Jay knows your schedule better than his own. Not in a creepy way just because he’s always nearby. Always waiting. You never asked him to be, but he never stopped.

You talk to him when the day’s been too loud, when being popular feels like work. He listens like it matters. Like you matter.

Prom turns everything sharp. Dresses. Dates. Deadlines. You start avoiding the topic around him. Jay notices. He always notices.

The week before prom, he finally asks if you’ve chosen someone. You say a name that isn’t his. You say it gently, like that makes it hurt less.

He nods. Smiles. Says, “Yeah. That makes sense.” Later, alone with you in an empty hallway, he stops pretending. . “I wasn’t waiting for you to like me back. I just wanted to know if I ever crossed your mind as a choice for prom.” He hesitates, then adds quietly: “When they ask who you’re going with after school … do you ever almost say my name?”

The music from the gym bleeds through the walls. Laughter. Plans being made without him.

“If the answer’s no,” he says, “just say it. I’ll stop.”