11. Alison
Prom should not be the thing that breaks my brain today.
There are significantly bigger contenders.
Switzerland. Victor. My father. The fact that at least three adults employed by this school might currently be reporting my movements back to him.
The baby I’m hiding beneath an increasingly strategic collection of sweaters.
Ryan publicly treating me like something he scraped off his shoe while privately sleeping with one hand spread over my stomach.
The list is long. Prom shouldn’t even make the top twenty.
“No,” Becca says, not even looking up.
Penny makes an offended noise beside me. “Okay, what is wrong with this one?”
“It’s too fitted.” Becca barely glances at her phone.
“That is the sixth dress you’ve said that about.”
“Then stop showing her dresses designed to suction themselves to her internal organs.” Cat laughs from across the table.
We’re tucked into the back corner of the library during our free period, surrounded by books none of us are even pretending to read anymore.
Penny swipes again. “Okay, what about this?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even look.”
“I saw the waist.”
“What is wrong with the waist?”
“Everything.”
Penny drops her phone onto the table. “Oh my God, you are impossible.”
“I’m correct.”
“Those aren’t synonyms, Becca.”
“They are when I’m talking.” I bite back a laugh. Becca looks at me. “You laugh now. She’s trying to dress you like a bridesmaid at a vineyard wedding.”
“I like that dress,” Penny says.
“You also date Xander.”
Penny stares at her. “What does that have to do with literally anything?”
“It’s evidence of questionable judgment.”
Penny reaches across the table and steals Becca’s pen. “Fuck you.”
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“I’ll stab you with Cat’s.”
Cat immediately gathers her pens against her chest. “Please leave me out of this.”
I smile despite myself. This is so stupid.
So stupid… And normal. Maybe that’s why I don’t know what to do with it.
Prom. Dresses. Hair. Who’s going in which car.
Normal senior-year problems. Not international boarding schools.
Not custody petitions. Not figuring out how to get my little brother out of our house without getting everyone helping us arrested. Just prom.
Penny retrieves her phone and keeps scrolling. “We’ve got time, anyway.”
I look at her. “For what?”
“For the dress.”
“I don’t need one.”
Her thumb stops. Cat looks up. Becca slowly turns her head toward me. I immediately regret speaking.
“What?” I ask.
Penny blinks. “You don’t need what?”
“A dress. For prom.”
Becca sets her pen down. “Okay, explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“There is very clearly something to explain.”
I look between them. “I’m not going.”
Silence. Then Cat laughs. Not cruelly, which somehow makes it worse.
“What?”
“Sorry.” She presses her lips together. “I thought you were joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
Penny stares at me. “Because you’re going to prom, obviously.”
“I really don’t think prom is high on my father’s list of priorities right now.”
Becca shrugs. “Okay, so, fuck your father.”
I glance around. “Could you say that a little louder?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Please don’t.”
“Fine. Fuck him quietly, then.”
Penny nods. “It’s a compromise.”
I shake my head. “You guys are actually insane.”
“And you’re going to prom,” Cat says.
“I might not even be here.” That kills some of the humor. Switzerland settles over the table. Penny’s mouth tightens.
Becca reaches for her coffee. “You’ll be here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.” Her voice is calm. “I don’t.” That’s why I believe her when she adds, “But we’re planning like you will be.”
Something in my chest squeezes. I look away. Bad idea. Because Penny’s phone is still on the table. A girl in a silver dress fills the screen. Tiny waist. Bare stomach. Skin everywhere. My hand moves beneath the table. Over mine.
By prom—
I haven’t even thought about it. Not really.
I’ve thought about tomorrow. Next week. The intake date.
Getting Tobias out. Getting myself out. Court.
Victor. My father. Ryan. Every fucking day is its own problem to survive.
But prom is months away. Months. I count automatically.
And then count again because I don’t like the answer the first time.
“Oh my God.”
Cat looks at me. “What?”
I stare at the dress. “I’ll be…” I stop. We’re in the library. People are scattered around us. Not close enough to hear if we keep our voices down. Probably. Still.
Becca understands first. Her eyes drop briefly toward my stomach. Then come back up. “Yeah.”
Penny sits straighter. “Oh.”
Cat’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
Penny grabs her phone. “No, okay, that’s fine.” She starts scrolling again. “What are you doing?”
“Adjusting.”
“To what?” She gives me a pointed look. I lower my voice. “Penny.”
“What?”
“I’m going to be huge.”
Becca’s face changes immediately. “No.”
I look at her. “No?”
“You will not be huge.”
“I’ll be—“
“You’ll be pregnant.” My throat tightens. I glance around again. Becca leans closer, lowering her voice too. “Those are not the same fucking thing, Ally.”
