“Tawny’s pretty sad about Chaz, anyway, so I told her we’d get a group of girls together in solidarity. I’m asking Ma Elena too—she’s pretty annoyed with Gordo these days. It’ll be girls’ night, and we’ll all be better off.”

I must look shocked or bummed or something because she softens just the tiniest bit. “Make your own stag party with Chaz or whoever.” This sounds half like an olive branch and half like a dig: You know my secret, I know yours. It’s not entirely a friendly suggestion.

Without cover at prom, Chaz and I will be a lot more exposed. Who exactly can I fill a squad with? Ernie? He’ll break someone’s leg. I’m not asking Vin Weasel for sure. I’m roiling as I follow her outside, where the crew is unloading boxes and bags of supplies.

Ernie just about decapitates me with six-foot-long bolts of starry night fabric, and I have to literally dive out of the way onto the grass. “Sorry!” he shouts, but as he turns to look at me, he swings the bolt wildly and wipes out Chaz, who ends up on the lawn a few feet away from where I’ve landed.

“Funny meeting you here!” he says. It would be a perfect meet-cute in a movie.

Doing my best ingenue, I croon. “Do you come here often?”

He just rolls his eyes and leaps up, offering me a hand. He’s got a strong grip for someone so lithe. Who knew?

Ma Elena hands me two boxes full of streamers. (Have I mentioned I hate streamers? Crepe paper is a nightmare to work with and screams ’50s sock hop to boot.) I see a tractor pulling a flat trailer approaching, bearing the swing, which looks amazing. Mr. A climbs up to steady it, but Mr. Buckman is driving, so I take my cue to flee inside. I stay in the bathroom, admiring the only-at-a-church-school graffiti. Someone has taken time to scratch a trio of crosses—a full Golgotha tableau—onto the stall wall, and another person has written in pen: “You’re never standing taller than when you’re on your knees,” and I cannot tell if this serious or satirical. I mean, the setting.

When I emerge, the swing is in place at the opposite end of the room from a little stage someone has set up with wooden pallets. Chaz is trying it out, his legs a little too long for dangling, Ernie trying to push the swing even so. Leeza busts out a whole new mixtape, which she has titled “Deco-Raver.” However mad at me she may be, she seems like herself.

Ma Elena grabs my arm. “Hey, Weese, we’re still short on a few things. Wanna make a run to the party store with me before it closes?”