20

James spends the last week of school leading up to prom and graduation profusely apologizing.

He leaves notes in my locker, comes over every night, and spends our entire lunch hour trying to pull me back in.

I finally relent and accept his apology during Independent Study just so that he will leave me alone.

Dylan, on the other hand, completely ignores me. It doesn’t help that in almost every instance we’re in proximity, James is there, trailing along.

But still, I took a leap in him; in helping him and forgiving him, but I can’t be in any sort of one-sided relationship with anyone anymore. Not my best friend, not someone I’m talking to, not anyone who comes along in the future.

Part of me wants to just purge every memory of both of them from my brain. I know I need space; I’ve been stuck in a suffocating whirlwind of their rivalry for so many years and I need some time to get distance and recalibrate my brain.

Unfortunately, as my mother and sister both remind me, I need to put that aside for now. In their minds, prom is one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

“You’ll have plenty of time over the summer to crawl into a hole of introspection,” Audrey says to me over the phone. “But for now, accept James’s offer and go for it. You guys will work through your garbage, but please, I’m asking you, as your only and favorite sister, to put everything else aside and enjoy a high school rite of passage. And I need to see you in that dress.”

When my mom and I found the dress, I imagined being a different person while wearing it, like I would have a true Cinderella moment and it would be a magical night to remember forever, but I’m disappointed.

As I stand in the foyer and scrutinize my appearance, I’m already starting to regret this decision.

My hair is as wild and curly as it always is, but my mom used half a bottle of her fancy smoothing serum to defrizz it for me. My make-up is minimal, but I have a red lip, matching the exact shade of the dress.

From the front, it’s a conservative look. It’s a floor-length gown that’s fitted and soft. It’s sleeveless, but the neck is high and ties around. The tendrils from the bow hang down, tickling my bare skin that’s exposed completely from shoulder to my lower back.

If James hadn’t asked me, I wonder if Dylan would have. We’ve definitely gotten more comfortable around each other in public, and if the fight on the track had ended in a different way, I bet the entire school would be talking about him and me walking away hand in hand instead of the epic non-fight between him and James.

When I showed up on Dylan’s doorstep in Audrey’s borrowed clothes and preferred style, he told me that clothes are supposed to make you feel like a more confident version of yourself. Would he think that about this? Or would he think I’m a fraud?

This dress says a woman is practical, bold, and maybe wants to be a little devilish.

Not cute.

Not innocent.

Not predictable.

I put a smile on my face when James and his parents arrive. They force us to take an insufferable number of pictures together. One of us in front of the fireplace. Another one in the yard. While I put on his boutonniere. As he slides the corsage on my wrist.

There are jokes made by his parents—that I do not laugh at—about how it’ll be nice for our children to see these one day.

My mom picks up on my discomfort and makes a point to tell me that I look stunning, and I ignore the tears in her and my dad’s eyes when we drive off.

Out of habit, James reaches for my hand across the arm rest while he drives, but I don’t take it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “For what it’s worth, though, you do look beautiful, H.”

“Thank you,” I say, turning to appraise how sleek he looks in his tuxedo. “You do, too.”

“I believe you’re supposed to tell me I look ‘handsome.’”

“Gender norms are so exhausting,” I tell him. “Plus, I’m the wannabe writer here. I get to choose the words I use.”

He smiles. “Speaking of exhausting, have our parents always been like that?”

“Which part? Forcing us to pose and smile like we’re dolls or pushing us toward the altar?”

“Both,” he says with a laugh. “I guess I just was blind to it before.”

It’s pleasant to have a mutual feeling with him over this, and it gives me hope for being on the right track to mending our friendship. At that thought, I do reach out and squeeze his hand briefly before returning it to my own lap.

“James, we’re going to be fine,” I reassure him.

“I know,” he says. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry for not treating you like I should have.”

I guess I’m not the only one who has been doing some deep soul searching and evaluating lately.

“I don’t think I can take any more apologies from you,” I admit. “I’m a little burned out for a while.”

“Well, I feel like I still need to make up for some stuff.” He tries, and fails, to smooth his hair down. “You know, you’ve never really yelled at me like that before.”

“Get used to it,” I say immediately.

We both break out in grins, and the night moves along much more smoothly after that.

Our groove isn’t as comfortable as it once was, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

Prom technically includes dinner, dancing, and an area for card games for those who aren’t interested in dancing. I think most people are just biding their time until they can head to one of the afterparties in the hotel rooms above the grand ballroom.

The night feels like I imagined it would. The lights are dim and romantic. The dresses are gorgeous, and the suits are sleek. It’s a big event that’s already going to be a source of nostalgia when I’m older.

I try to enjoy it.

James insists on dancing to a few fast songs, which is something I’ve never been entirely comfortable with. We smile through it, though, and he spins me into some sort of swing dancing formation that makes my sides hurt with laughter.

When the music turns slow, he holds out his hand in silent request. I accept it, and he pulls me close. I don’t recognize the song, but it’s nice to sway to while James holds firm on my waist.

My head falls to his chest, and I close my eyes, breathing in him and this moment together.

I love James like he’s family. He’s home to me. We’ve spent so much time together, living and growing, but we’re both getting to the point where we’re ready to expand our perspectives.

While it would have been nice to have someone I know to be with me through this next stage of life, exploring my dream city and trying to find myself in it, I’m glad to know that James is going to be doing the same thing for himself.

I’m embarrassed that it took me this long to get to this point.

I’ve always considered myself fiercely independent and in charge of my own life, but it didn’t click until Dylan forced his personality into my daily life for me to realize just how much I still had to work on with myself.

And that’s the point of being with someone, isn’t it?

Not just talking but actually challenging the person’s viewpoint and helping them better themselves while enjoying every second along the way?