He cut the ribbon on the library wing.
I remember his gold Rolex flashing under the stadium lights as he handed over a giant cardboard check.
I remember thinking that was what kindness looked like.
The next morning, I opened my locker and nearly dropped my books.
Jonathan Ziegler was standing beside it.
Quarterback.
Honor student.
The most popular boy in school.
He was Mr. Ziegler’s son.
We weren’t friends exactly, but he was one of the few people who had never joined in.
He never laughed.
Never stared.
He looked strangely nervous that morning, like he hadn’t slept.
“Hey, Laney.”
“Hi.”
“Would you go to prom with me?”
At first, I thought he was joking.
Then I looked at his face and realized he wasn’t.
“Why?” I whispered.
He swallowed.
“Because I think you should have one good night,” he said. “And because next Saturday is your birthday, right? Your eighteenth?”
