“Hannah!” A voice shouts from the top of the steps, and the figure of a girl appears, her silhouette dark against the bright windows. “Hannah!” she calls again, running down the steps toward us. As she gets closer I see that it’s Susie Palmer, her pale skin luminescent in the moonlight. She freezes when she sees the group of us, Danielle and Ava lying on the wet dock, their dresses like a puddle of melted ice cream. “Um, Hannah?” she says when she gets to us. “They’re looking for you inside. They called your name and no one could find you. You’re supposed to go dance with Chase.”

“What?” Hannah asks, confused. The front of her gown is wet where she pulled Ava from the water. Her braid is falling out, her bangs flattened to her forehead. I can tell she’s still buzzing from what’s happened and doesn’t understand what’s going on. But I know. It’s obvious, should have been obvious all along.

“You’re Prom Queen.”

THIRTY-ONE

SOMEHOW EVERYTHING has gone to shit.

After Chase and Hannah’s dance as King and Queen, after Danielle and Ava finally come back inside, leaving the floor so wet that Edwin Chang slips and falls, I find myself tired out, sitting back at the table and not really in the mood to dance. It’s getting late. Some of the cardboard waves have fallen off the walls, and one of the bubble machines has malfunctioned.

Dean is with Ryder somewhere, probably outside smoking, and I can’t be bothered to look for him. I sigh and stand up, heading over to get more punch. At this point, who cares if it’s spiked?

“Shitty prom, huh?” Chase says, coming up behind me.

“Yeah.” I scoop myself a cup of punch and then scoop one for him. “How’s Cecilia?”

He takes a sip of punch, leaving a thin red stain on his upper lip. “She’s nice,” he says, his voice flat.

“And that’s the problem?”

“I’m not really into nice.”

We both turn and look over to where Danielle and Ava are still being cleaned up and dried off by the chaperones.

“Where’s your date?” Chase asks.

“Who knows,” I say, taking another sip of punch. For some reason, I feel like being honest.

“You don’t like him that much,” Chase says, not a question.

“It’s nice to have someone to come with.”

“What do you mean?” Chase takes another sip. “You could have come with any of us.”

“As a friend,” I say. “I mean, it’s not like any of you guys ever . . . hit on me. I’m not a real girl. I don’t count.”

“Come on, Collins, you’re hot.” He says it so casually, catching me off guard.

“What?”

“That’s really why you think no guys ever hit on you?”