Theo

The world’s against me, I swear. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes at the hyperbole this time. Me? Dramatic? Never. But this sucks.

It’s the first official prom ever at Gomillion High, and unlike most other schools in South Carolina, ours decided to limit the event to seniors only. Meaning, as a junior, I’m left behind. Spectating. Watching my best friend get all dressed up for the night of his life while I sit here, sulking like a rejected promposal meme.

I’m on his bed, trying but epically failing to read 1984. I’m pretending I’m chill, but I’m radiating “left-out little brother” energy, and I know it. Meanwhile, Caden’s jabbering on about the event and Alice, his “date.”

Did I mentally add air quotes around that word? Damn straight, I did.

Alice is fine. Nice, even. Friendly. But still—what the hell? Other people are going solo or rolling in squads, but Caden? No, he’s gotta go with a date. And of course it had to be Alice, with her blemish-free Black skin, silky curls, giant eyes, and perfect teeth like she eats whitening strips for breakfast.

None of this is rational, I know. Jealousy never is.

I tell myself it’s normal. I mean, I’ve known the guy since I was three. When his family moved in next door and our dads bonded over basketball, we became attached at the hip. Every day since has basically been one long Caden-and-Theo hangout. If friendship were a sport, we’d be championship-tier.

But if I’m being real—and I always am, even when I shouldn’t be—I’ve been in love with him forever. Like, first-boner-during-a-water-fight kind of forever. My first wet dream? His garage gym. Him shirtless. Don’t even get me started.

As for other firsts… if only.

“Theo, come help me with this tie. The damn thing keeps going crooked.”

I close my book and swing my legs off the bed. Of course I’m going to help him. He’s standing in front of his mirror, brow furrowed, mouth slightly open like he’s concentrating extra hard. He’s already dressed in a fitted black suit with gold-and-green accessories—our school colors—and I swear, the gold makes his dark brown skin glow like it’s been kissed by literal sunbeams. He’s so fine. Stupidly so.

“Geez, Cade, what did you do to this knot?” I mutter as I step close, fingers brushing against his collar.

“It looked right a minute ago,” he says, grinning. “And now it looks like a sad pretzel.”

I snort. “A pretzel that gave up on life halfway through the twist.”

He grins wider. “You love me anyway.”

Too much, probably.

“I tolerate you,” I say instead, tightening the knot and smoothing it down. “There. Fixed. Try not to dance it crooked again.”

“Only if my date can keep her hands off me,” he says, turning back to the mirror.

I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the bed again.

He notices. Of course he notices.

Caden spins around, leaning against his dresser, arms crossed. “You’re still mad I’m going, huh?”

I shrug. “It’s whatever.”

He frowns, and I hate that I made him frown. “You know if I could sneak you in, I would.”

“I know,” I mumble.

“I even tried to talk to Coach about it,” he adds. “Told him my loner friend needed emotional support.”

I laugh at that, despite the extra-hard thud of my heart that he cared enough to ask. “And Coach said?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Theo’s too smart to risk suspension for some sparkly gym party.’”

“He’s not wrong,” I mutter, smiling despite myself.

There’s a pause, and then Caden pushes off the dresser and grabs his blazer. “Look, you’ll come to the after-party, though, right? Even if you can’t be at prom, you’re still part of the night. I want you there.”

The words ease the tight knot of bitter jealousy in my chest just a little. “I dunno,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “I might be too busy crying in my room. Alone. Watching Love and Basketball and eating marshmallow fluff straight from the tub.”

“You’ll ruin your pancreas,” he says.

“You’ll ruin prom if you don’t stop checking yourself out in the mirror.”

He flips me off, laughing. “You better be there.”

“I’ll think about it.” Yeah, of course I’m full of shit, as I’ll absolutely be there.

He grabs his cologne and sprays, making the room smell like citrus and warmth. Then he pauses and turns toward me. “Seriously, Theo. I hate that you can’t come. You should be there. With me.”

Something in the way he says it makes my heart stutter. I sit up a little straighter. “You’ll survive,” I say lightly because I can’t afford to read too much into it. “Just don’t let Alice drag you into one of those dance-offs. I swear, if I hear about you do the Cha Cha Slide on the gym floor—”

“I’m a grown man,” he says, puffing his chest out. “I don’t slide. I glide.”

I chuckle, tossing the mini basketball he keeps at the side of his bed at him. He catches it easily, then lobs it into the hoop mounted above his closet door. Swish. Because of course.

“You sure you don’t want me to fake being your chauffeur? I could drive you and Alice, roll up the windows real slow, make everyone think you’re rich and mysterious.”

He laughs. “You offering to valet in your mom’s Prius?”

“She’s got seat warmers,” I say. “Luxury.”

