Woke Up Like This(4)

“Make sure you bring mints. He’s totally gonna kiss you,” Kassie declared, dabbing my nose with translucent shimmer powder.

I lit up, picturing my very first kiss under the scattered lights of the disco ball. “You think so?”



“Oh yeah. And he does this thing with his tongue—” And there it was. Another reminder that technically, Renner had been Kassie’s first. Comments like this made me uncomfortable, even though she didn’t intend it. She was just trying to relate to me. And realistically, it wasn’t her fault I was insecure.

Despite feeling eternally second to my best friend, I felt pretty that night in my blossom-pink satin minidress. Kassie said it accentuated my legs. My cheeks were sore from smiling in anticipation. But when Ollie arrived, he was alone, expression solemn. My eyes immediately welled with tears.

“J. T., umm . . . he canceled last minute. Something about plans he forgot,” Ollie hastily explained before Kassie whisked me inside.

“Something you should know about J. T. is he’s a manwhore. I heard he’s been seeing a volleyball girl, Tessa, from Fairfax,” Kassie told me, dabbing my smeared mascara with a wad of toilet paper.

“Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known, I never would have agreed to go with him.” I sniffed from atop her bathroom counter.

She let out a shaky breath, hesitant. “You were so happy when he asked you . . . I couldn’t burst your bubble.”

“Ugh, he’s such an asshole. I should call him out,” I said, fists balled in my lap.

“No.” Her tone was firm, eyes wide. “You know what the best revenge is? Having a fabulous night, dancing with all his friends, and forgetting about him entirely.” She held her hand out and pulled me off the counter.

Contrary to Kassie’s advice, I never forgot. I didn’t forgive either.

Renner tried apologizing the following Monday in first period. “I know you’re mad,” he’d said.

“I’m not. Just disappointed you didn’t even have the guts to tell me yourself.” I waited for him to reveal the truth—that he was interested in someone else. But he didn’t. He didn’t offer a single explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he said.



I kept my eyes trained on the whiteboard, willing him to turn around and never speak to me again.

“Are you going to accept my apology?” he prodded, drumming his fingers against my desk.

“Honestly, Renner, don’t worry about it. I only agreed to go with you because Kassie made me.” It was all a lie, of course. He’d humiliated me. I’d cried all weekend in bed in a haze of Cheeto dust. But I’d be damned if I was going to let him know. I’d learned from Dad that disappointment was inevitable. And getting upset when he didn’t show up, like to my middle school graduation, never changed anything.

“Wow,” was all Renner said, brow furrowed. Then he spun around in a huff.

Served him right. Suffice it to say, we haven’t gotten along since.

Kassie mindlessly fluffs her thick, waist-length Blake Lively hair for volume, something she does approximately forty times an hour. “Since we’re a month out, we should see about setting up the prom ticket booths at lunchtime,” she suggests, unaware that I’ve already arranged it. I don’t say anything, though. She gets pouty when I do things without consulting anyone. “Prom committee is a team effort, not a solo mission,” she likes to say.

Renner lifts a lazy hand. “Wait, wait, wait. Did we decide if dinner is included yet?”

I let out a maddening sigh, grip tightening around my mechanical pencil. I see he’s stolen one of my three backups. “No, dinner is not included. For the tenth time. You’d know this if you cared to show up to the last two meetings.”

“It’s not my fault it’s track season. Sorry, I actually have a life. I highly recommend it.” He throws me one of his smug looks.

Did he really just insinuate I don’t have a life? I mean—he’s not entirely wrong. I have friends, even if I don’t get to hang out with them as often as I’d like. When I’m not scooping ice cream at Two Cows ’N’ a Cone or studying, I’m usually in my natural habitat, scrolling through the Netflix home screen, unable to decide between To All the Boys I, II, or III for the five hundredth time, only to end up on TikTok for hours. But I’d rather wear my contacts for a week straight than admit that to Renner.

“My sincerest regrets. Between doing your job as president in addition to my own as VP, getting a life slipped my mind. I’ll happily take yours, though.” I flash a smile.

Ollie, always the referee, waves his notebook like a flag. “Did we settle on the theme yet?”

I take this as my cue to whip out my tablet, which contains all seventeen slides of prom magic. Time to blow some minds.

Technically, Renner and I were supposed to propose a theme jointly to Principal Proulx. But since Renner’s been living his best life, I went ahead without him. It probably sounds like I’m a control freak. Maybe I am, but I can’t leave prom in the hands of this self-proclaimed “big-picture guy” and his bare-minimum approach to life.

Renner muffles a snicker with his elbow when the projector screen fills with vibrant stock photos of iconic landmarks.

I do my best to blur him out, zeroing in on everyone else’s comparatively comforting faces. “Picture this. Guests need a passport to enter prom. We’ll get to travel the entire globe in just one magical night. Instead of a sit-down plated dinner, we’ll have stations with all kinds of tiny appetizers. Chinese. Mexican. Ethiopian. Italian. And don’t even get me started on the possibilities for decor. I’m thinking gigantic cardboard cutouts of all the most famous landmarks, twinkling string lights, shimmery tulle drapery . . .”