The Prom Queen's Date

Chapter Twenty-Three

Then get out of my car and do something about it.

Maisie's words rang through my head as I drove Sabrina's car home and parked the vehicle in their driveway. That night was one of twisting and turning in bed, curling into myself, remembering the pain in Sabrina's eyes as she reminded me of how I reacted after our first kiss.

She was right. She was the one to kiss me first. She was the one who was first to come to my defence after unflattering pictures were taken of me. She kissed me again. She came to me to speak about those kisses. She initiated the whole easy light and breezy aspect of our relationship.

It was all her and I buckled in for the ride, not knowing where it was going and not thinking about the destination. What I was given, I took and didn't dare to think beyond the moment. She did, though. She always did.

It was up to me now.

The next morning I woke up to unblocked light, having left my curtains open the night before. Sabrina was sat at her desk, eyes pinned to her reflection. I swallowed, hand still on the edge of the wall by the window, eventually cracking a smile when she grabbed her small kettle and poured herself a cup of tea and in doing so, caught my eye.

She raised the cup up to me, a silent greeting before taking a sip and leaving the space of her bedroom.

"Uh, Sam, once you're done your ogling, come downstairs. I've made you breakfast," Dad said.

"I'm not ogling."

"Creeping then. There's a full bowl of your favourite cereal. Might eat it myself if you don't hurry."

I rushed by him and jumped down the hallway, skidding around the corner and planted myself at the table, instantly slurping the Coco Pops into my mouth. He sat at the opposite end of the table and drummed his fingers against the table. When he scratched his temple and didn't once blink while staring in my direction, I stopped slurping the milk from the bowl and wiped the residue on my chin with the back of my hand.

"You okay there?"

"That's the exact question that I wanted to ask you. You've been . . . Spaced out. Loopy. More weird than usual. Anything you want to talk about with your old man?"

"Loopy?"

"You know," he began and twirled his finger around like that explained anything. "Like you've got a secret. The only time you acted like this was when you were twelve, before telling us you were gay."

"You're too observational for your own good."

"There is something you want to talk about?"

"How do you go about making a relationship official?" I blurted out. "Or admitting feelings. Or all that emotional stuff. How do you do it? What's the protocol?"

"Should've known Sabrina Jenkins had you on your toes. Good for her."

"I'm just going to go . . . Shit." I so wasn't getting in the car with Sabrina when I hadn't sorted myself out. "Will you drive me to school today?"

"Look, Sam," he said and rounded the table, planting a hand on my shoulder. "There's no code, no one true answer, no life hack."

"Then what is there?"

"Sitting down and having a conversation. It's as simple as that." He squeezed my shoulder and went and grabbed his keys off the hook by the counter. "It's your Cupid thing this week, right? Well, Sam, it's probably the right time to uh—" He jabbed his finger against the poster on the fridge, "—shoot your shot. Don't you think?"