I look down at my stomach. There’s still almost nothing there. Not enough for anyone who doesn’t know to notice. But I know. Ryan knows. Tobias knows. Our families know. And every day, there’s a little more of the baby and a little less room to hide them.
“Okay,” Penny says quietly. “So nothing structured.”
Cat nods. “Right, and definitely nothing we’d have to order in a fixed size now. Something flowy?”
Becca makes a face. “Absolutely not.”
Cat looks at her. “Why not?”
“Because pregnant women are allowed to have waists, Cat.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t.”
“You were thinking chiffon.”
“I like chiffon!”
“I know. It’s honestly becoming a problem.”
Penny laughs. I don’t. Because they’re actually doing this. They’re planning around it. Around my baby. Around my body changing. Around me still being here.
“You guys.” Three faces turn toward me. “You’re seriously talking like I’m going to show up pregnant.”
Becca frowns. “You are pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Then I’m confused.”
“I mean…” I stop. Because I don’t know how to explain it without sounding insane.
Cat gets there first. “You mean like everyone will know.”
I look at her. “Yeah.”
The word barely comes out. Everyone will know. Not someday. Not theoretically. I’ll walk into Edgewood’s prom with a stomach I can’t hide beneath a sweater. People will look. They’ll count backward. They’ll gossip. They’ll know I was pregnant while I was engaged to Victor.
And if everything works — if Arthur gets what he needs, if we get Tobias out, if I get out, if my father can’t send me away, if Victor can’t fucking touch me anymore — Ryan could walk in beside me.
The thought hits so hard I forget to breathe.
Ryan in a tux. His hand on my stomach. Not hidden beneath a table.
Not in a locked music room. Not in Darla’s office.
Not somewhere nobody can see us. Just — there.
With me. With our baby. No pretending. No lying.
No Victor. No father deciding where I’m allowed to stand. Just us.
I hate that my eyes burn. I hate even more that I want to believe her. So I point at the phone.
“Fine. We can look.”
Cat grins. Becca picks her pen back up. “Excellent. First order of business, we burn everything Penny has saved.”
“You are such a bitch.”
“An impeccably dressed bitch.”
“Debatable.”
“She’s right.” The voice doesn’t belong to any of us. We all look up.
Bella Whelan stands at the end of the table. Of course she does. She has a book tucked beneath one arm and looks like she was walking past when Penny’s apparently offensive prom-dress choices physically summoned her. Her eyes are on Penny’s phone.
Penny looks down at it. Then at Bella. “About what?”
“The dress.”
Becca holds Penny’s phone toward Bella. “Settle it.”
Bella looks at the phone. Then at Becca. “Why?”
“Because you have opinions.”
“I have standards.”
“Even better.”
Bella sighs. But she steps closer. She looks at the dress. “No.”
Penny throws both hands up. “What the fuck?”
“The waist is wrong.”
Becca looks unbearably pleased with herself. “Thank you.”
Bella scrolls. Stops. “No.” Again. “No.” Again. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
Cat starts laughing. Penny looks at me. “Why is this happening to me?”
Bella hands the phone back. “You’re shopping wrong.”
Penny stares at her. “We’ve been doing this for fifteen minutes.”
“And somehow you’ve accomplished nothing.”
“You’re welcome to leave.”
Becca taps the table. “What would you put her in?”
Bella looks at me. Not at my stomach. Thank God. Just me. Her eyes move over my sweater, my hair, my face. Not in the weird way Victor looks at me. Assessing. “Depends. What do you want to show?”
I blink. “What?”
“Skin.”
“Oh.”
“Legs? Back? Chest?”
“I…”
I don’t know. Which apparently shows. Bella’s expression changes.
“What are you comfortable showing?”
Nobody says anything. Because that’s different. Not what my father would allow. Not what Victor would approve. Not what would be appropriate. What am I comfortable showing?
“I don’t know.”
Bella shrugs. “Then figure that out before you pick a dress.”
Simple. Like it’s obvious. Like the answer should belong to me. She turns to leave.
Becca stops her again. “Okay, but nothing too fitted.”
Bella looks back. “Why?”
My heart stops. Penny’s eyes flick toward me. Cat suddenly becomes very interested in a book.
Becca doesn’t even blink. “Roman, duh.”
Bella’s expression changes instantly. Not confusion. Understanding. “Ah.” Bella looks at me again. “Then don’t buy anything off the rack.”
Penny frowns. “It’s prom.”
“Yes, Penelope. I’m aware.” Penny’s mouth tightens at her full name. Bella looks back at me. “Have it made.”
“Made?”