“For you? You’re going with Jacob.”

“Yeah, but it’s more-so about seeing everyone one last time. Surely you’ve read enough Young Adult books to know that. You need to start looking for a dress.”

I shake my head at her. “It’s six months away. Even if I do end up changing my mind, I have plenty of time to look for one.”

“It clearly takes a long time to find a good dress.” She tugs at her gown’s fabric. “Why don’t you ask Dean if he’ll take you and be your date?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you ask Dean if he’ll take you and be your date?” She repeats, slowly emphasizing every syllable. “Did you catch that or do I need to say it again?”

“We’re just—”

“Friends?” She scoffs. “Please! I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Everyone has actually.”

“What do you mean everyone? I haven’t told anyone about me and him but you.”

“Mia...” She tilts her head to the side. “Did you really think that all of the time you two have been spending together would go un-noticed by everyone at Central? You’ve said it yourself, everyone watches every move Dean makes. Those moves now include you.”

I sigh. I honestly have been enjoying my time with him too much to focus on what everyone else is saying.

“Ask him if he’ll take you to prom,” she says. “It won’t be a surprise to anyone if you two go together.”

“No...” I shake my head. “That’s okay. I have a perfectly good reason why that’s a bad idea.” Before I can say anything else, she snatches my cell phone out of my hand.

“Let me help you out,” she says, tapping my screen.

“Oh, my god, no!” I reach for my phone, but she steps back and locks herself in the dressing room. “Autumn, please don’t do this to me!”

She starts humming, singing “You’re going to thank me one day,” and I frantically twist the doorknob, wishing I could prevent her from doing whatever she has schemed.

“Can I please have my phone back?” I ask, my heart now racing a mile a minute. “Right now?”

“In a second...” She hums again, and I consider calling the manager over, consider telling him my friend is shoplifting just to get him to open the door.

“All done!” Autumn opens the door and tosses me my phone. “Shall we do Macy’s next? Feel free to tell me ‘Thank You’ while we’re on the way. You’re welcome.”

I immediately tap on my text messages, realizing that there’s a whole new thread between “me” and Dean:

MIA:  Hey...What are you up to right now?

DEAN:  Just got out of practice. I told you it was a two-a-day practice for today, remember?

MIA:  Sorry, I must have TOTALLY forgotten! Anyway, I need to ask you something. Something important. (And OMG do you have any pictures of your abs? I don’t see any in my phone’s gallery so, yeah...Just wondering, since you’ve clearly never sent me any.)

DEAN:  What is it you have to ask? (Attached :-) )

MIA:  Holy fuck...

DEAN:  LOL What is it you have to ask?

MIA:  Are you going to prom this year? (Do you mind if I send Autumn a few of these? I mean, she has a bf of her own, but she would really appreciate having these to look at...In private you know?)

DEAN:  Yes, I’m planning to.  (I don’t mind.)

MIA:  Did you already have a date, or were you planning to go by yourself? (I’ll make sure Autumn doesn’t show them to anyone else. I promise!)

DEAN:  I’m not going by myself. (I would appreciate that.)

MIA: Okay so...WHO are you going with then? WHO ARE YOU GOING WITH THEN???

DEAN:  :-)

MIA:  That’s not an answer damnit! Tell me right now!

DEAN:  I’m going to ask Mia, Autumn. Sometime over the break, probably when we’re alone. (Why do you have her cell phone?)

MIA:  I thought so...Good! I’ll delete this thread so she won’t see these messages. (Because she was too chicken shit to ask you, so I figured I’d do it myself.) Thanks!

DEAN:  Make sure you delete this.

MIA:  TOTES!

***

Later that night, when I arrive home, I see that my mom has placed a large packet from Harvard on the dining room table. She’s draped one of her red and white Harvard T-shirts on a chair and written, “I think this is a good sign!” in a red Sharpie on the back flap of the envelope.

I consider submitting it to the postmaster as proof of her mail tampering, a federal offense.

I wonder how much time she would get...

Annoyed, I rip it open and pull out the letter.

The first word is “Congratulations!” There’s not even a full paragraph between that and the words “our prestigious university,” but I can’t deny that I feel a small sense of pride at their offer of a full academic scholarship with room and board.

If only it was the right school...

I leave the letter in plain view on the table, so she can see that I’ve read it, and then I go up to my room, pulling out the much smaller envelope from Western Peak. I set it on my desk and stare at it, scared to take a look. Small, thin envelopes are never a good sign.

After staring at it for half an hour, I tuck it inside my jeans and decide to open it after Christmas. That way, if it’s bad, it won’t ruin what’s left of my holiday break.

I lay across my bed and pull out my phone, deciding to get the inevitable over with.

MIA:  Hey, mom. I saw the letter on the table from Harvard and opened it...I got in!

MOM:  Of course, you got in! So happy you’ll be going to the same college I went to! We’ll have to celebrate later. I’ll take you wherever you want for dinner, okay? You can even invite Dean! :-)

MIA:  Okay...When will you be back?

MOM:  Probably not until nine. Let’s celebrate tomorrow night, okay? That gives me time to call everyone I know and make it a huge event. Is that okay?

It’s more than okay. I was only asking her about what time she’d be back so I could paint in peace.

MIA: More than okay! See you later!

MOM:  See you later, future Harvard grad!

Ugh...

I toss my phone onto my bed and open my closet, pulling out a blank canvas. It still depresses me that I have to hide evidence of my passion in my own house.

I go into my bathroom and push aside the cleaning supplies in the closet, taking out the green box where I hide all of my acrylic paint.

I take my time setting them against the window sill in my room, turning on my ceiling fan. I take out a few unfinished traces from my desk and debate which one I’m going to transfer onto the canvas.

Just as I decide to go with the picture of the crowd at the bonfire from my first pep rally, I hear the garage door opening.

Shit! She must have changed her mind...

I toss all of my paint back into the box and place my canvas face down on my bed. I rush downstairs, sitting at the table where the Harvard letter is and put on my best fake smile.

Taking a deep breath, I silently mouth, “I’m definitely excited about following in your foot-steps. So, so excited.” I wait for her to walk through the door, but nothing happens.

Confused, I walk over to the door and open it. It’s Dean.

“What the—” I shake my head. “What are you doing here?”

“I can’t come see you?”

“You can. I’m just confused as to why you would be opening our garage.”

He smiles, stepping back. “I thought that was your doorbell.” He looks at the two panels outside our side door again. Then he presses the actual doorbell. “Is that better?”

“Yes.” I laugh, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

“Was I interrupting something?”

“No, just a painting session. I haven’t started yet, though. I was setting up.”

“Hmmm.” He stops at the dining room table and picks up my Harvard letter, reading it. “Congratulations. Did you just get this?”