Page 2 of Caden & Theo
There’s a pause, and then Caden pushes off the dresser and grabs his blazer. “Look, you’ll come to the after-party, though, right? Even if you can’t be at prom, you’re still part of the night. I want you there.”
The words ease the tight knot of bitter jealousy in my chest just a little. “I dunno,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “I might be too busy crying in my room. Alone. WatchingLove and Basketballand eating marshmallow fluff straight from the tub.”
“You’ll ruin your pancreas,” he says.
“You’ll ruin prom if you don’t stop checking yourself out in the mirror.”
He flips me off, laughing. “You better be there.”
“I’ll think about it.” Yeah, of course I’m full of shit, as I’ll absolutely be there.
He grabs his cologne and sprays, making the room smell like citrus and warmth. Then he pauses and turns toward me. “Seriously, Theo. I hate that you can’t come. You should be there. With me.”
Something in the way he says it makes my heart stutter. I sit up a little straighter. “You’ll survive,” I say lightly because I can’t afford to read too much into it. “Just don’t let Alice drag you into one of those dance-offs. I swear, if I hear about you doing the Cha Cha Slide on the gym floor?—”
“I’m a grown man,” he says, puffing his chest out. “I don’t slide. I glide.”
I chuckle, tossing the mini basketball he keeps at the side of his bed at him. He catches it easily, then lobs it into the hoop mounted above his closet door. Swish. Because of course.
“You sure you don’t want me to fake being your chauffeur? I could drive you and Alice, roll up the windows real slow, make everyone think you’re rich and mysterious.”
He laughs. “You offering to valet in your mom’s Prius?”
“She’s got seat warmers,” I say. “Luxury.”
There’s a knock at the door, and then his mom’s voice carries through, warm and lilting over the hum of gospel music drifting up from the kitchen. “Caden, sweetie! Alice is here—don’t you keep that girl waiting now!”
He meets my eyes. “Guess that’s my cue.”
I stand. “Break a leg, superstar.”
He heads toward the door, then hesitates before turning back. “You sure you’re okay?”
Not even close.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Go have fun.”
He gives me one last look, then leaves.
When the door clicks shut behind him, the silence hits like a dunk to the chest. I flop backward on his bed, stare at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above, and let the jealousy simmer a little longer before I text him a simple message:
Me: Fine, I’ll be there.
Because if I can’t have the night of my dreams… at least I can still see him after.
And maybe—just maybe—that’ll be enough.
The after-party’salready in full swing by the time I pull up, and the bass is thumping like the heart of some mythical beast. Whoever’s house this is—I think it’s Shane Bailey’s older cousin’s place—has clearly made peace with the idea of their lawn being permanently wrecked. The driveway is packed with double-parked cars. Glowing string lights are draped over trees and balconies like a home décor magazine exploded.
Prom-goers in full glam are everywhere—satin dresses catching the breeze, bow ties hanging loose, glitter on cheeks, and the kind of electric energy only a “we survived high school” celebration can produce.
I’m not the only junior here. I clock a few familiar faces from my own class—Jonah, who’s deep in a conversation with a girl who I think has actual rhinestones glued to her eyebrows, and Marissa and Lee sharing a plate of something suspiciously shaped like meatballs but somehow also glowing orange.
I wave at them, and a couple of people shout, “Theo! You made it!” at me in return as I make my way past the firepit and into the thick of the crowd.
I’m not really looking for anyone else, though. Not really. I’m looking forhim. It doesn’t take long.
Caden stands near the back patio, under a cluster of swaying string lights, laughing with the rest of the basketball team like they’re in aGQshoot disguised as a team reunion. They might as well be.
