Hannah’s grandmother is even there with her cell phone snapping pictures.

While Hannah is running back to her car for the matching corsages she bought for her and Clem, Hannah’s grandmother nudges me with her elbow. “Clementine talks about you nonstop. I’m always telling her to bring you over.”

“I’m a recluse, Ms. Perez,” I whisper.

“Call me Grandma Camile or ’Lita. And from the way my Hannah tells it, you’re the life of the party.”

“Oh, is that true?” Has Hannah told Grandma Camile about my drag queen aspirations?

Her eyes sparkle a little as she watches Clementine pin the corsage to Hannah’s jacket. “You interested in keeping an old lady with an empty nest company? I’m sure you’re busy with plenty, but—”

“Actually,” I tell her, “old ladies are right on brand for me.” I could hang with Grandma Camile every once in a while. She’s got good energy.

She pats me on the chest and needlessly straightens my bow tie. “It’s a date. Now get over there so I can get some more pictures.”

The three of us assemble again, and my mother poses us like bendable Barbies until my jaw aches and the smile has melted off my face.

“Tío Braulio says to knock ’em dead tonight!” Grandma Camile tells Hannah with a thumbs-up.

“Tell him I said thanks and to stop sending me envelopes full of pennies for my birthday. It’s not funny and I only accept payment in gift cards now that I’m a grown-ass adult.”

Grandma Camile tsks at her. “Enough with the mouth, mija. My Facebook audience is family friendly.”

Hannah’s jaw drops open. “Are you livestreaming this?” She breaks her pose with Clem and begins to stomp forward, reaching for her grandmother’s phone.

“Aaaaand that’s a wrap on prom pictures,” I say as Clementine laughs so hard she’s got tears streaming down her face.

We drive in my truck to the Clover City Country Club and Dance Hall, where nearly every wedding and special event in town is held. Last year, the club supposedly told the school district that they’d have to find a new place to host prom after some students drove a couple of golf carts into a pond, but I guess someone’s parents stepped in with a threat, money, or both, because they let us back in.

“I think that’s the line for valet,” says Clem, pointing to a line of flashy cars.

“Is that free?” I ask. “Does that come with the ticket?”

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of nominee perk?” Hannah asks.

As we walk in, I call over my shoulder, “You live in Clover City! You are not too fancy to park your own car!”