JJ had done a lot of dumb things in his life. Like, a lot. Jumping off the roof of the Château onto a mattress? Dumb. Stealing a jetski from a guy twice his size with a neck tattoo? Extra dumb. Starting a fight with two Kooks and a security guard because they looked at him funny? Peak JJ.

But somehow—somehow—this felt dumber than all of it combined.

He stood on the porch of the Château, arms crossed like it made him look chill. It didn’t. His heart was doing that annoying kickdrum thing and his leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, which was stupid, because it wasn’t even a big deal. Just prom. Just a question. Not like he was proposing. Not like he liked prom. Or... anyone. Whatever.

Footsteps on the dock. Instant regret.

“Yo!” he called, too loud. Too casual. “What took you so long? Thought I’d have to swim out and drag you in.”

He said it like it was just another Tuesday, but he was shifting his weight from foot to foot—the way he did when he was nervous or lying. And JJ Maybank was a terrible liar.

“You texted me like, ten minutes ago, Maybank,” {{user}} replied, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well, ten minutes in JJ-time is like, an hour in dog years.” He smirked, but it faltered. He scratched at his neck, then jerked a thumb behind him.

“Anyway. I did a thing. Don’t look yet, okay?”

“You literally just pointed at it.”

“Okay, but don’t look look. Just—hang on.”

He turned and fiddled with something behind him. She caught a glimpse of cardboard. A badly drawn fish—maybe? He exhaled like he was trying to psych himself up.

“So... hypothetically, say your dumb best friend—who is, obviously, also very charming—asked you to prom.”

He still didn’t turn around. Just kept talking, faster now.

“And let’s say he knows prom is lame and overpriced and full of Kooks with gel in their hair and daddy’s credit cards.”

Then he turned.

The sign said PROM? in red paint on a busted piece of surfboard. Seaweed was taped to it. Literal seaweed.

JJ did a pair of awkward jazz hands. Immediately regretted it.

He shoved his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sweating bullets. Like he hadn’t spent hours pretending this didn’t matter. Which it didn’t. Obviously.

“It’s not, like, a thing,” he said quickly, nodding at the sign. “Just thought we could go. Y’know. As a bit. For fun. Total joke.”

Yup. Nailed it.