Outside her room, Aunt Rosa was waiting with two cups of hospital coffee.
“She talked about prom, didn’t she?” She murmured. “Your mother called me yesterday and asked if I still had my sewing machine.”
I almost laughed. Almost cried. Mom was dying, and she was thinking about hems.
***
That Monday I walked into school feeling something I couldn’t name. Carter was at his locker, surrounded by his usual crowd, baseball jacket slung over one shoulder. His eyes lifted as I passed.
He looked at me. Not through me, the way he had for four years. At me.
Across the hall, Kenzie was watching him watch me, and her smile curved into something I didn’t recognize yet.
The flowers were the first thing I noticed. Cheap carnations in grocery-store cellophane, a sticker still on the side. Carter held them out like a trophy.
“Will you go to prom with me?”
I looked behind me. Twice. The hallway was suddenly too quiet, too full of phones angled our way.
Across the corridor, Kenzie leaned against her locker, smiling as if she already knew how the story was going to end.
“Is this a joke?” I asked.
“It’s not a joke, Ivy,” Carter said. “I’m serious.”
My mouth opened. The word no sat right there on my tongue.
Then I thought about Mom in that hospital bed, the way her eyes lit up whenever I mentioned anything close to normal teenage life.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Yes.”
For three days, Carter played the part beautifully. He texted asking what color my dress would be. He wanted to know if I liked roses or lilies. On Wednesday, he stopped me in the cafeteria.
“I know I have a reputation,” he said. “But I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”
I almost believed him. That was the worst part.
I went to the hospital that evening to tell Mom. Aunt Rosa was just leaving, balancing empty coffee cups and a stack of mail.
“Your mama’s been busy today,” she said. “On the phone half the morning. And Mr. Lewis stopped in after lunch, brought her some papers to sign.”
“Mr. Lewis?”
Aunt Rosa just patted my arm and kept walking.
