Leah on the Offbeat(27)

God, you have to love how my mom isn’t friends with my friends’ parents. She’s friends with their siblings.

“I need details,” Mom says.

So, I tell her everything. Or I try to. I’m not sure it’s possible to put into words what it looks like when Garrett dances.

And—okay. I guess I should tell her about Garrett asking me to prom. I’m almost scared of how happy it will make her. She has a thing about school dances. She went to all of them, even as a freshman—even junior prom, when she was four and a half months pregnant. She has this theory that every teen movie should end in a prom scene.

“I think every teen movie does end in a prom scene,” I’d told her.

She thinks it’s romantic. She explained it to me once. “It’s this night where all the usual drama gets suspended. Everyone looks different. And everyone’s a little more generous with each other.” I remember she paused after she said that, and for one horrible moment, I thought that might be a euphemism. But then Mom added softly, “I remember the feeling like it was okay to care. To not be so blasé. There’s something really earnest about school dances.”

I’ve never known how to respond to that. Cool, Mom. Glad that worked out for you. I don’t know. Maybe some of us like being blasé.

I squeeze my eyes shut, already dreading this. “So I asked Garrett to prom.”

My mom gasps. “Leah.”

“And it’s not a big deal, okay? It’s just Garrett. It’s not a thing. We’re just going as friends.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. I can actually hear her smiling.

“Mom.”

“I’m just wondering. Does Garrett know you’re going as friends?”

“Mom. Yes.”

Except—shit. I don’t know. I mean, I think we’re going as friends. No one said it was a romantic thing. But maybe prom is romantic by default. Is this a thing I have to specify? Can ambiguous social situations kindly go fuck themselves?

Of course, as soon as I hang up, there’s a text waiting for me from Garrett. So I’ll talk to Greenfeld and we can figure out limo and dinner and everything! Prom’s going to be so baller this year, I can’t wait Garrett saying baller. Now my mind can’t un-hear it.

By Friday, Creekwood High School’s collective prom fever has morphed into college fever. I swear to God, there’s nothing more toxic than a suburban high school in March. The halls look like a screenshot from college Jeopardy!—humblebrag T-shirts hitting you from every direction. It’s like the entire school turned into Taylor overnight.

Anna got into Duke. Morgan got into Georgia Southern. Simon and Nick both got into Wesleyan and Haverford, and both got rejected from the University of Virginia. Abby had looked at them incredulously when she heard that. “Are you literally the same person?”

“They just know we’re a package deal,” Simon said.

“That’s super weird,” said Abby.

Also, our lunch table is a war zone—but it’s the silent kind of war zone. Morgan and I stake out opposite ends of the table, communicating only in glares. But it’s not just us. Abby and Nick are lowkey fighting again, too. And then there’s Simon in the middle, glancing back and forth like we’re a street he has to cross. I don’t think I’ve ever met a person so nervously attuned to conflict.

Garrett, on the other hand, is perfectly oblivious. He sinks into the chair across from me, next to Abby, and grins. “Okay, ladies, I need your help.” He gestures around the table. “I’m in charge of making the dinner reservation for all of these beautiful people on prom night. So now I’m taking requests.”

“Maybe something near the venue?” Abby says distantly.

“Something cheap,” I add.

Garrett beams at me. “Well, that is not something for you to worry about, Burke. I believe your meal is covered.”

“Okay.” I blush. “Thanks.”

Abby turns to face me, suddenly. “Wait, are you guys going to prom together?”

“Yup,” Garrett says. I nod, looking down.

“Are you serious? How did I not know this?”

Garrett pretends to gasp. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No, she didn’t,” Abby says. She’s still looking at me.

I mean, was I supposed to call her? Did I somehow miss the moment when that became an expectation? I don’t get her. I don’t. Everyone thinks Abby’s so fun and sweet and bubbly, but she’s actually the most confusing girl in the universe.

I glance up at her, and she looks right in my eyes. I can’t read her expression. “Anyway,” she says, “we should figure out spring break.”

“What’s happening over spring break?” Garrett asks.

Abby’s eyes flick sideways. “Oh, nothing. Only the greatest road trip in the history of road trips.” It’s weird. Her voice is perfectly calm. But something sparks in her eyes like she’s issuing a challenge.

To Garrett. Or me. I have no earthly idea.

“I’m pretty flexible,” I say slowly.

“Good, me too. God, I’m so ready for this. I’m so ready for college.”

“Oh, you guys are visiting UGA?” asks Garrett.

“Yup,” Abby says, sliding her hand across the table, palm up, like she wants me to high-five it. So I do.