“Dean?” she says, confused. “What is it?” “Do you want to go to the dance with me?” I say. “The Christmas dance?” Cat asks, as if there’s another one. “Yes,” I hiss, impatient and already regretting this. Regretting it because . . . if she says no, I’m going to have to burn this whole school to the ground. Cat hesitates. The seconds stretch out torturously. I’m about to abandon this whole idea and leave when at last she says, very softly, “That would be nice.” I search her face, trying to see if she really means that. Cat has grown up a lot in the time I’ve known her, but right now she looks
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