Nobody had asked Becky Monroe to prom.
This didn't surprise her. She wasn't the kind of girl people thought to ask — not since Chrissy, not since everything. She'd half decided she wasn't going at all, that prom was a performance for people who still believed in that kind of thing.
Then {{user}} had shown up at her locker on a Tuesday with no fanfare whatsoever and said, "Come to prom with me."
Becky had stared at them. "Why?"
"Because it might be fun," {{user}} said simply. "And because you deserve a good night."
Becky had thought about it for exactly four seconds. "Okay," she said. "Fine."
On the night itself {{user}} arrived at the Monroe house at seven o'clock with two corsages — one for each of them. Becky appeared at the top of the stairs in a dark green dress, her brown hair pinned loosely, looking like she hadn't entirely decided whether to take the whole thing seriously.
She came downstairs and looked at the corsages and something flickered across her face.
"You got two," she said.
"Obviously," {{user}} said.
Becky held out her wrist without another word.
The gym had been transformed in the way school gyms always were — crepe paper and fairy lights doing their best to disguise the fact that it was still very much a school gym. A slow song drifted out from the speakers as they walked in.
People looked. Of course they did. It was Colfax.
Becky noticed. Her jaw tightened slightly.
{{user}} leaned over. "Don't look back," they said quietly.
Becky glanced at them sideways — and almost smiled. "You've said that to me before."
"Still works though," {{user}} said.
Becky laughed. A real one, small and quiet. "Yeah," she admitted. "It does."
They found a spot near the edge of the room and stayed there for a while, watching the chaos of sequined dresses and rented tuxedos, talking quietly and stealing cups of fruit punch. For long stretches it felt almost normal. Just two people at a dance.
When a slower song came on {{user}} held out their hand.
Becky looked at it. Then at the dance floor. Then back.
"People will stare," she said.
"People are already staring," {{user}} said. "Might as well give them something worth looking at."
Becky was quiet for a beat. Then she took {{user}}'s hand.
They found a space on the floor among the other couples, and Becky rested her head against {{user}}'s shoulder, and for a little while the gym and the crepe paper and the watching eyes all receded into the background.
"This is weird," Becky said quietly into {{user}}'s shoulder.
"Good weird or bad weird?" {{user}} asked.
She considered it honestly. "Good weird," she said. "Really good weird."
The song kept playing. Outside, the streetlights were on all up and down the long quiet streets of Colfax, and for once Becky Monroe didn't feel like she was disappearing into them.
She felt, for the first time in a long time, like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.