Page 52 of As You Walk On

“I’ll go,” I volunteer. Makayla and Luca share a glance as I say, “I’ll help you, Makayla.”

“I thought you were leaving,” says Aleah, looking thoroughly unimpressed when I reply, “Plans changed.”

More like they’ve reverted to the original ones.

“Fine,” Makayla huffs after her silent communication with Luca fails to work. His gaze roams from the crown to me. But he doesn’t say a thing.

“Cool.” I shrug nonchalantly.

I disregard every impulse to glance back at Luca while following Makayla to the door. I have one boy in my head. One goal. It’s time to stop running from it.

No one else is getting in the way of me asking Christian to prom.

11

DANCING ON MY OWN

Except everyone isin the way.

The moment Makayla and I walk down the stairs, I’m hit by the thud of a song that has people shouting the lyrics at the top of their lungs. The heat from too many bodies crammed in one space quickly leeches onto my skin. Rum and sweat and coconut water fill my nose. Somehow, the crowd has gotten thicker inside the house.

I trail Makayla at a respectable distance.

Before we can reach the bottom step, a group stands in the way, recording a live video. Sophomores, I gather from the way they don’t appear completely out of place, but also have that wide-eyed wonder as Makayla seamlessly hops onto screen with them. She doesn’t need to ask for permission. They worship her like Aphrodite descending from the heavens to frolic with mortals.

Makayla’s a pro. All air kisses and impeccable selfie anglesbefore she reaches back to pull on my wrist. “Send me those!” she yells, smiling but never exchanging numbers with any of her new fans.

If Christian is a prom prince in the making, Makayla’s a certified nominee for prom queen at Brook-Oak.

“Was that necessary?” I shout over the music.

“As if you have to ask.”

I ignore her sarcasm. My eyes are busy searching every poorly lit corner. Tracking faces. My neck cranes to investigate rooms. I listen forthat laugh. Any indication of Christian.

He’s here. I just need to locate him.

Makayla doesn’t make it easy, though. She all but drags me through the house. It’s annoying, but something inside me wants to keep my Christian plan to myself, so I don’t complain.

“Theo? Theo!”

I blink hard. Makayla glares at me. When did we get to the kitchen? People are shotgunning beers around the marble-topped island. A couple makes out against the fridge.

Makayla lifts a bottle in each hand. “Whiskey or vodka?”

Her face falls when I reply, “Neither? I don’t drink.”

As the tipsy pack finishes their shotguns, their faces become clearer. No Christian, unfortunately.

“I’m the DD,” I explain after Makayla shakes another bottle in my face. “I drive while TNT—” I cut myself off at the confused tilt of her head. “My boys, Jay and Darren?”

People around school don’t really acknowledge our nickname. It’s not as if we have custom-printed T-shirts or anything.We’re more known for our dares. Our track accomplishments. Or as individuals in our respective programs.

Darren, the goofy TMZ nerd. Jay, the popular STEM guy. Me, the...

Actually, I don’t know how everyone perceives me.

The athlete? Dancer? Mariah Carey dude? Son of the great Miles Wright?

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