No, Mom, I really don’t want to go to prom. I don’t have anyone to go with, and all my friends already have dates. It’s embarrassing,” I insisted.

My mother—who has been a professional model for twenty‑five years—gave me a sympathetic look.

“Honey, you’re beautiful. There’s no way no one has asked you,” she said.

In truth, four different guys had asked me already, just not the one she hoped for. I rolled my eyes, continuing the lie as smoothly as I could.

“Mom, all the guys who would asked are… well, they’re not exactly my type,” I said, stretching the truth far beyond reality. “Besides, they all have dates now. There are like two hundred girls going. Nice try, but better luck next time.”

I grabbed my mascara, tossed it into my backpack, and headed out the door. Pat—our seventy‑year‑old neighbor and longtime family friend—drove me to school most mornings since my mom worked long hours and we only had one car after I crashed the other on the way to school last year.

“Morning, Lila! Still turning down Jim, Tom, Craig… was there another one?” Pat teased as I climbed into his truck.

He’d known me since we moved to town, and he’d house‑sit for us whenever Mom needed to travel for work. Now that I was in school full‑time, those trips were rare." When we pulled into the school parking lot, Pat waved goodbye and honked at a group of students who darted in front of him. I kept my head down—unfortunately, that meant I walked straight into Paxton, the most popular guy in school.

My face flushed instantly. He laughed softly.

“It’s okay, Lila,” he said.

He knows my name?

“I’m guessing someone’s already asked you to prom, right?”

“Uh… no. Nobody has. Asked me, I mean.” I forced a nervous laugh.

He hesitated, then said, “Would you want to go with me?”

My brain short‑circuited. Paxton just asked me to prom.

“Uh… no, thank you.”

I hurried away before my brain caught up with my mouth. I had just told Paxton no.

Panicking, I spun around and rushed back. He looked understandably confused.

“I meant yes,” I corrected quickly. “I’d love to go. I just really need to get to class.”

I started down the hallway, but Paxton jogged up beside me.

“We’re in the same class,” he reminded me with a small smile. “Did you finish the test at home?”

Right. Same class.“Yeah, I did,” I said, trying to sound composed.

“Of course you did,” he teased lightly.

We walked together, talking about his dad, who had recently retired from the military. When he asked about mine, I hesitated—my father passed away before I was born. Paxton apologized softly, and we continued the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

We arrived to science class a couple minutes early. Today we were supposed to choose lab partners, and as usual, Ketea Larson—the head cheerleader—immediately tried to claim Paxton. He politely declined and joined me and my group of friends instead.

We talked through most of the period, and I ended up getting detention for being off‑task. My mom definitely wouldn’t be thrilled; I’d always been the responsible one.

When I got home, I was the one who had to break the news to my mom about the detention. She was not pleased. As punishment, she dragged me to her modeling practice for a full eight hours. The designer even used me for a fitting. I was miserable, and my face burned with embarrassment when I tripped over the blue sparkly dress my mom insisted would “fit me like a jewel.”

Thankfully, my mom made a pit stop at a local coffee shop (starbucks) after modeling practice, and I scored a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino with extra whip—total lifesaver.

When we finally got home, it was almost 10 p.m. I rushed straight to my room and grabbed my phone. Three missed calls—one from my best friend, and two from Paxton. My stomach flipped. I scrambled around my room, suddenly nervous and excited all at once. After a deep breath, I tapped the little phone icon. It rang once before he picked up.

“Hey! I called you earlier. What were you doing?” His voice was muffled like he was eating.

“I was at my mom’s modeling practice. Punishment for getting detention,” I said, laughing. We talked for almost an hour before my mom poked her head in.

“Hey, hon? Who is that?”

“Just a new friend from school.” She lit up—thrilled I was making friends this late in the school year. Moms…

“Yay! What’s her name?” she asked, but the microwave beeped and saved me. “Well, that’s my food! I’m glad you’re making new friends.”

Once she left, Paxton and I slipped right back into conversation.

“So,” he said softly, “I’m having a pool party in a few days. Want to come?”

“I’m busy this weekend. Sorry. I’d love to come another time, though.” I hated turning him down. After we hung up, I checked the clock—12:48 a.m. We’d been talking for over two hours.

