Page 61 of The Do-Over

“I simply explained that we’d been on a mission to find the elusive balcony.” His face looked a little weird when he said, “I guess they’re just nice guys.”

I looked out at the view and breathed, “This is incredible.”

I tried picturing my parents up there, young and still in love. Had my dad been nervous? Worried my mom might say no? Had she cried tears of joy before shouting “a thousand times yes!”? Had she gritted her teeth, irritated that he’d employed such a big, overdramatic gesture?

It was silly, but I felt a little emotional, standing where it happened.

“Yeah.” Nick ran a hand over the top of his hair and said, “I hadn’t pictured it being this cool.”

“Forty stories is actually way higher than I envisioned,” I added, not courageous enough to walk to the edge, even though the railing would be nearly impossible to get over. “Thank you for making this happen.”

“It’s the DONC, Hornby—no consequences.”

Movement behind him caught my eye, and then I gasped. Because there were a bunch of people—like, a small crowd—gathering on that balcony just outside of Bill’s office. It looked likeeveryone and their assistants—andaw, geez, the security guard—had stepped out to congregate and… stare at us…?

“Nick, what did you tell Bill?” When I looked back at his face, his eyes were on my lips and I almost forgot what was happening, but I asked, “To get him to let us out here?”

He shrugged casually and said, “Don’t worry abou—”

“Because we have a crowd watching us.”

“What?” Nick glanced behind him. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit, what? Is there something—”

“I told him I wanted to come out here for a promposal.”

“A promposal?” I couldn’t believe he’d said that—ofcoursethey were out here. Adults loved that sappy crap.“Nick.”

He looked unfazed as he said, “We’ll just tell them I asked and you said yes.”

I waited for the rest, but apparently that was it. “That’s not a promposal.”

He looked surprised. “It’s not?”

“No.”I rolled my eyes and explained, “That is asking someone to the prom. Apromposalis when someone does something huge in order to convince someone to say yes. Getting a celebrity to help, making a cake, singing a song, asking in three million rose petals, doing a dance—how do you not know this?”

To be fair, that was just what I knew—perhaps they did it differently elsewhere. But in my town, at our school, that’s what it meant. Next-level stuff the likes of an engagement proposal.

“Why would anyone do that for prom?” he asked, looking disgusted. “It’s just a dance.”

“Do you really want to discuss the merits of a promposal with me at this moment? That crowd—and the security guard—is waiting for a show.”

He didn’t say a word but got out his phone and started scrolling.

I glanced behind him at the spectators, who were still staring expectantly.

“Um, Nick…?”

“Hang on.” He scrolled for another minute, then looked at me and grinned.

“Nick—”

His phone started playing music—loudly. But before I could ask him what the hell he was doing—was that “Cupid Shuffle”?—he handed me the phone.

I took it, and then he backed up like five big steps and started doing theworstversion of the Cupid Shuffle that I’d ever seen. He wore a cheesy smile while doing a rigid, absolutely pathetic rendition of the line dance.

“Seriously?” I yelled.

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