I smiled lazily and slung a friendly arm around her neck. “Who’s my date? You are, silly.”

She quickly slid out from under my arm and smiled at me. I noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah, well you should have asked me if you wanted to come with me,” she sniffed. I’d never seen her look like this.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Marjorie,” I stuttered, slightly taken aback. Trying a new tactic, I straightened my shoulders and said in a solemn voice, “Will you do me the honor of being my prom date, Marjorie Henderson?”

A real smile spread across her face, lighting her green eyes and making her freckles jump. There was a wistful quality to that smile though that made me feel somehow nervous.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I already have a date.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him. He’s a sophomore.”

Her voice was so cool, so measured that I wanted to grab her and shake her, shake her until she felt as rattled as I did in that moment. And it was in that moment that I realized I was in love with Marjorie Henderson.