THREE WEEKS SPEED BY in a blur of anxiety, hope, and everything in between.

Week one: Carson was on top of work, and he was the same boy he was at the beginning: a hard-worker who busted his ass to show he's worth it.

Week two: I dared to hope, even kissed him on the cheek after a hard shift.

Week three: he started acting weird again.

Last night: he didn't show up for work at all.

I didn't call him, didn't even send a text. At this point, I'm too tired. I almost believed in him. I wanted to hope. But after Dad recovered from his OD, he took off on his motorcycle into the sunset, and the truth is now I don't expect much from anyone at all.

"Damn, you look good," Val says, and I snap to the present.

"You don't think it's too much? I feel stupid."

"No, idiot, it looks killer."

In the reflection of Val's bedroom mirror, I smooth the pale blue fabric of my prom dress over my stomach. My fingers get caught in the lacy net adorned with a faint butterfly pattern.

This isn't something I'd normally be caught dead in. When Mom, Val, and I went dress shopping (dragging Matias along), I'd looked for the plainest dress I could find. But then Val found this one, and I tried it on, and... I guess I do feel pretty. Pretty, and overdone.

"I don't think 'killer' is the right word," I say. "I look like a stupid princess."

"You're a twiggy blonde chick, Jill. Princess suits you."

I laugh. "Shut up. Your dress is actually killer, by the way."

Long black silk hugs Val's curves with silver material lining the chest that gives off some sort of ice queen vibe. She smirks. "I know."

It's hard to believe prom is here already; the past three weeks have sped by at rocket speed. Hell, now that I'm here, the past four years of my life all seem like a blur.

"I'm just saying, you look gorgeous," Val says and flattens her bangs with her straightener. "Blue's nuts if he doesn't show. He should be grateful you even gave him a second chance."

When I look at myself in the mirror, a tiny flame of hope struggles to stay alive. I can't just forget everything Carson and I did together; the way he made me feel so special, beautiful, and seen. The way I felt like I knew him, like we were made to be with each other.

"I've been wanting to see you in your prom dress since we started high school."

Well, here I am. He hasn't even texted, but if he wants to be my prom date, he can text first. I'm never chasing him again.

As I'm straightening my hair, my phone lights up on Val's bed.

Carson: Sorry I missed work last night

Only took him all day.

Me: Okay

Carson: Was it busy?

Me: Fine actually

It wasn't fine, but I'm not fighting with him over text. Mom had to help me and I was beyond pissed the whole time. He did end up calling to say he was sick, but he did it two hours after his shift was supposed to start.

Carson: I rented a tux... I feel so stupid in it lol

So he did remember prom. The flame burns brighter.

I'm not a hundred percent sure he's been using for the past week, but that's where my mind defaults now when I see him acting strange. But if he shows up clean tonight, maybe everything will be okay, and we'll dance like nothing happened the night my dad OD'd and—

Stop. You know better than this.

"Is it bad that I actually want him to show up, even though I know he might not?" I say to Val, as if outing my insanity will make me feel less crazy.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't have hope, but he is pretty flaky," Val says. "What're you gonna do if he does?"

"I don't know. Things will be fine with us, I guess."

"And if he doesn't?"

I pause. "That'll be it." I adjust my dress and quietly add, "It'll have to be."

Val's eyes, lined by a perfect wing liner and silver sparkles, flare at me. "You'll dump him for real?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. I'll hold you to that."

I told myself I wouldn't ask any questions, but Carson's vagueness is pissing me off. I text him again.

Me: Am I picking you up? What are we doing?

Carson: I can't have my girlfriend drive me around on prom night but I couldn't afford a car either. Can I just meet you there?

Girlfriend. Didn't he know what I meant when I said I didn't know what we are now?

Me: Sure. Where?

Carson: School doors, I'll be there at 6

Me: Okay

And that's it.

***

Val blasts the radio as we drive to school, windows rolled down, the wind blowing in our hair. I try to laugh at her jokes with her, but it's forced with the unknown outcome of tonight flicking me in the back of the head. I'm thankful Val isn't letting my dampened mood ruin hers, because her warm laughs and uplifted nature remind me there's so much more to life than Carson Blue.

She woos through the window at some of our classmates as we pull into the school's parking lot. It's rare to be here in the evening, but I like the feeling of finality it brings, seeing the shadows cast over the concrete and grass I've spent the last four years attending almost every day. People in their tuxes and dresses head toward a giant tent set up on the football field. The sun lowers into the horizon, leaving a pale-yellow glow atop the tent, and it's exactly how I pictured a Hull prom being: bland, yet it feels like home.

