“I have no idea where I’m going! I’m eighteen years old and I have an awful sense of direction!” I shout over the swelling music. “And the thought of falling even harder for you and us having to go in different directions scares the shit out of me! But I like you too much. And yes! This is important to me. This stupid crown matters to me. And so does drag. And so do you.” I can feel my throat closing up, trying to trap the words in my chest. But I have to admit it. I have to say it out loud. I care. I care if I win. Or if I lose. Or if I even get to participate at all. And I care for Tucker. I care for him so much. And maybe I’ll leave Clover City. Maybe I won’t. But it turns out that dreams and hopes and wishes can come true anywhere. Even here.

I take a step closer to him, and he nods as my lips crush against his, my fingers lacing around the back of his neck.

Around us, I hear a few whistles, but I let myself sink against him, as “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas begins to play. I hate that we missed the slow song, but it doesn’t matter, because as we lay our heads against each other’s shoulders, we dance at our own pace while everyone else jumps and flails around us.

Just behind Tucker, I spy another couple with their lips locked together. Bo and Willowdean. Once they come up for air, I wave to Willowdean and she waves back before nuzzling into Bo’s neck. The four of us circle the dance floor until we’re back to back.

I call over my shoulder to Willowdean. “Any big plans for next year?” I ask.

“Do you think they have Mexican food in Sweden?” she yells over the music.

“The burritos will be here when you get back!” I call, but Bo spins her farther into the crowd so that all I can hear is her delighted giggle.

We dance for a while longer, until our feet hurt—well, my feet hurt. A whole bunch of us, Clem and Hannah and all of my new friends—Callie, Mitch, Bo, Willowdean, Amanda, Ellen, Tim, Millie, and Malik—sneak out to the golf course, kicking our shoes off and leaving them at the door.

Everyone plays a game of tag, racing all over the course, while Tucker tries to teach me to two-step, the both of us barefoot on the lush green.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?” I ask, tripping over his feet for the millionth time.

“My mom and dad,” he says. “They used to dance in the garage.”

“Yeah?” I want him to feel like he can talk, but I don’t want to force it, especially tonight, when everything feels just right.