We finally make it to the north side of City Park. As Abigail and I walk down, I notice several fellow dressed-up juniors heading into the massive double-sided conservatory. It's like some architect had a fever dream about building a love child between a mid-sized U.S. Capitol building and a grand Victorian glass house. The main greenhouse is far in the back; the right side hosts some fancy gardening school I didn't know existed, while the left side is a giant ballroom, traditionally known for the park's outlandish tea parties. My mother and her snooty friends—some of whom are actually mothers to many of my fellow junior legacies, go figure—take part in those. But for tonight, the ballroom is rented out for the dance. The glass walls reflect the evening light, making the whole place look like it's glowing, almost inviting. A treacherous beacon.

I lean out my right arm, and Abigail, oblivious to the storm brewing, clings to it. This innocent, ridiculous dare has turned into a potential public execution. Every step we take, a silent plea echoes in my head: Just turn back, Slater. Go back to the park. Just stay there, forever. But the momentum, her sheer excitement, is a powerful current dragging me forward. I've done my best to keep her away from this walking disaster, but observing her happiness makes it even more disheartening. As we walk in, my fake smiles mask my growing dread, but I continue to see how happy she is. She's never been this vibrant, this genuinely thrilled, and it pains me every single second. I used and screwed Otto, and now I'm doing it again with Abigail. For the life of me, I can't understand why I'm not stopping it. Questioning what's wrong inside me, why am I not resisting more, dragging Abigail back to Appleton Park to stargaze all night?

It's like my mind and heart are divided. One part of me is luring her into expected chaos, yet the other part, the one screaming to go back, is so tragically stagnant, held captive by some invisible force.

As we step inside, the immediate blast of muffled bass and the kaleidoscope of colored lights hit me. I see the looks from my fellow juniors—all dressed in their suits and dresses. Most of them can't deny this is the "Most Unexpected Thing of the School Year"—me and Abigail, walking together, mere feet away from the dance floor, a real-life spectacle for their twisted entertainment.

The ballroom's theme is "Jungle." Green vines hang from the ceiling, animal print decorations cover the tables, and there's even a fake waterfall in one corner, perpetually gurgling. The dance floor is surrounded by lush potted plants, making it feel less like a stuffy ballroom and more like a tropical rainforest. Most eyes veer towards us, then quickly away, and I have to take it all in, unsure what Abigail is thinking. I'm a bit relieved to see Mr. Charles is one of the chaperones, along with Vice Principal Mr. Reynolds. Mr. Charles is already attempting some quirky dance moves, probably something he saw on TikTok, making everyone laugh, mostly at him.

I spot Jake and Cindy, a genuinely happy couple, surprisingly. Noah and Deb are awkwardly swaying, Brett and Rachel are already locked in a serious conversation, and then there's Riley with Skye, looking smug. Jake signals me to come over, his face a mixture of concern and a slight, curious grin. I guide Abigail to the juice table, the plastic cups glowing under the neon lights.

"Listen, wait here," I tell her, my voice a little too rushed.

Abigail looks a bit nonchalant, apparently enjoying the scenery. It may not be a space theme, but she looks intrigued by the jungle decor, probably mapping out imaginary planetary ecosystems in her head.

"I'll be back," I inform her, but as I walk away, taking a quick glance back at her, she's so tuned out, already absorbed in some jungle-themed fantasy. I doubt she even heard me.

As I trek to the guys, my stomach clenches. I catch a surprising glance at Lily. She's standing nearby Cameron, talking and laughing with Megan and her boyfriend, Johnny. She looks beautiful, of course. Her blonde hair is in a sleek, straight ponytail, ivory earrings dangle from her ears, and she's wearing a shimmering, pearl-like gown that catches the light. She's radiant. I hope Lily spots me, but she doesn't. Or pretends not to. She barely even looks my way. I just wished I was there standing beside her, and not that douche Cameron. I've seen his Instagram post, which Jake mentioned a few hours ago, teasing "Dream come true" between him and Lily. What a sick joke. But I'm not jealous. I'm not. Yet it sounds exactly like it. Regardless, I walk past them, forcing my gaze forward. However, deep down, it stings. It stings a lot, like a fresh wound.

Once I get to the guys, Jake is looking at me as if I need a full-body hug and a therapy session.

"You saw her, didn't you," he says with an almost mournful tone, his eyes full of pity. "So sorry, bro."

"If you're referring to my ex, clinging to that Jordan Spieth wannabe, yes," I reply, trying to sound aloof, like I don't mind, but every word I say is a lie. It hurts. Lily's right, though—we're not together anymore. She's free to be with anyone else, as painfully as I have to admit it to myself.