Downstairs, my mom was asleep on the couch, her nightly glass of wine on the table. I tiptoed past her into the kitchen. The fridge was basically empty, so I grabbed a bag of pita crackers from the cabinet and headed back upstairs.

I showered, humming along to the music blasting from my phone. I couldn’t sing to save my life, so humming was safer. Afterward, I slipped into pajamas, curled up in bed with my crackers, and put on a Hallmark movie. I made it about forty‑five minutes before passing out.

At 5 a.m., I woke to pots and pans clattering. School was canceled for teacher meetings, so I had the whole day to myself. I ran downstairs to find my mom making pancakes.

“Pancakes?” I asked. I hadn’t had them in years—they were too messy.

“I felt like them today,” she said, flipping one. “I’ll be gone all day, so I made food you can reheat tonight.”

My phone buzzed.

Paxton(from school)

Hey! Are you free today? We’re going to Daron’s restaurant and then the beach. Want to come?

I’d love to go!!! What time?

We haven’t set a time.

LOL. I can be at Daron’s around 4-ish.

I set my phone down, and Lila called immediately. She launched into a rant about being asked out and how I didn’t call her back yesterday. I told her I’d been on the phone with the hottest boy in school. Silence… then a scream so loud I dropped my phone. When I picked it up, there was a new crack. Not surprising. My phone buzzed again, lighting up the counter.
Paxton(from school)

~ Actually, we might head out earlier. I’ll let you know.

A jolt of nerves shot through me. Earlier? How much earlier?
I didn’t know why, but it felt like today was going to matter.

My phone buzzed just as I finished brushing my hair.

Paxton: Hey, would it be okay if I picked you up? I kinda want to hang out with you alone before dinner.

I froze, staring at the screen. My heart did that weird fluttery thing again, the one I pretended I didn’t notice. Alone. With him. Today suddenly felt a lot more real. I ran into my closet and grabbed the first outfit that didn’t make me look like I was trying too hard: a soft white fitted tank top and a light, flowy pastel skirt that brushed just above my knees. I slipped on my simple gold necklace—tiny, barely noticeable, but it made me feel put together. My hands shook as I reached for my white sneakers, the clean pair I saved for “nice” days, and I tugged a light cardigan off its hanger just in case it got chilly later.

I checked myself in the mirror. My hair fell in loose waves around my shoulders, and the outfit made me look…soft. Pretty. Like someone Paxton might actually want to hang out with alone.

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

Paxton: I can be there in ten.

Ten minutes. My stomach flipped so hard I had to grab the doorframe to steady myself.

10 minutes later...

I had just finished putting on a bit of lip gloss when a car engine hummed outside.

My breath caught.

I peeked through my window.

Paxton had just stepped out of his car.

He looked…really good.

He wore a light gray hoodie, the kind that looked soft enough to sleep in, with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. Under it was a white t‑shirt, simple but clean, and a pair of dark jeans that fit him way too well. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it a few times, and he had on white sneakers that matched mine almost perfectly.

He glanced up at my house, hands in his pockets, and smiled to himself like he was excited—or nervous. Maybe both.

My heart thudded so loudly I was sure he could hear it from outside.

I took one last breath, smoothed my skirt, and headed downstairs. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone again. When I opened the front door, Paxton was already walking up the steps.

He looked up—and stopped.

For a second, he just stared at me like he forgot what he was about to say. His hoodie sleeves were still pushed up, his hair still perfectly messy, and he had that easy half‑smile that made my stomach twist.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless. “You look… nice.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Thanks. You too.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at his car. “I, uh… figured we could hang out for a bit before dinner. Just us. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt. “That’s okay.”

He opened the passenger door for me—something no one had ever done for me before—and I climbed in, my skirt brushing against the seat as I tried not to look awkward. He jogged around to the driver’s side, slid in, and the car filled with the soft smell of his cologne, warm and clean.

“So,” he said, buckling his seatbelt, “I was thinking we could go somewhere chill first. I kinda wanted to talk to you without everyone around.”

My heart thudded so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’d like that.”

He smiled, started the car, and pulled away from the curb like this was the most normal thing in the world—while I sat there trying to remember how to breathe.