“You’ve barely touched your food, sweetheart.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Her mother studied her face the way mothers study their children’s faces — not looking at the surface but reading underneath it.
“Is it school again?”
Hannah shrugged. “They put up the prom posters today. Brittany was handing out the tickets like she personally organized the whole thing.”
Her mother’s lips pressed together. She knew Brittany’s name. Everyone at the school knew Brittany — head cheerleader, student council vice president, the girl who always had an audience and knew exactly how to use it. Hannah had been a target of hers since freshman year. Not loudly, never loudly enough to get caught, but consistently, the way a faucet drips into a bucket until the bucket overflows.
“Mom, I don’t want to go to prom. I’m serious.”
Her mother reached across the table and took her hand. “Hannah, listen to me. You get one senior prom. One. Give yourself one good memory before you graduate.”
