We’re supposed to work on a lab in pairs today, and Ma Elena picks me. I’m so happy I could cry, but it’s also so weird. She has on this perfume that smells like someone ran flowers through a car wash made of candy. And she’s so energetic. She’s chatting away about prom so excitedly and draws me a sketch of her dress. (No phone means no screenshot, so what else is she gonna do?) If she’s an artist of any accuracy, it’s got these Princess Diana sleeves and a strange buttoned bib and a huge belt. I don’t tell her that she’s too short for this look, which will box her in. I just ask the color and then wish I hadn’t because her answer is burgundy. Burgundy! She’ll just die if Becky Eberhardt wears the same dress, which happened their junior year, because they have the same style, and I agree, no one wants that horror on the big night. Meanwhile, I’m thinking: She always told me she didn’t go to prom at all.

“What are you going to wear?” she asks as if I’ve been here long enough to have an outfit. She can’t know that it burns me to think I’m going to have the very same prom experience here (by any other name) that I was trying to avoid by going to see (my) Ms. Silverthorn two days ago.

(Two days!)

I deflect. “I’m still deciding. What’s Gordo wearing?”

Her eye roll is majestic. “His band suit.” For a half-second, I picture marching band uniforms. That would be a sight. “Those suits are horrible—the polyester is so shiny. And he wears it to church all the time! This is supposed to be a special night.”

I still don’t understand what she’s doing with him. “So … how’d you guys get together?” I try to sound neutral, but it’s never made sense to me.

“When he got here, he had a huge chip on his shoulder, sure he wouldn’t be welcome, so Frohmy and I made it our mission to change that. I introduced him to the kids from band, so he had friends right away. Frohmy gave him a shop job with Mr. A, who never loses his temper. He was so grateful to be included. By Halloween, when he told me he liked me, I thought, You know what, I’m good for him.”

“Okay. So that explains what he gets out of it … but, seriously, what do you get?”