Later, Alex texted: Got our tickets.

I stared at it before replying: I think I’m gonna skip.

When he asked why, I said it was money and family stuff, adding a shrug emoji so it wouldn’t sound too heavy.

He answered: Oh, I’m sorry. If you change your mind, I’m still your date.

The week dragged. Girls swapped nail salon cards like golden tickets. Hailey floated through school in a bubble of anticipation. Linda buzzed about spray tans and lash appointments.

I bagged prescriptions and pretended prom was just a movie I wasn’t cast in. The night before, I told Dad, “I’m not going.”

“You sure, kiddo?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m done.”

Linda nodded, satisfied. “Practical.”

Prom morning, sunlight woke me. I stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of prom happening without me—like an eclipse I chose not to see.

Then—honk!

Not a quick beep. A bold, joyful honk.

I peeked outside. A red SUV. A woman stepped out—braided hair, sunglasses, jeans.

It was Aunt Carla.

“Get dressed!” she called, smiling up at me. “We’ve got places to be!”