“Will you go to the prom with me?” Hannah’s stomach hops. Wally looks earnestly at her, the question still showing in his eyes. “Yeah,” she says, and then she has the comforting sense that she is in a story, that she is correctly playing her part, that she has brought her personal touch to the role of Girl. She looks at Wally, at how he fits the role of Boy in his own way, with his fern green eyes and his square jaw and his hint of cologne, and she feels good.