I park, and the clock reads 5:55 p.m. Val and I get out of the car.

"I have to go wait for Carson," I tell her. "Meet me inside?"

"Sure, but don't wait too long. Dinner's at seven." Val pulls a mini bottle of peach-flavored Smirnoff from her bra and takes a quick sip before she walks toward the tent, somehow still balanced on high heels in grass.

The warm evening air sweeps into my lungs. Breathe. Whatever happens tonight is what's meant to be.

Holding up my dress so I don't trip, I go to the school doors. 5:58. I sit on a rock as flies buzz around me, probably attracted to the cucumber body spray Val drenched me in. I've only been in these heels for twenty minutes but my feet are already killing me, so I take them off and stretch my toes. I painted them to match my dress, and dotted them with stupid little sunflowers.

Images I try not to think of these days ooze through me. Like Carson holding my thighs back as I lay in his bed, my toes pointed in the air.

Ugh, so not the time to be thinking about sex. They always do that in movies, have people sleep together on prom night because it's supposed to be this magical thing. But I don't feel any magic at all. And I'm not sleeping with him again, at least not until I know I can trust him.

6:00.

Okay, he's not here. But he could be any minute.

6:07.

My eyes sting and my heart clenches. Please, please don't let me down.

6:15.

6:21.

6:28.

Every emotion in the book cycles through me; anxiety, sadness, hope, betrayal, hurt. It takes everything in me to keep it together. If I cry, it'll ruin the eyeshadow Val worked so hard on.

6:30.

Anger rockets to my head. Was he ever going to come, or are my feelings some sick joke to him? I text him and say: Don't even bother.

Pulse pounding, I storm over to the tent. The white canvas flaps in the breeze, and when I push inside, I'm surrounded by round tables and my classmates mingling in groups. Pop music plays from a stereo and a table of red punch is set up off to the side, where some teachers stand and talk.

In my heart, I knew he was never coming. I hoped anyway. This is on me.

Val breaks away from her group and rushes over to me. "Asshole bailed, didn't he?"

I hold up my phone. "Radio silence."

"He might still show."

"I don't want him to."

Val sighs. "You're not alone, Jill. My ex disappointed me too. I wanted to believe he was everything he made himself out to be, but he was just a cheating asshole in the end."

"But Carson wasn't like that. He was—" I laugh pathetically. "Wow, I can't believe I'm still making up excuses for him."

"Just 'cause Blue didn't cheat doesn't mean he's not garbage. From my position, it looks like he's still ditching you and making you feel horrible. Don't repeat my mistakes. Or your mom's."

"You're right. I won't cry for him. Can we just try to have fun?"

"Duh."

Arms linked, Val and I head to our table. Caterers show up and serve us chicken, potatoes, and salad. The gravy is really good. Carson would've loved it.

Stop. Don't think about him.

By the time dinner's done, I catch myself still watching the clock. There's no sign of Clarissa, or Shae, or Ethan, or any of the regular people he likes to snort coke with. The thought of him stuffing a bill up his nose instead of being with me right now makes my blood boil. All that bullshit he fed me about "changing" and "loving me" were just that: bullshit.

He said it was all he wanted, but he'll never see me in this dress. I guess it wasn't important to him after all.

When the sun goes down and darkness takes over the world, a disco ball lights up the inside of the tent with multi-hued beams, and the tables are moved aside to create a dancefloor. The music goes up. Everyone crowds the center, and Val doesn't need to drag me with her to dance—I go willingly.

During the fast songs, Val and I bump hips and dance. Others join us, people we've known since the start, but never really hang out with. Mandy and Jacobi are grinding like borderline porn stars, but Val and I just laugh when we see them.

Hours pass. I manage to avoid slow dancing with Lenny Fitzgerald, and thankfully the playlist mostly consists of pop and techno. And I'm having fun. I don't need Carson, or any boy, or any man. I have Val, and my family back home, and that's all that's ever mattered. I wish I'd never lost sight of that.

But then the DJ announces that it's the last song of the night, and a slow ballad comes on. I'm hammered with a memory. It's that cheesy John Legend song. The same one Carson asked me to dance to in the eighth grade. Back when I didn't even have a crush on him, when he meant nothing more to me than any other boy in my class. But if anything he ever said was true, I meant something to him.

