Disclaimer: me and high-heeled shoes have a troubled history. The first time I wore heels at a middle school dance, the left heel wedged itself into the front lawn and I fell face-first into a bed of thorny roses. Fast-forward to the tenth grade Spring Fling: the ambitious red stilettos I ordered online turned out to be literal stripper shoes （not that I’m judging）。 I looked like Bambi on stilts, towering over my five-foot-tall date—Jamie Nemi.
If I could do one thing in this life, it would be to bring justice to flip-flops. They get a seriously bad rap for being tacky. But they’re functional as heck. Unfortunately, I doubt I’ll be able to revolutionize flip-flops before prom. So I’ve succumbed to geriatric heels.
Nori straightens the train behind me. “Forget the ugly shoes. This gown is everything. If you don’t buy this right now, I’m buying it for you. End of story.”
“You have five minutes to decide. We’re gonna be late for class,” Kassie warns. She pulls a tube of shimmery lip gloss from her bag and applies it generously, smacking her lips in the mirror.
I stare at my reflection and hold my hair up the way I’ve always imagined it, a soft, romantic low bun. I’m reminded of how confident I felt getting ready for freshman homecoming, staring into Kassie’s hairspray-smeared bedroom mirror. Though I’m determined prom will have a better outcome. If I’m spending half my savings on one night, I’d better look fire. “Okay. This is it. I’m saying yes to the dress!”
Nori squeals and claps. “See? Prom is gonna be perfect. Fish or no fish.”
I snort. “Ew. Never put fish and prom in the same sentence again.”
Kassie shakes her head like a disgruntled mom of five children brawling in the back of a minivan. “Please just don’t rip J. T.’s head off at prom. Let us have one last drama-free night, okay?”
“I can do that,” I agree. “So long as he sits on the opposite end of the limo. Far away from me.”
FOUR
Four days until prom
Clay Diaz is walking past my lunch table.
You know those teen movie scenes where the sexy love interest saunters slo-mo down the hallway? That’s him right now. Cue “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles. All five feet, ten inches of his cross-country runner bod are backlit by the heavenly white beam of light streaming through the cafeteria window. His floppy charcoal hair blows in the nonexistent breeze, like a windswept actor in a luxury car commercial.
I white-knuckle my lunch tray as the distance between us closes. Suddenly, I’m questioning all my life decisions. Does my topknot make my head look gigantic? Renner once said my head is “humongous,” and ever since, I’ve been paranoid that wearing my hair up accentuates its bigness. Am I eating my Subway sandwich too suggestively? What the hell do I do with my hands? Can he hear my heart thrashing against my chest?
Guys don’t usually render me catatonic, but then again, no other guy at MHS has Clay’s whip-smart intelligence, soulful brown eyes, steel-cut jaw, and singular left dimple.
As he passes me in the narrow space between the cafeteria tables, I do a weirdly formal, slow head bob, like he’s British royalty or something. His lips spread into a smile that nearly catapults me into the spirit realm. “Hey, Canada,” he says. He’s called me Canada since February, our last Model UN.
“Uh, hi, Clay—I mean, Turkey—” By the time I remember how to speak, let alone which country he represented, Clay has already beelined it to his usual table with the Model UN and debate kids, most of whom will surely go on to run the country.
This is how it always goes. Since joining Model UN freshman year, we’ve barely spoken more than two sentences. To be fair, Clay has tried striking up a few conversations here and there. But because I’m too awkward for multiword responses, the exchange pretty much dies instantly. One time, he even sat next to me on the bus to a summit and I promptly forgot how to breathe. I also got sweat pitters, which I had no choice but to hide under a thick wool blazer. It was an off day for me, to say the least.
Why am I like this? I wish I had Kassie’s effortless confidence with guys.
Kassie pulls her eyes from her phone and gives me a smirk.
“Are you still coming over tonight?” I ask through a bite of my sandwich. Nori and Kassie had planned to come over to celebrate the end of exams and my scholarship interview （scheduled for after school today）， but Nori bailed because her mysteriously rich aunt is in town. Secretly, I’m happy it’s just Kassie and me. We rarely do things alone anymore.