As I settle with Jake, Riley, Noah, and Brett, their dates are talking amongst themselves nearby, probably dissecting who's wearing what and who's secretly dating who. We soon start discussing the prom committee's job with this year's theme. Some criticize it, saying it's lame and overdone, while others, probably the ones on the committee, think it's decent. We shift to updates from the baseball playoffs and who's in the state championship, trying to sound like normal, sports-obsessed teenagers. Soon, the conversation turns to the Bayman King competition and how the dares are holding up. Riley, always the eager beaver, can't wait, bragging about Oliver doing his thing, whatever that is. I hesitate, a knot forming in my stomach.

I quickly spot Oliver nearby the dancing floor, gyrating with, I believe, is Margret, a girl who looks like she just discovered her love for interpretive dance. I also spot Otto, surprisingly—and unfortunately—with no one. He's standing with his usual junior geek squad, looking lost. He probably hoped to be with Abigail tonight, and honestly, I would've been so down with that. It would have saved me this entire headache. Yet with the cards being dealt, as far as how I messed up the orbit around me, I can still spot the pain in Otto's eyes as he spots Abigail at the juice table but doesn't want to approach her because of me. The guilt has a bitter taste in my mouth.

Noah interrupting my morbid observations, is pushing me to outdo Riley, who grins like the Cheshire Cat, looking like he is on the fast track to win the title, his ego practically radiating. I don't know what to do.

"Honestly, guys, maybe I should just ignore focusing on the dare... at least for the rest of the night," I try, a weak defense, but I need to do anything to protect Abigail. "Like, Zach and the senior judges aren't here, so how would they even know?" I try to sound casual, like it's a minor detail.

But Riley, being the utterly selfish jerk he strives to be, gets right on my nerves, pushing into my personal space. "You're not backing down, Slater. You're going to go to Kooky Abbie and break her heart publicly," he entices me with a venomous hiss. "Zach wants to make sure everyone knows their place, especially at prom. It's for Bayman's... reputation."

"No!" I refuse, pissed, my voice rising in a disturbed tone. "I'm not doing that!"

"Chicken?" Riley insists, smirking, a glint of pure malice in his eyes. "Come on, Slater. Show everyone who she really is. It's part of your dare."

I shake my head, my jaw aching from clenching it so hard. "I'm not going to humiliate her. She's a person, Riley, not some circus freak we flock and mess around with for laughs."

Noah chimes in, his expression serious now. "Riley, back off. Slater's right. This is messed up. We signed up for dares, not public shaming."

Brett shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, man. It's gone too far. This isn't cool."

Riley scoffs, his grin widening, unbothered. "Whatever. You guys are going soft. This is about being King, not being Mr. Sensitive."

"Us?" Jake turns to me, Noah, and Brett, then back to Riley, shaking his head. "You must be twisting in the wind with that one, buddy. You're the one who lost his moral compass."

"It's a competition," Riley says it emphatically, as if repeating it enough times makes it acceptable. He then dramatically instructs Skye to follow him to the dance floor, strutting off like he just won the Nobel Prize for being a terrible human being.

I would love to punch his smug face, but I let it go, the anger simmering beneath my skin. Jake, Noah, and Brett got my back, which is a small comfort, and they're assuring me we should just focus on the dance. That's it. Though I've got that nagging feeling something is off. They probably don't see it, blinded by the prom lights, but I do. It's like a distant siren, growing louder.

But once the dance music starts getting softer, transitioning into a slow, dreamy tune, many junior couples are heading to the dance floor, melting into each other. The guys take their dates and proceed to the floor, leaving me standing alone, a solitary figure amidst the swirling couples. As I watch them have their fun, I walk over to the juice table and grab a cup of juice, taking a sip. It's oddly sweet and tangy, like a mix of pineapple and orange, tasting like regret. I watch some of my friends dancing with their dates.

Then, to my surprise, I spot Lily. Her eyes flicker to me, just for a brief second, before retreating back to Cameron, who's holding her close, swaying gently. Just a few minutes ago, she barely gave me a gander. But that one glance, that tiny acknowledgment, still feels like a dagger twisting in my gut. I feel gutted, wishing it was me dancing with her. As I turn, the phantom pain in my chest, I see Abigail looking eager to dance, her eyes fixed on the couples, a wistful smile on her face. I glance back to see Otto with the other junior geeks, the loners, huddled together, looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. I almost feel like one of them at this point.

