“Not a one,” I said.
“Really? You didn’t go?”
“Neither junior or senior prom,” I said.
“Why?”
“Too many reasons, and not enough time or interest to tell you. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
We went into the gym.
I had to give the students credit, the gym looked wonderful with the homemade banners, flowers, and streamers, and there were small round tables with white tablecloths and chairs along the three sides, and a punch and drinks station. Up on the stage, a female DJ with spiked red hair was playing soft rock music as two-by-two, the students stopped to have their formal photos taken in a small fake garden with a white trellis, and there, third couple in, was a laughing Jessica Wyman and her date, Carl Taft. She had on a tight shimmering white dress with a tasteful slit up the side, and
