Page 2 of As You Walk On

Fine, it wasn’t coincidental.

Christian was one of the rare out kids in our grade. I was too. It’s not always the wisest thing to crush on thefirstqueer person around your age you meet, but I couldn’t help it. My strategic desk choices resulted in us being partners on a mock trial project. I still daydream about his radiant expression whenever I misquoted a passage or asked for his help.

Even now, my eyes are drawn right to him.

The body count in the quad is scarce today. It’s the Friday before spring break. Most students are either holed up in our school’s glass-enclosed cafeteria or the library, studying for last-minute quizzes.

Christian’s surrounded by his usual cartel of band geeks, talking animatedly with his hands. There’s this old song—“Brown Skin” by India.Arie—that my pops loves. It reminds me of Christian. Warm sepia complexion. Baby-faced with a wide smile, crinkled eyes when he laughs. It’s not just the thirst talking either. He’s genuinely friendly to everyone.

A true prom prince in the making.

“Well?”

Across from me, Jay patiently sips on a glacier cherry Gatorade, smirking. He’s got a severe case of Confident White Boy Syndrome. Blond topknot, gray-blue eyes, mostly clear skin.

I chew the inside of my cheek.

Why did I ever mention my crush on Christian?

On my left, Darren says, “Give him time to think, bro.” He stuffs a handful of spicy cheese puffs in his mouth. Luckily, Coach Devers isn’t on lunch duty today. She’d annihilate him for breaking diet.

I’m not one to talk since I smashed an entire cup of soft pretzel bites ten minutes ago.

Darren chases his food with his own Gatorade. Jay always brings a six-pack from home for us on Fridays.

“What’re your terms?” he asks Jay. “What’s the reward?”

Another implicit stipulation of the dares—incentives. Little rewards. Since Darren and I aren’t typically as...boldas Jay, he’s found ways to encourage us to play along. Free iced coffees for a week. An extra pizza pie after a track meet. New cleats spikes.

“Glad you asked.” Jay unlocks his phone before scooting it across the stone table. The open tab is our school’s prom page.

This year’s theme: When You Wish Upon a Fairy Tale.

Cheesy? Yes. Is every junior and senior making a big deal about it? Hell yeah.

“If you pull it off, I’ll front your whole prom experience, Theo. Tickets. Car service. Dinner. Suit and shoes. All of it.” Jay reaches over to brush nonexistent lint off my shoulder. “Can’t have my boy looking weak when he scores a date with his dream partner.”

I roll my eyes.

First off, Jay’s family has that old money wealth. As in Scott Boulevard is named after his great-great-grandfather’s contributions to the city. They could afford our squad’s prom package, plus a fresh SUV just for Jay’sshoesto arrive in. I’m not hating—his mom and my pops go way back to their days at this very high school. It’s just facts.

Second... “dream partner”? Really?

Jay’s levels of trying too hard are infinite.

“Think about it, bro,” says Darren, nudging my elbow. “Picking up Christian wearing a sick Gucci suit for the night of your life.”

I know Darren’s overselling the idea because he’s dying to witness another wild dare. But he doesn’t have to.

Something my best friends don’t know is, I want this. Badly. I’m not as economically blessed as Jay, Darren, or 75 percent of the Brook-Oak students. Prom is a barely attainable goal for me. I’ve found an off-brand tux online. New shoes don’t even enter the equation. Dad volunteered his semi-dented, two-door Civic for the night. Dinner wouldn’t be more than a trip to a cheap, inauthentic Italian restaurant with stale breadsticks at best.

Between that and tickets, Dad would have to work a week’s worth of overtime. He refuses to let me get a job before I’m eighteen, which isn’t until November. I can’t stomach him doing all of that just forjuniorprom. Not with college app fees on the horizon.

Selfishly, though, I can’t stop thinking about prom night. Getting dressed up. All the selfies. Kissing a boy in the middle of a dance floor. After prom...

I want it all.

Using some of that Scott family money to fund my dream is high-key incentive enough.

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