Then he said, “That makes sense.”
I didn’t ask what he meant.
I was afraid of the answer.
At eleven-thirty, the final song began. Couples moved close. Teachers pretended not to see. The fake trees glowed softly around us. Outside, thunder rolled far away.
Caleb stood.
“One more?”
I should have said no.
My feet hurt. My heart hurt. Everything hurt in that sweet, impossible way that comes when joy presses against a bruise.
But I stood.
During that last dance, he held my hand a little tighter.
Not possessive.
Desperate.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Do you remember anything from the fire?”
My body went cold.
Just like that, the ballroom vanished.
I smelled smoke.
I saw orange light crawling up white cabinets.
I heard glass breaking.
Then nothing.
I pulled back.
“Why would you ask me that?”
His face had gone pale.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, why?”
He swallowed.
“I shouldn’t have.”
The song ended.
Applause broke around us.
The spell cracked.
I stepped away from him, wrapping my scarred arm across my stomach.
Caleb looked like he wanted to say a hundred things and knew he had earned none of them.
“Mara—”
