There are shrieks, cheers, and a few faint boos. Bekah and Callie crowd me in a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you!” one of them says.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I say over and over again. I might be crying. Or sweating. I can’t tell.

Someone takes my hand and pulls me forward. It’s Hannah. King Hannah. I might have a broken heart and a sister moving halfway across the country, but I think that one of the best things to come out of all of this is . . . Hannah. My friend. Perhaps my best friend outside of Clementine.

Kyle places the sash over my head, and it reads CCHS PROM QUEEN. He lets out a shriek. “They told us the results right before we took the stage. I couldn’t even look at you without giving it away.”

Well, that explains his somber look. I give him a quick hug, because even if Kyle and I are only starting to find our footing, this whole road began with him and his dumb Facebook post.

I turn to Hannah, the crown glittering above her brow and the CCHS PROM KING sash proudly displayed across her chest. “Can you believe this?” I whisper to her.

She lets out a wild giggle. “No. Yes. Yes. No. I don’t even know! I can’t wait to tell my ’lita.” Her eyes begin to water.

I pull her to me in a tight hug. “Stop-stop-stop! You’re going to make me cry.”

Her fingers dig into my sides, squeezing me as hard as she can.

“Hannah?” I say. “Thank you.” For pushing me to do this. For being my friend. For so much. But if I say much more than a brief thanks, I think my guts will spill out of my mouth.

“Let’s welcome our king and queen to the dance floor,” says Miranda, “as they share their first dance as Clover City High royalty.”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’d have to dance with someone, but there’s no time to hesitate. We exit off the stage, and the DJ asks, “Any requests?”

Hannah shrugs, so I cycle through my mental playlist and say, “‘Dancing Queen’!”

The DJ gives us a thumbs-up. “Good choice, my queen.”

The music starts, and I immediately take Hannah’s hand, spinning her across the floor. We have no idea what we’re doing, but we skip around each other, dancing close and then far, spinning each other around and under, screaming the lyrics at the top of our lungs. “Dancing queen, young and sweet! Only seventeen!” My open tuxedo jacket flashes colors of the rainbow as I spin.

After the chorus, I pull Hannah to me and we hold each other as we dance.

“Are you ready for your big moment with Clem?” I ask her.