"I've loved you my whole life."

My knees threaten to buckle. Head spinning, I break away from the crowd of slow dancers and grab my phone from my purse at the table. I have three missed calls and five texts, all from Carson. All sent about half an hour ago.

Jill I fucked up

Fuck I'm sorry

I'll explain when I get there.

I'm on my way

Please still be there

Just as I'm about to tell him not to come, the door to the tent opens. Carson hurries in, his tux haphazardly thrown over his body, half-buttoned up with a loose tie around his neck. Drenched in sweat, he runs over to me, but I stagger back. I don't have time to react before he gently grabs both my arms. Even in the slow, coruscating light of the disco ball, I can see his saucer-sized pupils. I writhe away from his touch and run outside, into the humid night. Tears prick my eyes as I storm across the cool grass, thankful I ditched those high heels.

Carson is still catching his breath when we face each other by the bleachers. The stars are clear above our heads, and his skin is pale in the moonlight. I can't stand the sight of him.

"What is this?" I ask, but my jaw trembles. "Is this a joke? Because prom is over, Carson. The last song is on right now."

"No. Jill, I just—I fell asleep."

I scoff and cross my arms. "Sleeping? You really expect me to believe that?"

"I swear, I don't know what happened. I was getting ready, then I guess I fell asleep. Next thing I knew I was waking up and my clock said it was almost ten and—"

"Stop," I say. "You pupils are huge. You're lying right to my face. I know you were just getting high with Shae and the others, so don't waste your breath."

"I'm not lying. I actually wasn't getting high, I don't know what—" He throws his hands up. "Forget it. You're never gonna believe me."

"You're right about that."

Carson paces back and forth. He rotates between biting his nails, scratching his head, and pinching the bridge of his nose. My anger dissolves, replaced by a mix of fear and worry. Shae warned me about the problems Carson has; how could I be so naive to believe I could be the one to help him? When he won't stop pacing, I grab his wrist. He's burning up.

"Carson, stop. Please." I've never seen him such a wreck, not even at work. "You need help," I say. "But—you can't get it from me."

"What're you saying?"

"You need to talk to someone. Someone professional. If Colleen can get better, I have to believe you can too."

He pulls his arm away. "You want me to go to rehab?"

"Why can't you?"

"No. I can't do that, Jill. I—I have family. My mom needs me. I can't just disappear for months, or years, or however long that shit takes. I can't."

"Carson, you need to take care of yourself."

"I already told you I wasn't using. I swear, I just fell asleep."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

Silence. A warm breeze whispers through the trees and breathes over my skin, carrying the sugary smell of spring. Carson takes a step closer to me, and I don't step back. Because I need him to hear this, point blank. I need him to understand.

"I'm sorry," I squeak out. "I can't do this anymore. I won't."

"What're you saying?" When I don't reply, he says, "Are you breaking up with me?"

I nod.

"But I love you."

Cold tears drip down my cheeks. "I'll always care about you. That doesn't mean we should be together."

"Look, I'm sorry. I know how bad I fucked up. Just let me try again. I want to keep trying."

"How many times am I supposed to listen to you say that? I watched my dad eat at my mom for years. He always said sorry, I'll try to get better, just give me one more shot—but he never did. He never got better, he only got worse."

"I'm not your fucking dad, Jill."

"But you're acting exactly like him."

Carson flinches. A tear drips down his cheek, and I solidify as he reaches out and brushes my hair from my ear.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he says, voice cracking. "I really didn't."

"I want you to take care of yourself, okay? Please talk to someone, try to get help."

"Jill, come on. Don't talk like we're never gonna see each other again."

"I don't want you to end up like my dad or your uncle. You can be so much more than that."

"Stop. I don't want us to be done."

I move his hand from my cheek. "I'm sorry, Blue. It's over."

Carson lets out a weak, broken laugh of disbelief. He swallows and looks down at his feet. After a pause, he says, "You know, I hate when people call me that."

He tears off his tie and throws it to the ground as he storms away. Inside, I scream at myself to not let him go. I don't want him to go. I want him to stay with me and hold me like he used to. I know I don't 'need' him—but even after everything, I still want him.

But he wants to do drugs. He doesn't want to get help. As much as it creates a shredding pain in my soul, I have to let him go. Carson made his choice.

And now I've made mine.