She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Fiona, listen to me. You only get one senior prom. Just one. Give yourself one good memory before you graduate. Please.”
“A good memory,” I repeated quietly. “Mom, the only memory I’d make is being the girl in the corner.”
“Then stand in the middle of the room for once,” she said softly. “Just once.”
I did not answer. I just kept staring down at my plate.
The next morning, my bestie, Arthur, was waiting for me at the bus stop with her backpack hanging from one shoulder. She was the only person in that school who truly cared about me.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said.
“My mom’s pushing the prom thing.”