Caden & Theo (Gomillion High Reunion #11)

Chapter 1

ONE

THEO

The world’s against me, I swear. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes at the hyperbole this time. Me? Dramatic? Never. But this sucks.

It’s the first official prom ever at Gomillion High, and unlike most other schools in South Carolina, ours decided to limit the event to seniors only.

Meaning, as a junior, I’m left behind. Spectating.

Watching my best friend get all dressed up for the night of his life while I sit here, sulking like a rejected promposal meme.

I’m on his bed, trying but epically failing to read 1984. I’m pretending I’m chill, but I’m radiating “left-out little brother” energy, and I know it. Meanwhile, Caden’s jabbering on about the event and Alice, his “date.”

Did I mentally add air quotes around that word? Damn straight, I did.

Alice is fine. Nice, even. Friendly. But still—what the hell?

Other people are going solo or rolling in squads, but Caden?

No, he’s gotta go with a date. And of course it had to be Alice, with her blemish-free Black skin, silky curls, giant eyes, and perfect teeth like she eats whitening strips for breakfast.

None of this is rational, I know. Jealousy never is.

I tell myself it’s normal. I mean, I’ve known the guy since I was three. When his family moved in next door and our dads bonded over basketball, we became attached at the hip. Every day since has basically been one long Caden-and-Theo hangout. If friendship were a sport, we’d be championship-tier.

But if I’m being real—and I always am, even when I shouldn’t be—I’ve been in love with him forever. Like, first-boner-during-a-water-fight kind of forever. My first wet dream? His garage gym. Him shirtless. Don’t even get me started.

As for other firsts… if only.

“Theo, come help me with this tie. The damn thing keeps going crooked.”

I close my book and swing my legs off the bed.

Of course I’m going to help him. He’s standing in front of his mirror, brow furrowed, mouth slightly open like he’s concentrating extra hard.

He’s already dressed in a fitted black suit with gold-and-green accessories—our school colors—and I swear, the gold makes his dark brown skin glow like it’s been kissed by literal sunbeams. He’s so fine. Stupidly so.

“Geez, Cade, what did you do to this knot?” I mutter as I step close, fingers brushing against his collar.

“It looked right a minute ago,” he says, grinning. “And now it looks like a sad pretzel.”

I snort. “A pretzel that gave up on life halfway through the twist.”

He grins wider. “You love me anyway.”

Too much, probably.

“I tolerate you,” I say instead, tightening the knot and smoothing it down. “There. Fixed. Try not to dance it crooked again.”

“Only if my date can keep her hands off me,” he says, turning back to the mirror.

I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the bed again.

He notices. Of course he notices.

Caden spins around, leaning against his dresser, arms crossed. “You’re still mad I’m going, huh?”

I shrug. “It’s whatever.”

He frowns, and I hate that I made him frown. “You know if I could sneak you in, I would.”

“I know,” I mumble.

“I even tried to talk to Coach about it,” he adds. “Told him my loner friend needed emotional support.”

I laugh at that, despite the extra-hard thud of my heart that he cared enough to ask. “And Coach said?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Theo’s too smart to risk suspension for some sparkly gym party.’”

“He’s not wrong,” I mutter, smiling despite myself.

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. Watching Love and Basketball and 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’s already 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 for him. 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 a GQ shoot disguised as a team reunion. They might as well be.

There’s Cam, the quiet point guard, standing back and letting the others have the spotlight.

Shane Bailey—the small forward—still rocking his prom tux jacket like it’s a designer coat and not something from Men’s Wearhouse.

Ray Barker, our no-nonsense power forward with Mexican roots, is double-fisting soda and trying not to look impressed by anything.

And towering over them all, Dale Rivers, the center, calm and imposing like always, with a deep voice that makes anything he says sound like it’s coming from a wise mountain sage.

And in the middle of it all, there’s Caden.

God, he looks… unfair.

The tailored black pants hugs him just right.

That same gold-and-green tie I helped with is still perfectly knotted, and his jacket’s tossed over one shoulder like he’s a model who just finished a runway.

His tight coils are shaped up clean, and the gold in his watch catches the light every time he lifts his hand to talk.

He’s laughing—bright and easy—and his smile does that thing where it spreads slow, like it’s creeping across his whole face, until you can’t help but smile too.

I look for Alice. She’s not with him, thank God. I spot her a little ways off, perched on the arm of a patio couch, deep in conversation with a guy I don’t recognize. He’s got the kind of long hair that makes him look like he’s either a poet or in a band—or both—and they look… cozy.

A stupid little grin pushes its way onto my face before I can stop it. I don’t even feel bad about it. I just let myself have it.

I start toward the group, weaving through the crowd, and before I even say anything, Caden sees me.

His whole face lights up. “Theo!” he calls, sounding as if he wasn’t sure I’d come, and the second I’m close enough, he loops his arm around my shoulders in a way that seems like instinct. Like it’s where I’m supposed to be.

The rest of the team immediately shifts to make room, and just like that, I’m in. Doesn’t matter that I’m a year younger. There’s never been a space in Caden’s life that I wasn’t just… part of.

“Look who finally dragged himself out of his emo cave,” Shane says, bumping my fist.

“Only took the promise of free pizza,” I shoot back.

“Pizza and the chance to watch us recount the best night of our lives,” Dale adds, grinning.

“Speak for yourself,” Ray mutters. “My tux ripped during a slow dance. Full ass cheek out.”

Cue a lot of laughter.

“No!” I say, choking on air. “Who saw?!”