There’s a knock at the door, and then his mom’s voice carries through, warm and lilting over the hum of gospel music drifting up from the kitchen. “Caden, sweetie! Alice is here—don’t you keep that girl waiting now!”

He meets my eyes. “Guess that’s my cue.”

I stand. “Break a leg, superstar.”

He heads toward the door, then hesitates before turning back. “You sure you’re okay?”

Not even close.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Go have fun.”

He gives me one last look, then leaves.

When the door clicks shut behind him, the silence hits like a dunk to the chest. I flop backward on his bed, stare at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above, and let the jealousy simmer a little longer before I text him a simple message:

Me: Fine, I’ll be there.

Because if I can’t have the night of my dreams… at least I can still see him after.

And maybe—just maybe—that’ll be enough.

* * *

The after-party’s already in full swing by the time I pull up, and the bass is thumping like the heart of some mythical beast. Whoever’s house this is—I think it’s Shane Bailey’s older cousin’s place—has clearly made peace with the idea of their lawn being permanently wrecked. The driveway is packed with double-parked cars. Glowing string lights are draped over trees and balconies like a home décor magazine exploded.

Prom-goers in full glam are everywhere—satin dresses catching the breeze, bow ties hanging loose, glitter on cheeks, and the kind of electric energy only a “we survived high school” celebration can produce.

I’m not the only junior here. I clock a few familiar faces from my own class—Jonah, who’s deep in a conversation with a girl who I think has actual rhinestones glued to her eyebrows, and Marissa and Lee sharing a plate of something suspiciously shaped like meatballs but somehow also glowing orange.

I wave at them, and a couple of people shout, “Theo! You made it!” at me in return as I make my way past the firepit and into the thick of the crowd.

I’m not really looking for anyone else, though. Not really. I’m looking for him. It doesn’t take long.

Caden stands near the back patio, under a cluster of swaying string lights, laughing with the rest of the basketball team like they’re in a GQ shoot disguised as a team reunion. They might as well be.

There’s Cam, the quiet point guard, standing back and letting the others have the spotlight. Shane Bailey—the small forward—still rocking his prom tux jacket like it’s a designer coat and not something from Men’s Wearhouse. Ray Barker, our no-nonsense power forward with Mexican roots, is double-fisting soda and trying not to look impressed by anything. And towering over them all, Dale Rivers, the center, calm and imposing like always, with a deep voice that makes anything he says sound like it’s coming from a wise mountain sage.

And in the middle of it all, there’s Caden.

God, he looks… unfair.

The tailored black pants hugs him just right. That same gold-and-green tie I helped with is still perfectly knotted, and his jacket’s tossed over one shoulder like he’s a model who just finished a runway. His tight coils are shaped up clean, and the gold in his watch catches the light every time he lifts his hand to talk. He’s laughing—bright and easy—and his smile does that thing where it spreads slow, like it’s creeping across his whole face, until you can’t help but smile too.

I look for Alice. She’s not with him, thank God. I spot her a little ways off, perched on the arm of a patio couch, deep in conversation with a guy I don’t recognize. He’s got the kind of long hair that makes him look like he’s either a poet or in a band—or both—and they look… cozy.

A stupid little grin pushes its way onto my face before I can stop it. I don’t even feel bad about it. I just let myself have it.

I start toward the group, weaving through the crowd, and before I even say anything, Caden sees me.

His whole face lights up. “Theo!” he calls, sounding as if he wasn’t sure I’d come, and the second I’m close enough, he loops his arm around my shoulders in a way that seems like instinct. Like it’s where I’m supposed to be.

The rest of the team immediately shifts to make room, and just like that, I’m in. Doesn’t matter that I’m a year younger. There’s never been a space in Caden’s life that I wasn’t just… part of.

“Look who finally dragged himself out of his emo cave,” Shane says, bumping my fist.

“Only took the promise of free pizza,” I shoot back.

“Pizza and the chance to watch us recount the best night of our lives,” Dale adds, grinning.

“Speak for yourself,” Ray mutters. “My tux ripped during a slow dance. Full ass cheek out.”

Cue a lot of laughter.

“No!” I say, choking on air. “Who saw?!”

“Everyone,” Cameron intones, deadpan. “Everyone saw.”

Caden’s shaking with laughter beside me. “You should’ve heard the DJ. He just went ‘Oops’ and dropped the bass harder.”

I’m laughing, too, even as that little pang stirs in my chest again. I missed this part—the inside jokes, the wild chaos, the buildup. The prom. But I’m here now. And Caden’s arm is still around me, warm and firm, like I’m part of the story even if I skipped a chapter.

I glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at me, eyes soft in the way that always makes my stomach flip. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You good?” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.

“Yeah,” I lie. Then amend, “Mostly.”