Abigail looks at me, hopeful, her eyes full of innocent anticipation. I glance at a couple of junior legacies—Riley, of course, and a few others. They either slowly glance at Abigail, their eyes full of perverse curiosity, or glare at me, a silent promise of something awful. That gnawing fear I suspected is growing into a full-blown roar. Something's about to come, and I can't take it anymore. I need to get her out of here before whatever my fellow legacies have planned does more damage than I ever could.

I head over to force Abigail out. She starts to resist, confusion clouding her face. I need her to leave with me. I can't be here anymore. Abigail refuses slightly, shaking her head. I hate to do this, but I sense I'm going to fuel my classmates' desires, I'm going to become the monster they want me to be. I make a public scene, my voice rising, my hand grabbing her arm, pulling her slightly, almost yelling at her to come on, to just leave.

Abigail yells out, her voice sharp and surprisingly loud, "Will you stop!"

The music pauses, the DJ caught off guard. The entire room goes silent. Mr. Charles looks the most disappointed that the music had to stop, like a deflated party balloon.

While Abigail continues to resist, even making a few screams which feels unnecessary, a bit dramatic, but deep down there's no other way, I force her out of the conservatory and toward a private shrubbery area to our right side.

Once I let go of her arm, Abigail immediately freaks out, her eyes blazing. "What's wrong with YOU!" She shakes her head, her voice trembling with anger. "Why'd you do that?!"

"Can we just get back to Appleton Park, to stargaze?" I try to convince her, though I decide to use a different excuse, hoping it sounds more reasonable. "Listen, I don't like to dance. Not here. Not like this."

"Please," Abigail disputes that, her voice surprisingly firm. "I've seen you dance before."

Surprised, realizing I got to fix that. She has seen me dance before. "You're right. I do like to dance, just not in this situation."

"Why are you doing this, Slater?" Abigail questions, wanting to make sense of my erratic behavior. Her confusion is heartbreaking.

"I need to protect you," I respond, hesitating, the confession feeling heavy and inadequate.

She observes me, so confused, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. "Protect me?!"

"You don't understand. I'm trying to save you," I slip in, a pissed-off edge to my tone, because she's not getting it, and time is running out.

"Save me from what?" Abigail snaps, her voice rising again, a raw, desperate edge to it.

I feel trapped, my back against the metaphorical wall. In my mind, I can't believe I have to do this. It's the only way to keep her from going back inside the ballroom, to protect her from whatever Zach and Riley cooked up. So I break her heart cruelly, hoping it will be enough.

"Listen, I lie to you..." I pretend to fib, forcing the words out, each one a shard of glass in my throat. "I don't care for you! You're a schizo. You're kooky, and I can't be around you." I actually don't mean it, every fiber of my being screaming in protest. But I feel like if I call her these names, if I make myself the villain, it will push her away permanently before my friends do something even crueler, something irreversible.

Seeing the first glimmer of tears in her eyes, Abigail suddenly reacts weirdly. It's not sadness, not exactly. More like a sudden, chilling stillness, her eyes losing their light, becoming distant. I try to go near her, to offer some semblance of comfort, but she snaps, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Stay away from me!" She turns on her heel and, ignoring what I just said, ignoring the sting of my words, she heads straight back into the ballroom.

"Abigail, wait!" I rush, a frantic plea, trying to prevent her, to stop her from walking into the fire.

As we re-enter the conservatory's ballroom, there is no music bursting. No slow dance, no jungle beat. Instead, most of my classmates are now gathered in small, murmuring groups, many gasping in shock and awe, their faces illuminated by phone screens. Then most of the sights veer back to me and Abigail, their eyes wide, their whispers like a rising tide. I have no idea what's going on until Jake rushes to me, his face pale, completely stunned.

"What happened? Someone died?" I ask, concerned, my voice barely a whisper. My mind races. Did someone take a trip? Was Mr. Charles finally arrested for his dance moves? Did the punch run out?

"You can say that," Jake says weirdly, his eyes fixed on something beyond me.

Unsure what he means, a cold dread washing over me, until he shoves his phone into my hand. On a live social media feed, playing for the entire world to see, I'm completely flabbergasted. The private conversation between Abigail and me, the one in the shrubbery, the one where I laid bare my cruel deception to "protect" her—it's all there. My outburst about Abigail being crazy... being a schizo... it's out. Live. Public. I feel a sickening lurch in my stomach. The air left my lungs in a whoosh I didn't know I was holding. My hands, still clammy from the corsage, trembled as Jake's phone blurred in front of me, the words "schizo," "kooky," echoing.

I feel completely stunned and utterly ashamed. The biggest thing Abigail wanted to keep to herself, the secret she'd entrusted me with after I practically forced it out of her, the one I'd sworn to protect, even when she wasn't asking. Except I broke it.

Because of me, now everyone knows.