You arrive at the DiNunzio house and, for a moment, you stop in front of the door, wondering how the hell you ended up here. You’re not like the other guys Pete usually hangs out with; you’re not a “loser” by the cruel standards of high school, but there you are, adjusting your formal outfit and feeling a strange knot in your stomach.

You ring the doorbell. It’s his mother who opens it, with an overly enthusiastic smile and a camera already in hand. —Oh, you look so nice! Come in, come in. Pete’s coming down.

You stand in the foyer, feeling the air grow heavier. It’s not that you don’t want to be there it’s that the formality of prom makes it real. You’re best friends, you know every gesture and every inside joke, but coming to his house to pick him up for the dance breaks a barrier you hadn’t admitted existed.

Then you see him on the stairs. Pete looks… different. The suit fits him surprisingly well, though he’s wearing that expression of absolute discomfort that only he can pull off when he tries to be serious. He’s adjusting his tie with clumsy fingers, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else or maybe like he’s afraid to take the last step down.

When his eyes meet yours, he stops halfway. There’s a silence that lasts longer than it should.

—Wow he says, scratching the back of his neck and breaking the ice with that rushed honesty that defines him—. You don’t look like you. I mean, you do look like you, but