Yeah, that night was definitely worse, but this one’s bad, too. Neon strobe lights illuminate the dark school gymnasium, and inflated rainbows dangle from the rafters. I guess there’s a theme, but I wasn’t exactly on the decorating committee so I have no idea what they were going for.

Tacky teenage?

Nailed it.

Chaperones and tables of punch line the edges of the room. I press my shoulders harder into the wall at my back, unable to tear my eyes away from the dance floor.

From them.

Mona settles on the wall beside me. “They look good together, right?”

Dragging my gaze from Jeremy dancing with Kimba, his hands resting low on her hips, I shrug. Arms folded across my chest, I pull one knee up and dig my heel into the wall. I sat in the front seat with Kayla when she drove us here, and Mona sat in the back with Kimba. Maybe I’m wearing my invisibility cape over this stupid shirt and tie because they definitely forgot I was in the car. They coached Kimba the whole ride here on how to kiss Jeremy. I dropped my forehead to the cool car window and tried to block out phrases like “his tongue in your mouth” and “just suck on it.”

I glance over at Mona and notice for the first time she’s got one of those weird haircuts that’s longer on one side than the other.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, a knitting between her pencil-darkened brows. Why do they always think layers of paint and stuff make them look better? I do have to admit Kimba looks really pretty tonight, though I like her lips without the red stuff. They’re naturally this brownish-pink color. I stare at them all the time.

“I’m not looking at you any kind of way,” I lie.

“I got lipstick on my teeth?” she asks, running her tongue over them.

“No.”

I can’t not look any longer, so I find Jeremy and Kimba on the dance floor again, still swaying back and forth. If I’m not mistaken, his hands are a little closer to her butt now.

“Ooooooh.” Mona nudges me, her sharp little elbow punching my ribs. “Kyle is over there all by himself.”

She pats the longer side of her hair and tugs at the hem of her short dress. “I’m going to ask him to dance.”

I wish I could be that bold—could just walk out onto the dance floor and tell Jeremy to let Kimba go. I’d remind her that when we were six years old, she married me, and that it should count for something. Even though everything’s different now, and we’re about to enter high school, and our bodies are changing and I feel weird around her most of the time, some things should always remain the same.