Blooming Backwards

The twinkling white lights strung above our heads cast a soft, dreamy glow over the banquet hall. “I’ll Never Break Your Heart” by the Backstreet Boys hums through the speakers, and for a second, it feels like prom—except it’s not. It’s the Senior Choir Banquet, and I’m still dateless, still awkward, still trying to blend into the folding chair I’ve claimed as mine all night.

I hate school dances.

I’ve never been asked to one. Not Homecoming. Not Winter Formal. Not Sadie Hawkins. But this—this kinda counts, right?

Still, here I am—18, 5’11”, 250 lbs of awkward tomboy, trying to disappear into a banquet chair while all the popular girls twirl around the floor in their strappy heels and glitter gloss.

“Could this be any more boring?” Chastity whines beside me, fanning herself with a crumpled program. She’s not even in choir, but she came as my guest because, as she says, someone has to keep me from becoming an actual recluse.

I roll my eyes. “You’ve been dancing all night, Chaz.”

“Exactly! I’m exhausted. I’m ready to go to that after-party Johnny is throwing. That’s where the real fun’s gonna be.”

I start to open my mouth to say I’m not sure I’m going—when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Sugar britches! Don’t tell me y’all are abandoning me.”

Kevin slides into the chair next to mine, dramatically tossing a napkin over his shoulder like a cape.

I grin. “Never, darlin’.”

Kevin’s been my best friend since sophomore year choir. He’s all sass and heart. He came out this year and got kicked out of his house, and my mom—saint that she is—let him move in with us. He calls our house the “Safe Queer Sanctuary” and tells everyone I’m his emotional support tomboy.

He tugs at the collar of his shiny maroon shirt. “I feel like an overcooked sausage in this get-up.”

“You look cute,” I say honestly. “Like a Latin Ricky Martin.”

“You trying to get in my pants, Minerva?”

I laugh and smack his arm. “Please. You couldn’t handle me.”

Chaz snorts into her soda.

“Okay, I need sugar before I sweat out all my electrolytes,” I announce, standing up. “Be right back.”

As I weave my way through the tables, I tug at the hem of my black dress. It’s stretchy and sleeveless with a slight shimmer. Mom said it made me look elegant. I think it makes me look like a sparkly linebacker.

I hover by the dessert table. Mini eclairs. Chocolate-dipped strawberries. Fruit tarts. I reach for a plate, trying to decide between shame-eating two or making it cute with just one.

A low voice beside me clears its throat. “Wow. You look as good as that eclair.”

I freeze. My stomach flips. I look up.

It’s him.

Johnny Castile.

Choir boy. Wrestling captain. Debate champ. Student body vice president. Basically if Zack Morris and The Rock had a baby.

He’s 6’2”, tan from spring tournaments, dark waves of hair still damp at the edges. He smells like sandalwood and dryer sheets. His tie is loose, and his grin—God help me—hits me like a chair to the face.

He doesn’t remember me. I know it. There’s a flicker of polite curiosity behind his smile.

I, on the other hand, remember everything.

Freshman year, he helped me rerack weights in the gym. Sophomore year, we both sang harmony on “Seasons of Love.” Junior year, he fist-bumped me after I pinned a guy twice my size in regionals.

He’s always been kind. And flirty. But I know I’m not his type.

Still, I play along.

“Thanks,” I say, awkwardly holding up my plate. “I can fit like… three of these in my pocket. Four if I skip sitting down.”

He laughs—really laughs—and something in me blooms.

“Min, right?” he asks. “Minerva?”

I nod, stunned he knows my name.

“We’ve got weight training together, don’t we?”

“Yeah. I mean, you spot me sometimes. You once complimented my squat form.”

“Oh, right,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That was a hell of a squat.”

I want to melt into the floor.

And then They Don’t Know by Jon B. starts playing.

He glances toward the dance floor, then back at me. “You and I never got a dance.”

“I don’t really—” I start to say, but he cuts me off by holding out his hand.

“C’mon. Just one. For the memories.”

My brain screams. My heart does backflips. I hand off my plate to a random sophomore and let him pull me to the floor.

His hands are warm, strong but gentle. He places them on my waist and smiles.

“Relax,” he says, that soft smirk curling his lips.

I look down, then up—he’s really close. My arms settle around his neck. I can feel the rhythm of the song thumping between us. My nerves are shot.

Then—of course—comes the voice I’ve dreaded all night.

“Well, isn’t this cute,” Lauren sneers.

Lauren Chambers. Captain of the cheer team. Blonde, vicious, perfect. She and Johnny go way back. She calls him “Johnny.” She once told me I looked like “a football player in drag.” She knows I like him. She lives to humiliate me.

She swishes past us, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Careful, Johnny. Don’t pop a vertebrae lifting her.”

I freeze.

But Johnny doesn’t miss a beat.

He reaches over, snatches a mini eclair from someone’s plate, and pops it into his mouth.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about it now, Lulu,” he says, smirking.

Lauren glares. I melt.

The music plays on.

“Don’t listen to her,” Johnny says softly. “You look beautiful tonight.”

My face burns.

“I—uh—thanks. You look… shampoo commercial-ish.”

He throws his head back laughing. “I’ll take that.”

We sway. His thumb rubs tiny circles on my side. I glance up and see Chaz and Kevin cheering dramatically from our table. Kevin mimes fainting into her lap.

“Min,” Johnny murmurs, leaning in close, “I’m leaving for college in a few weeks. I’m gonna miss this place. People like you.”

I blink. “People like me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Real ones. Fun ones. People who make it easy to breathe.”

If I didn’t already have a crush, I’d fall head over heels right now.

“You doing anything after this?” he asks. “A few of us are heading to my place. Lake house. Bonfire. Maybe a little coed chaos.”

I blink. “Like a party?”

“More like a sleepover. Bring Chaz and Kevin if you want.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Yeah.”

“Save some time for me,” he says, brushing a loose curl behind my ear.

Then the song ends, and Lauren is yanking him away again.

I stand there in a daze.

Kevin and Chaz rush over.

“WHAT just happened?” Chaz yells.

“He asked me to go to the lake,” I say.

Kevin shrieks. “You’re going. We’re going. This is it. You’re about to become a woman!”

“I already am a woman,” I mutter, blushing.

“Not until someone writes a sappy song about you and ruins your GPA,” he teases.

Chaz loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go make some memories.”

I take one last look at the dance floor, where Johnny is laughing with a group of guys.

Maybe tonight is different.

Maybe I am more than just the girl on the sidelines