He nods like that’s fair. Like he understands. And honestly, with him standing beside me, laughing with his team, tie still perfect… maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe it has to be.

Caden shifts beside me and squeezes my shoulder once more before pulling his arm away. “I’m gonna get you a drink,” he says, already stepping back. “You deserve at least one warm beer for showing up.”

“Ooh, what a treat,” I deadpan, but I follow him anyway because where Caden goes, I go. That’s just how it’s always been.

We wind our way through the house, nodding and smiling at people as we pass. The party isn’t wild—nobody swinging from chandeliers or anyone crying in a bathtub—just music pulsing through portable speakers, a low murmur of voices, and that undercurrent of end-of-an-era energy. The kind that makes everyone feel a little nostalgic and just drunk enough to believe they’ll stay in touch after graduation.

There’s a mix of people in every room—some seniors still dressed to impress, jackets off and heels abandoned, and plenty of juniors too. No one seems surprised to see me with Caden. If anything, a few offer friendly waves or shout, “Hey, Theo!” over the music.

Most of Gomillion is made up of good people. Sure, we’ve got our token jerks—your classic hallway terrors and lunchroom commentators—but we’ve learned how to steer clear. There’s an unspoken rule: If someone’s going to bring the drama, they don’t get invited to the good stuff. So nights like this? Pretty chill.

We squeeze into the kitchen, where a folding table has been turned into a makeshift bar. It’s stocked with half-empty bottles of soda, a bowl of questionable punch, and the holy grail of teen parties: a mountain of red Solo cups.

Caden grabs two and fills one from the keg tap with all the grace of someone who’s watched other people do it often enough.

“Voilà,” he says, handing it to me.

I sniff it. “Smells like regret.”

He laughs. “Tastes like it too.”

The beer’s warm and vaguely metallic, like someone filtered it through a sock and left it on a windowsill for three hours. I drink it anyway. I’m not a drinker—neither of us really are. Caden’s whole future depends on his body staying strong and clean. So no drinking, no smoking, no anything that could tank his game. By default, I follow his lead. Always have.

Still, it feels weirdly rebellious to be holding a drink tonight. Like I’m finally a part of something I usually watch from the sidelines.

We head back outside, where the air is cooler and easier to breathe. The backyard is dotted with groups of people, some clustered around the firepit, others lounging in conversation. Off to the side, there’s a quiet corner with a couple of mismatched lawn chairs, slightly rusted but blessedly unoccupied.

Caden gestures toward them. “Our thrones.”

We sink into them, the metal creaking a little under our weight. For a few minutes, we just sit there, side by side, sipping our drinks and watching the blur of movement around us. It’s peaceful in that way parties sometimes are when you’re not in the center of the chaos. When you get to be the observer instead of the event.

I turn to look at him. “So,” I say, tilting my cup toward him, “how was it? Prom?”

He leans his head back, eyes closing for a second like he’s pulling the night out of storage. “Honestly?” he says, cracking one eye open. “Pretty good.”

“That’s it? I’ve been salty all week for ‘pretty good’?”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. The venue was actually nice. They had fairy lights and this weird indoor tree setup.”

“I need more visuals,” I say.

“There was a chocolate fountain.”

“Ooh. That’s five points already.”

“Dirk danced with the librarian.”

I nearly spit my beer. “Ms. Callahan? Of course it was Ms. Callahan—Dirk must have dog-eared too many paperbacks.”

I know her way too well—I’m in the library so often she’s practically memorized my reading habits. She slips me new releases before anyone else, but God help me if I return them late.

Caden grins. “Yup. He asked her as a joke, and she said yes very seriously. Then they waltzed. Like, full-on elegant twirls and everything. I think she might be in love with him now.”

“I’m traumatized just hearing about it.” And no doubt she’ll tell me all about it next week when I pick up a book she special ordered for me.

“You’re welcome.”

I grin. “Was it weird without me there?”

He hesitates just a second too long before answering, “Yeah. It was.”

Something fluttery and annoying flaps in my chest. I take another sip of beer just to give my hands something to do. “And Alice?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He shrugs. “We danced once. Talked a bit. But she kinda paired off with this guy from the catering staff.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious. He had one of those little bow ties and apparently plays acoustic guitar in his free time. She was gone like that.” He snaps his fingers. “Honestly, I don’t blame her. Guy had the whole ‘tortured artist’ vibe going on.”

I smirk. “Glad to know I didn’t miss your romantic prom arc.”

“You were the highlight of the night anyway,” he says simply.

I blink. “What?”

He doesn’t repeat it. Just sips his drink and keeps his eyes on the firelight in the distance. Like he didn’t just say something that made my brain short-circuit.

So I sit here, warm beer in hand, heart doing backflips, and try not to read into things.

I absolutely fail.

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