The hallways of my high school always felt longer when I walked them.
I kept my eyes on the floor, my dark hair brushed forward to cover the left side of my face, where the birthmark spread across my cheek like a map of a country no one wanted to visit.
At 17, I had perfected the art of being invisible.
I headed home to the small apartment Mom and I shared. Mom worked two jobs, and most nights I heard the front door click open long after midnight.
I had perfected the art of being invisible.
That Tuesday, she was home for dinner, which was rare. She set a plate of spaghetti in front of me and sat down with a sigh.
“Hannah, sweetheart, you’ve barely touched your food.”
“I’m not hungry, Mom.”
She studied my face the way only mothers can. “Is it school again?”
I shrugged. “They put up the prom posters today. Brittany was handing out the tickets like she owned the place.”
“Is it school again?”
My mother’s lips pressed together. She knew Brittany’s name. Brittany had tormented me for years, but always got away with it. I suspected it was because she’d led the cheerleading team to a win in state competitions.
I pushed a noodle around my plate. “Mom, I don’t want to go to prom. I really don’t.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Hannah, listen to me. You only get one senior prom. Just one. Give yourself one good memory before you graduate. Please.”
“Mom, I don’t want to go to prom. I really don’t.”
“A good memory,” I repeated quietly. “Mom, the only memory I’d make is being the girl in the corner.”
“Then stand in the middle of the room for once,” she said softly. “Just once.”
I didn’t answer her. I just stared at my plate.
The next morning, my bestie, Megan, was waiting for me at the bus stop, her backpack hanging off one shoulder. She was the only person in that whole school who cared about me.
“Then stand in the middle of the room for once.”
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said.
“My mom’s pushing the prom thing.”
“Of course she is. Moms always do.”
I almost laughed.
When we got to school, I went straight to my locker. I spun the lock, opened the door, and grabbed my history textbook. I shut it.
And there he was.
“My mom’s pushing the prom thing.”
Caleb stood beside my locker, hands in his pockets, that easy smile of his softened into something almost shy. The football jacket, the dark eyes, the whole impossible picture of him standing next to me.
I froze. It’s not every day the most popular boy in school stops by your locker.
“Hey, Hannah,” he said. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?” I waited, my heart doing something foolish inside my chest.
“Would you go to prom with me?”
It’s not every day the most popular boy in school stops by your locker.
I stared at Caleb, certain I had misheard him. The hallway noise faded into a dull hum behind my ears.
