At school, she went straight to her locker and did the automatic motions — spun the combination, opened the door, pulled out her history textbook. Shut it.
And then there he was.
Caleb was leaning against the locker beside hers, hands in the front pocket of his football jacket, his expression softer than she had ever seen it. He was the kind of person who occupied the center of every room he entered without appearing to try. Tall, dark-eyed, easy smile, the whole impossible picture of someone who did not belong in her particular hallway on her particular Tuesday morning.
She stood very still.
“Hey, Hannah,” he said. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended.
“Would you go to prom with me?”
The hallway noise behind her faded into something muffled and far away. She was certain she had misheard him. She waited for the version of the sentence that made more sense. It didn’t come.
