I walk back inside my bedroom and close the curtain while he stares at me, mouth agape. How did I let things get this far? Because I thought I deserved it, I realize. Entitlement, mixed with loneliness, is a lethal combination. Somehow, I’d justified that it was my turn to be happy—even if other people, like my own sister, got hurt in the process. I change out of my expensive prom dress, knowing that I will never wear it again. Not even to a fancy Persian wedding once weddings are a thing again. I want to leave the girl in this dress behind. It’s late, but I know if I get in bed, I’ll just ruminate for hours, and I don’t want to let Gideon steal any more of my time. Instead, I open my laptop and draft an email to the only person who’s given me something to write about.

GABRIELA

Full disclosure: I wasn’t as sad as Parisa or the rest of my senior class when school announced that prom was canceled. Unlike a lot of girls my age, I didn’t spend the last four years fantasizing about getting my hair done at the nearest Drybar, or wearing a low-cut sequined evening gown, or riding in a limo with a date who would most likely be Parisa. The whole endeavor seemed too expensive and forced and not the way I’d want to spend my Saturday night.

But somewhere during our friendship, Parisa became an expert at shoehorning prom into every conversation. A song would pop up on a Spotify playlist, and she’d point out that it would make a great prom theme. She’d scroll through a slideshow of celebrities dressed up for an awards show and make us pick which dress we’d wear to prom. A random guy would talk to us at lunchtime, and she would secretly declare him “prom-date potential.” And I was the consummate sidekick who pretended that I liked to do things like try on expensive dresses at Bloomingdale’s for shits and giggles.

Though it could get annoying, I understood why she was so fixated on a dance. Prom was the one night that could redeem every other crappy day we’d had at Winchester. If she got an up-do, put on a pretty-slash-sexy dress, slow-danced with “prom-date potential” to a Justin Bieber ballad, and had her first kiss in a cheap hotel room at an afterparty—then all the other injustices we’d endured in high school would fade into the background. At least we’d have one night to hang our hats on. But then prom got canceled, and we lost any chance to rewrite our story.