Okay, so not literal death. More like social death. But really, when you’re seventeen and face-to-face with the boy whose last name you’ve practiced writing as if it were your own more times than you’ve written your actual last name, proximity can really hyperbolize the definition of death.
“Frankie, go!” My best friend Shay nudges my shoulder with what feels like her forearm. My feet stay glued to the gym floor, inches shy of the invisible line that defines the dancefloor from the safety of the folding chairs and tables littered with punch cups and cookie crumbs.
Everything I’ve done over the last two weeks has been for this moment. Caleb Walsh knows my name. He knows about the crush—my crush…on him. He knows that I’m here and that I’m not the shy girl in the background anymore. All those things balanced with the fact that he is not running for an exit right now meant I should take that step. The last dance of my senior year of high school.
“Fran!” Shay grits out the shortened version of my name, which I hate, and leans into me forcefully, trying to goad me into action. I dig in and push back.
“I’m going!” I growl out the lie. She calls me on it with the kind of laugh that accompanies rolling eyes. I don’t need to see them to know her pupils dashed up under her eyelids.
As ready as I thought I was for this, now that I’m here, the foundation of this plan feels incredibly shaky. This entire thing is inspired by some cookie fortune I read on a Friday the thirteenth at my favorite Chinese restaurant, Lee’s of Muncie.
TAKE YOUR SHOTS. P.S. HE LIKES YOU TOO.
I mean … that’s awfully prophetic and detailed for a fortune cookie. Shay and I passed it back and forth, interpreting the meaning to the point of wearing away the last O printed on the small strip of paper. The end result was this plan I’ve followed religiously for the last two weeks—when I might normally say no, I say yes instead. There are safety exceptions, of course. Like, I won’t take a hit off the joint at a party, but actually going to a party? That’s a big change for me. And I did go—I went big, and I drank an entire Solo cup of beer. And I danced. And Caleb—he noticed. It may have been the blue streaks I let Shay bleach and dye in my dark brown hair at first, but he noticed the rest of me too. I felt his eyes on me.
My high school life up until now has been practically momentless. I’m not in a single photo in my yearbooks other than the small square headshots for each class. My senior bio is filled with academic stats, but my Most likely to line is just a set of ellipsis. That’s who I am. I’m…
But I’m done stopping just before I do things. I’m going to ask Caleb to dance. I can do it!
I bounce on my toes and shake out my fingertips as if I’m about to head down the twelve feet of a high-dive board to plunge into a freezing cold pool. I’m suddenly glad I opted to wear jeans tonight. I feel more confident somehow in my Nike Airs and blue halter top. Shay pushed for the mini dress, but this is more me. I like to be prepared for battle. And I’m battling, alright—with my nerves.
“He’s going to say yes,” Shay encourages. She has no idea if that’s true, but she’s an optimist. It’s easy for her to be one. She’s had the same boyfriend since we were nine. She and Beckett will get married. They’ll probably have three kids and a two-story house with a green yard and one of those doodle-type dogs. Meanwhile, I’ll still be here, paralyzed by a life full of ellipsis.
One more deep breath is all I allow myself, and as if I’ve been shoved while rushing the stage at a BTS show, my feet stumble their way forward. I catch the short smirk that lifts the right side of Caleb’s mouth as he sees me trip over my own size nines. Undeterred,