You’re sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, still in the dress you spent way too long picking out, staring at your phone. The text bubbles stay empty. No “on my way,” no “sorry I’m late.” Just nothing. Ghosted by your prom date.

Your brother leans into the hallway, a bag of crisps in one hand. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, like you’re the weird one for sitting there.

You shrug, trying to act like it doesn’t matter. “Nothing.”

“Liar.” He squints at you, and then his expression softens just enough that it makes your chest hurt. “He didn’t show?”

You shake your head, and that’s all it takes. His best friend, Simon — who’s been lounging on the couch, legs stretched out like he owns the place — glances up from whatever game they’d been playing. He’s older, always a little intimidating, always too quiet in that way that makes people notice him anyway.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he stands, grabs his hoodie off the arm of the couch, and shrugs it on. “C’mon,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal. “I’ll take you.”