Ethan held out his hand.
“Sophie.”
“What?”
“You owe me.”
“Twelve years?”
“Yes.”
I took his hand.
Five seconds later—
he stepped directly on my shoe.
“Ow!”
“Your dress is badly designed.”
“You’re terrible at dancing.”
“You agreed to this.”
“When I was six!”
“A promise is a promise.”
We laughed until people stared.
There was no dramatic applause.
Nobody gathered around us.
Nobody treated the moment like some inspirational spectacle.
We were simply two eighteen-year-olds from Bellmere—
dancing badly together at Willowcrest High School prom.
Exactly the way it should have been.
