I drove home and had just enough time to shower and grab a snack. I scribbled a note for Aunt Trina, letting her know I would be home in time for dinner, then headed back to campus for tryouts.

I met up with Quinn outside the auditorium.

Our outfits were color-coordinated—black tights, cropped hoodies, with checkered sweatshirts tied around our waists. We had matching, oversized earrings; Quinn wore a backwards snapback.

She squealed and grabbed me, hopping with excitement. "I love you, thank you so much for doing this with me."

"Of course," I said, hugging my friend. "We've danced to this song a million times. The only thing I can't help you with is the singing."

Quinn laughed. She knew I couldn't sing; I was awful. I probably sang better with a sore throat.

We scribbled our names on the sign-up sheet tacked to the door and ducked inside. The auditorium was buzzing with students. A few dozen were already gathered, wandering through the seats and milling in the aisles. Several more were on stage, tinkering with the lights and performing sound checks. Mr. Lowrance, the choir teacher, was nowhere to be seen. Overseer of each year's talent show, he was chatting with a group of students, who, judging by their instruments, belonged to the brass section of the band.

We found an empty row of seats near the back, still close to the aisle. Right away, Q was approached by a tall, skinny senior with sparkling brown eyes and a messy-cute mop of brown hair. With his affinity for hippie sweaters and boat shoes, Declan Westbrook belonged at the Airwalk or on the beach, with mojitos and surfboards. He swung his backpack to the front, removing a sparkly, pink binder he passed to Quinn with a sheepish smile.

"Thanks for the chem notes, Q." He sat backwards in the row ahead, arms crossed over the top of his chair. "To show my undying gratitude, I promise not to one-up you in the talent show."

"Like you could." Quinn's cheeks were so pink I couldn't resist sticking my elbow in her ribs. Declan's head was stuffed with cotton, but skaterboy was a loveable clown.

"Dec, you're not seriously auditioning?" I chuckled, coating my lips with a fresh layer of gloss.

"With pride, ladies." He puffed out his chest, then promptly deflated. "I lost a bet. I'm lip-syncing Push It and showing off my stellar dance movie. It was either that or juggling flaming torches—smoke is kinda bad for my asthma."

"Yo, Dec!" A senior football player jumped out of nowhere, hands behind his head as he swung his hips in lude circles. "P-push it real good!"

"Fight me, bro—I pushed it on your mom last night and she loved it!" Declan took off after his friend, the two of them clowning their way towards the stage.

"Do you think he's cute?" asked Quinn, leaning forward wistfully, resting her chin on his empty seat.

"He's adorable—but it doesn't matter what I think. Listen, I just wanted to make sure everything was cool, after earlier. I didn't mean to ditch you back at lunch."

Quinn bit her lip. "And I'm sorry for telling you not to be friends with Tyler. It's your decision, A, and I shouldn't judge you for making it. I just hope whatever happens, you and I are still cool."

I frowned. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Mr. Lowrance interrupted. The lights in the audience darkened as he took the stage, clipboard in hand. But the instant hush that followed, putting electricity in the air and causing a girl to pinwheel on the stage before she was rescued by the ponytail, wasn't caused by him. Trailing behind the middle-aged, balding man with disheveled clothes was a living, breathing star. As the two ascended the stage, other students silently dispersed as everyone scattered to their seats.

Quinn's eyes were wide, her jaw clenched, as she spoke through the side of her mouth. "Aaliyah, if Tyler is entering this talent show I will harm him."

"Not if I get to him first."

Mr. Lowrance issued an ear-splitting whistle with his fingers. "Guten tag! Welcome to this year's talent show auditions!" He earned a smattering of applause. "I want to thank each and every one of you for signing up. Unfortunately, due to budget cuts and republican hatred, we only have room for twenty slots, so please don't be offended if I grab a broom and sweep you offstage." The students chuckled. "Before we begin, I'd like to remind you there will be no performances involving nudity, cursing, or fire—that goes for you, Mr. Westbrooke." This earned more laughs from the audience. Even Tyler seemed to enjoy himself, radiant in the spotlight, as usual.

Mr. Lowrance tapped his mic. "And last but not least—what I know you'll be really excited to hear—Tyler Moore is this year's opening act—" The choir director waited patiently for the deafening applause to subside. I detected a thin layer of hate beneath the cheers, a smattering of boos and jeers.

"Tyler will also be joining our panel of judges. Let's show our thanks to Tyler!" The auditorium erupted once more.

Quinn sank low in her seat, glaring at me like it was my fault. If we won, it would be because of Tyler. If we lost it would be because of him too. Who would he vote for? Us or his ex-girlfriend?

Tyler and Mr. Lowrance took their seats at the judge's panel; Audrey Hannah was called to the stage. For the next hour, Quinn and I sat through a variety of acts—faux synchronized swimming, Declan's hilariously cringe Push It routine, and faculty members dressed like zombies, shuffling the steps to Thriller.

The doubt didn't set in until Robin took to the stage with Trini Gorden and Janine Smith. Years of cheerleading and tumbling gave the girls a flawless, synchronized rhythm and an impressive athletic edge. They danced to a fast number by Doja Cat, their performance littered with a stunning array of acrobatics—back-flips, somersaults, running aerial cartwheels... Every time Robin's feet left the stage, Quinn's face turned a little more purple.

We were screwed.

The song ended amidst thunderous applause. Robin waved like a pageant girl, blowing a kiss to the crowd.

"I think I'm gonna be sick..." Quinn gripped the sides of her seat so hard her knuckles were white.

"Your high notes can shatter glass." I chuckled. "You're gonna be great."

