Even Wynezra, with her three lines as Servant, delivered them with the greatest of… uh… servitude? In act 3, scene 4, she entered “Olivia’s garden” while Malvolio (Willow) was wearing cross-gartered yellow stockings—per the instructions in the prank love letter—and Olivia (Imogen) was declaring, “Why, this is very midsummer madness.”

Enter WYNEZRA.

“Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned: I could hardly entreat him back: he attends your ladyship’s pleasure.”

Imogen’s lips curled with delight. “I’ll come to him.”

The dress rehearsal was a flawless success. Even Jayden and Thad—with their tenderized slabs of meat for faces—were professional, and courteous, and performed their parts with minimum douchebaggery. Except for when the parts called for it. Sir Toby and Fabian were kind of horrible people.

When we finished, Ziggy applauded us and commanded us to applaud ourselves—which we did because we were fucking awesome. Ziggy then broke down the details for tomorrow’s big performance. It would be held in the school gymnasium (because Amityvale was an irreparable shithole) at three p.m. sharp. The reason it was starting so early was that prom was the following day, in the exact same gymnasium.

As Ziggy dismissed us, we dispersed in a mostly unified drove for the exit. Wynezra and Imogen were talking about prom dresses, and they dragged me into the discussion, because I might be wearing one of them. Wynezra and I resolved to split our combined tux and dress expenses. Holden must have felt a little left out of the prom-dress conversation, because he kept chipping in with his own thoughts and suggestions, so we decided, what the hell, we’d all go shopping together ASAP.

That’s when we heard a wave of chatter from the front of the line. As we spilled outside into the late-afternoon sunlight, we witnessed our car—my car, technically—the Subaru, covered in hearts made of construction paper, and rose petals, and balloons tied to the side mirrors and door handles, and white words scrawled across the front windshield in window paint. They read:

You drive me wild.

Go to prom with me, Willow?

—Patrick

Patrick was standing awkwardly off to the side, receiving fist bumps and shoulder claps from the “dudes” and “bros” who composed the majority of Jayden and Thad’s posse. But his attention was trained on Willow, who was standing in front of the car, motionless. She finally turned and made eye contact with him.

Walked right up to him.

“I should hate you, Patrick,” she said. “But mostly, I’m just sad and disgusted. I don’t know why you would think you have the right to ask me to prom. You had my trust and respect—and you just gave it away. You’re worse than Thad and Jayden.”

She marched directly to the car, leaving Patrick to marinate in the rejection.

She walked with fierceness.

She walked with pride.