it. Thanks to my daily swims and weekly spin classes, I haven’t gained too much obligatory pandemic weight, but I have been filling the void left by my best friend with donuts and cookie dough. My mom and sister teamed up to help me wax my arms and eyebrows and to give me a full manicure-pedicure. I felt a little ridiculous letting them pamper me when prom isn’t even happening, but they insisted.

“Lizzy said the dress code was formal,” Neda reminded me.

A couple of days ago, Lizzy and I hung out in my driveway and she said her parents were letting her invite a few girlfriends over on prom night.

“Just in my yard, and we’ll be socially distanced, and you’ll have to wear a mask. And there won’t be any guys there. I’m still… grieving. So I thought it might be nice just to have girls over. Would you want to come?”

“Sure,” I answered.

Ambivalence is not a state I’m accustomed to experiencing. I thought I would be excited to finally get an invitation from Lizzy. After all, hanging out in her yard would be so much better than being stuck at home, doing nothing. It would be a little overwhelming to be around her girlfriends, but isn’t that exactly what I’ve wanted all through high school? To hang out with the popular kids for one night and see what all the fuss is about? I always assumed if and when the moment presented itself, I would be tagging along to some party with Gabriela. But Lizzy was inviting me. So why did I still feel so lukewarm on the idea?

“Smile, Parisa!” my mom says as she snaps a picture of me with her iPhone.

I do my best to pretend I’m happy as my mom takes more photos. She switches to a black-and-white filter while my dad makes a big show of presenting me with a corsage, carefully put together with baby’s breath and a single red rose. I mutter a thank-you, and I can tell he’s hurt by my lack of enthusiasm, but the last guy I wanted a corsage from on prom is my dad.

After suffering through a few more pictures, I say goodbye and make my way across the street to Lizzy’s. The only footwear I’m used to these days is sneakers or slippers, and my high heels nearly knock me off-balance as I teeter down our cobblestone driveway. When I make my way through the gate that leads to Lizzy’s backyard, I’m relieved to remember that hugs are not allowed in a pandemic. My social anxiety is making me perspire, but I don’t think anyone will notice if they don’t touch me.