I’m the first one at the cafeteria, which is a huge surprise because Ma Elena is usually way ahead of us. There’s not much to do but wait because the supplies aren’t even here, so I busy myself thinking up a plan. I’m not going to be the idiot who writes “Prom” on the inside of a pizza box and calls it good. Obviously, a flash mob is out, and I doubt a drama department which has only done Godspell is where I want to look for costumes. I could slip a note inside one of the balloons (do we have balloons?), fill it with confetti (if there’s confetti), and hand him a pin. I could do the boom box thing from that old movie—Say Something, maybe?—but that only works if the movie is already out, and I can’t remember if it is.

Leeza enters with a huge box of star vases in her arms. When she sees me, there is a moment where she clearly considers heading back out the way she came. Instead, she slams the box down on the table, and starts unpacking it icily.

Whatever it is hasn’t yet blown over. “Did I do something?”

The way she looks at me makes it clear that not knowing my crime is a crime unto itself. “Are you serious, Weese? We could see you lurking outside the shop the other night. And then you had to knock too? Andrew is pissed at me now like it’s my fault!” It takes me a second to get that Andrew is Mr. Buckman. “Are you trying to get him to break up with me?”

“He can’t break up with anyone but Mrs. Buckman …”

“Which he will! Unless you ruin everything!”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“What the hell? I don’t need protection from Andrew. What I need is protection from backstabbers like you.”

I reach for her arm. I need to make contact. She needs to know I’m serious. “Look at me. You’re my best friend here. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Too late.” She is trying to read my eyes, figure me out. “I don’t get you, Weese. I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stalk us again. Just leave Andrew and me alone, and I’ll believe you mean it.” The way she keeps using his first name, the ownership in her voice, the trust—ugh. I don’t know what to say, but she fills the space. “And forget prom. If we go together, he’ll be furious.”

“Are you serious?” It’s one thing for me to propose a third wheel and another to be dumped instead.