“It’s not about you. It’s not about him. It’s about me wanting to go to a silly high school dance with a cute boy and take pictures and embarrass myself on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with you.” I don’t even realize I’ve taken a step forward till I’m face-to-face with his collarbones and have to tip my chin upwards. The anger vanishes from his face. “Then go with me.” The world skitters to a stop. “What?” “Go with me,” he repeats. “I’ll take you to the dance.”
