The high school auditorium had a heavy smell. It mixed cheap hairspray, floor wax, and teenage sweat.
It was supposed to be the best night of our lives. The "Prom Night" banner hung a bit crooked on the stage. It sparkled under the disco lights. A DJ was blasting a remix of a popular song from three months ago. The bass shook the floorboards, and I felt it in my heels.
Everyone was screaming. Everyone was hugging. Girls were crying, ruining the makeup they spent three hours perfecting. Guys were loosening their ties, high-fiving each other like they just survived a war.
And then there was Lucas. He was the center of gravity in the middle of the dance floor. His suit was expensive—Italian cut, midnight blue—fitting him perfectly. He had one arm around my waist, pulling me close. With his
