On the tape, the boy kept talking, not to the dispatcher now, but to me.
“Stay awake. Please stay awake. Don’t look at it. Look at me.”
My chest folded inward.
I could feel the lawn beneath my back.
Wet grass.
Cold air.
A hand touching my cheek, careful around burned skin.
The boy’s voice broke.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The dispatcher said, “What is your name?”
The boy hesitated.
Then, very softly, “Caleb.”
Vivian made a sound like someone had pressed a blade under her ribs.
Richard’s face went gray.
But the tape was not finished.
There was one more thing.
Little Caleb whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
“When we’re big, I’ll ask you to dance, okay? Just don’t die.”
The kitchen disappeared.
I was back on the prom floor, Caleb’s hand around mine, his blue eyes steady on my face.
Because I’ve wanted to ask for a long time.
Not after one good night.
I hope someday you don’t hate me.
The dance had never been a beginning. It had been a promise kept ten years late.
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
