Page 9 of As You Walk On

Luca flails his arms around. He tries to stop the beautiful swell of voices singing... Hold up. Is that One Direction? Seriously? Luca Ramírez is promposing to someone with a decade-old boy band song?

You hate to see it.

“Stop!” he pleads, finally destroying what I realize is his promposal-ready hairstyle.

One by one, the Rolling Tones go quiet, mouths scrunched as they look around at each other.

Amanda Cox, the group’s leader, stomps between Luca and me. “What’s the prob, Ramírez?” She taps an impatient ballet flat on the floor. “You agreed topayus to be here after lunch for a promposal. We even got special permission from Mr.Murphy to miss the beginning of class for this.”

“Not forhim!”

Maintaining a neutral expression at the sharpness of Luca’s voice takes tremendous effort. As if I’m unworthy of being serenaded by a sweet but poorly chosen One Direction song. Like it’d be offensive to takemeto prom.

Luca’s eyes momentarily meet mine. His cheeks pinken. But his attention is quickly drawn back to Amanda when she starts snapping her fingers.

Yeah, no need to apologize.

“I told you, Amanda, this is for—”

Before Luca can finish, someone parts through the Rolling Tones.

“Luca?” Devya Anand stands dressed out in her phys ed gear, black hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. The hallway lights glint off the tiny stone in her left nostril and the confusion in her almost-black eyes. “What’s going on?”

Luca rushes toward her, shouting, “Now! Now!” He drops to one knee, cupping Devya’s left hand.

On Amanda’s order, the Rolling Tones restart their performance. It’s even cornier the second time around.

I shrink backward. Heat prickles under my skin. It’s not because I’ve been embarrassedagainby a clumsy disaster. I’ve had my fair share of trips to the top of the #BOHSFail pile—thank you, Mariah Carey. Attention like that fades as quickly as it comes in high school. Someone’s always right behind you, ready to fall flat on their face and catch all that shame you were just suffering through.

I’m anxious because, for a fleeting moment, I got a taste of what it’s like to be Jay and Jayla. Like all that swoon-worthy shit in rom-coms isn’t strictly meant for the straight kids.

My eyes scan back to Devya. Her expression is... definitely not the way I’d look if, say, Christian was promposing to me.

In fact, last I heard, Devya and Luca broke up during winter break. Darren made it a Thing at lunch one day. They were anotherJ & Jat Brook-Oak: posting couple-y photos using the cutest animal filters on Insta. Repeat hand-holding-in-the-middle-of-the-hallway offenders. Legitimate prom court contenders.

If this is Luca’s take-me-back encore, things aren’t going as planned.

“Luca, I—” Out of nowhere, Devya’s face goes from apprehensive to euphoric. Peter Vasquez, another junior with great hair—and Devya’s rumored new boyfriend—shamelessly slides on his knees into the Rolling Tones circle, shoulder-checking Luca aside.

“Dev, babe. I wanted to do this differently, but... me and you? Prom?” Peter says it so casual, soeasy, unlike Luca, who was stuttering out an entire speech ninety seconds ago.

“Ohmygod, hells yes!” Devya shouts.

I wince as Luca collapses on his ass. Devya squeals happily while Peter lifts her into the air. The Rolling Tones don’t miss a beat, shifting into a Harry Styles song like this was all by design.

A cold feeling sinks into my bones. I kind of want to help Luca off the floor. But a familiar boom of thunder cracks through the hall, one I’m used to hearing on the track, not when I’m late to class.

Coach Devers might be only five foot six, but her presence feels like seven foot two. She nudges into the circle with a repeated “Excuse you” while clapping.

I jump back. When a Black woman claps like that, it meansMove.

Coach clocks every face in the area, including mine. No one speaks.

“Another one of these, huh?” She signals toward the prom banner. “I don’t get you kids’ obsession with making everything a cinematic spectacle.” Her eyes squint at three of the Tones filming everything. They immediately lower their phones. “Can we please keep it to non-class time? You’re here tolearn, not gain YouTube followers.”

“I’m just trying to get verified,” whispers one of the Tones.

I frown.Not the time, dude.

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