I can’t help myself. “So it’s ASA—progress for some!”

She doesn’t take the bait. “If you think this is the particular hill you want to die on, to make things better for EVERYONE, prepare your case for the June board meeting and win a victory for the future. You have to MAKE progress, and making it takes time. Perhaps you should have started this campaign sooner … and openly.”

“We’ll do it.” Shreya is nodding. “Tell the board we want to be on the agenda. Right, Luis?”

I am blinking furiously now, because I am not going to let Yasmin and Bryce see me cry. What can I say? “Yeah,” I barely squeeze out, then clear my throat and try again. “Yes.”

Mrs. Somboon-Fox softens, sounding more like herself. “Everyone is still welcome. Everyone is still included. You, Cheng, everyone—all you have to do is buy a ticket and come celebrate with your friends.”

“And if we dance together?” She says nothing, but her eyes are sad.

I’m on my feet. “So we’re welcome to be spectators at the biggest night of the year. Welcome to watch everyone else have prom while we, what? Drink Gatorade? Admire their clothes?”

“You signed the code of conduct with your own hand. You know where you go to school.” I’m about to fire back, but Mrs. Somboon-Fox wants to puncture the balloon of my moral superiority, and dammit, she knows just how. “I’m sure you’ll still be prom king.”

My god, is it that obvious? I start to say that isn’t the point, but Bryce seizes the moment. “You and Gandhi will make a perfect couple.”

“Bryce!” Mrs. Somboon-Fox is now differently unhappy than she was moments ago. “That is NOT appropriate.”

The bell for next period rings so loudly that we all jump.

Bryce bolts for the door like a convict released from death row. Shreya squeezes my hand and tells me with her eyes that we’ll talk later.

Yasmin waits a moment and says that I should have come to her first. For a microsecond, I think she’s an ally, but no dice. “I could’ve told you the answer would’ve been ‘no’ and spared you all this.” She really thinks this sounds sympathetic. I want to shred her day planner with my bare hands.

“Luis.”

I can barely look at Mrs. Somboon-Fox. I’m hurt that the woman all about diversity has shut me down so fast and so thoroughly. And, okay, maybe I’m embarrassed that she can read me so clearly.

Her expression has softened. “If you really thought this would fly, you wouldn’t have tried to sneak it past me.”

“I—”

“Stop. Listen to me,” she says, her voice firm but not unkind. “You know where you live and where you go to school. Antic Springs isn’t the city, and ASA isn’t High School Musical.”