He held my hand all the way to the car.
Something in his jacket crinkled when he leaned down to open the door.
I noticed.
I didn’t ask.
For a few hours, inside the Oakdale High gym, I almost forgot what it felt like to be judged.
The air smelled like floor wax and cheap perfume.
The bass thumped through the soles of my shoes.
Then reality returned.
Everywhere we went, people stared.
Whispers followed us across the dance floor like smoke.
Soon the comments became impossible to ignore.
“Did he lose a bet?”
“Someone must have paid him.”
“Looks like Jonathan’s doing community service.”
Laughter erupted around the room.
Jonathan kept his jaw tight and his eyes straight ahead, as if he were taking a hit he had expected.
He checked his phone twice.
Both times, he put it away without a word.
Then a girl in a silver dress stepped in front of us.