When Mr. Lowrance finally called our names, I handed our CD to one of the theatre techs, then dragged Quinn to center stage. The poor girl's knees were knocking.

"Aaliyah Preston! Quinn Davis! Great to see you!" Mr. L nodded in friendly encouragement. "And what will you be performing for us?"

"Uh, uh, it's called... Uh-h-h-h..." Quinn snapped her fingers with terrified impatience.

"Quinn will be singing an original song called Prom Night," I chimed, leaning on her shoulder. "I'm just her dance partner." I grabbed her hand, leading her further upstage. Backs to the crowd, I whispered a few last words of encouragement.

"You've got this." I nodded at Quinn. "Just remember, dance from the heart, sing from the chest."

"Oh, boy."

Arms spread, we struck the first pose as the music started.

***

"Ali, wait up!" Tyler jogged down the hallway, his face illuminated by a happy glow.

"Hey."

"Hey." He bit his lip but couldn't seem to fight the huge grin spreading across his face. "You killed that audition. Seriously, you and Quinn were awesome. Ali, you are twice as good as when I left. You're better than my back-up dancers."

"Well, I did learn from the best..." I cleared my throat at the awkward silence that passed. Why is he looking at me like I'm dessert?

"I hope it's okay—that I'm judging the talent show. I swear, Aaliyah, I had no idea—"

"You are smothering me," I said, laughing as Tyler ducked his head. "When you said you wanted to be part of my life, I guess I just didn't expect you to take it that seriously. But I'm glad you are. Just be fair, y'know—with the judging."

"Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout."

"I still have honor."

"Do you?"

We grinned.

"So, I was thinking..." Tyler stepped closer. Something about the way he looked down at me, blushing, being extra careful with his words, made me feel about ten times lighter, like I had a belly full of helium. "I should come over tonight."

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he said, nodding, as he took the final step. "We'll order a pizza, I'll kick your ass at Mortal Kombat. Somewhere down the line, Katrina will inevitably roll out the baby pictures—even though we've seen them a million times. After that, we'll go upstairs to your room, leave the door open until she forgets about us... And then... maybe we can close it."

My head was spinning in boy overload. "Huh?"

"I've been watching you fall inside my head all day. I need to chase that with something better." He reached out, fingers skimming my cheek as he tucked a loose curl behind my ear. There were flecks of amber in his soft, upturned gaze. "It's my turn to nurse you back to health, Preston."

Good doctors don't cause pain. I swallowed. You couldn't think clearly, looking in those eyes... "You're only doing this because I kissed Eric."

"He had his chance. Try something new."

My heart raced, my palms were sweating. We weren't talking new jeans or makeup. If I went down this road with Tyler there was no going back. Were we ready for that?

A grating, slow clap shattered the moment. Greg Price, Alejandro Lopez, and Bryson Sarantos were fanned behind him. Eric's best friends were the goliaths of the basketball team, more muscle than brains.

"Really, fellas?" Tyler shook his head. "You couldn't have picked a better time?"

"Nope." Greg shook his head blonde head, brown eyes sparkling with malice. "Look, dude, my little sister likes your music, but I have an obligation to the team. So, my friends and I are gonna take you for a drive. And don't worry, Richie Rich, you'll still look pretty for the cameras."

My stomach was a fist. "Tyler..." Three years of karate and a lifetime of athleticism had turned Tyler into a deadly weapon. "You better not hurt them."

Tyler slipped his chain from around his neck and placed it over mine. "I'll be good for you." He backed away, flashing his cocky grin before turning on his heels, strolling away with Eric's friends.

I rubbed my forehead in anguish. Trying to keep up with Tyler was like riding a roller coaster with a broken seat belt.

"Boys will be boys." Robin stopped at my side, hands on the straps of her pink Coach backpack. An oversized sweatshirt covered the blue, velvet bodysuit and baggy jeans she had worn on stage. "He'll be fine. If it's one thing Tyler's got, it's endurance," she said, playing with the thin gold chains layered at her neck.

I turned to face her. "You could stop this. The team listens to you."

"My god, you are such a Puritan. Do you want the team to lose respect for him? Because that's what will happen if we interfere. Rules are different in the inner circle. You'd know that if you weren't slumming with the plebeians. But you're right where you belong. That chain around your neck doesn't change a thing."

"I get it. You know what Tyler needs and I don't. Well, if he wants you, Robin, he'll pick you."

"If?" She put a hand on her heart. "Sweetie, I compete for trophies, not boys." Robin strutted past me, knocking my shoulder as she passed.

***

Before I turned the key in the lock, I could hear the fire alarms screaming. Between the two of us, it wasn't unusual for us to slip up and burn something in the oven.

"Oh, Lucy, I'm ho-o-o-me!" After the engagement, I found it imperative to announce myself as loud and plain as possible. Hudson didn't live here, yet, but my chances of walking in on therapy-inducing activity had tripled since the big news.

"Aunt Trina?" I called, nose wrinkling at the smell of something burning. "Is everything okay?"

Once I noticed the smoke clinging to the air, I sped down the hall and to the kitchen. Eyes burning, I coughed, batting at the smoky air, pinpointing the orange lights flickering on the stove.

I shrieked Trina's name when I saw her sprawled on the floor in a growing puddle of water. The pot of spaghetti was in flames on the stove; the sink was overflowing. Racing into action, I grabbed the fire extinguisher from the cabinet, killing the flames with white foam. Then I traded that mess for the one at the sink, water spilling on my sneakers as I shut off the taps.

I rushed to Trina's side, paralyzed with fear when I saw the trickle of blood running from her scalp to her forehead. It was only the thought of losing her that gave me the wits to call 9-1-1.

***