Page 21

On Monday I stay in my advanced painting classroom during lunch so I can keep working on my final project piece. My teacher, Ms. Carothers, stands behind me and watches me work.

“That’s gorgeous,” she says. “Is it a self-portrait?”

I squint at the painting. It does look a little like me.

It’s a watercolor of a woman sitting on a tall stool wearing a simple black dress, but instead of hair she has an enormous riot of colorful flowers cascading from her head.

I think when I started the painting, I was loosely modeling her on Priya, but now that I look at it, I’ve definitely made her hips bigger, which is more my figure.

And the flowers make her look like she has curly hair.

Actually, if I’m honest, this looks a lot like my mother.

She even has the same wide, unfocused eyes.

Ms. Carothers and I chat a bit about the work, and she tells me about a mural she’s been commissioned to paint over the summer, which sounds super cool.

While she’s showing me some sketches of her mural project, I get a text.

It’s Priya, asking if I forgot that there’s a prom committee meeting today.

I had forgotten. I clean up my art things quickly and head to the library to join the rest of the prom committee.

As prom committee chair, there isn’t a lot of work left for me to do.

My role has mostly been in the ideas stage, plus being the point of contact for the banquet hall and making sure everyone else does their jobs.

The committee is great, so everything’s going fine.

I listen to everyone’s updates on how their duties are going.

The girl in charge of communications just put up some teasers on the school’s Instagram account, and students are saying this is going to be the best prom in years.

I meant what I said to Miles earlier—I do think prom is one of the most important events in high school.

And I’ve been looking forward to mine for four years.

I’m even the chair of the committee because I wanted my dance to be perfect.

But now my prom is almost here, and there’s so much else going on that I feel like I got cheated out of my prom experience.

Like how can I get excited about the rotating 360-degree photo booth and cream puffs for dessert when the livelihoods of the people on my street are at risk?

I don’t even have a prom date because everything happening on Love Street made me put finding one on the back burner.

I’m putting all my faith in this festival to help the street, but I know that even with super-smart Miles working on the proposal, getting approval is a big long shot.

And even if we can have the festival, will it help?

Will people come to a festival on such a small street?

And will they keep coming to the street after the festival?

I may have no choice but to live with my dad if Mom has to sell the building, unless Mom moves somewhere else in town.

And I still don’t know how to talk to Mom about what I overheard her saying to Jenn. Or even if I should.

And no matter what, my life is going to change significantly in the next few months… and I have no idea whether it will be a good change or a bad one. Prom seems like the end of an era for me. And I don’t know what life will be like after that era, so it’s hard to look forward to that ending.

But maybe Miles is right. Prom is just a dance, and it doesn’t need to mean the end or the beginning of anything significant.

And actually, maybe he’s also right about my head being in the clouds for thinking that love is going to be the answer to all our problems. I know he’s right about love changing people, and not always for the better.

Look at what’s happening to Cara. Look at my father, who used to be a fun and attentive dad, until Noureen.

All this uncertainty is getting harder to ignore, and it’s making it kind of hard to get excited about a carefree, happy dance with my friends. And the fact that I’ll be dateless for my prom isn’t helping.

After the meeting, Priya stops me as I’m leaving the library. She’s positively glowing. Before, Priya always used to seem a little stressed and harried. Falling in love with Amber did change Priya for the better, so Miles is wrong that it always changes people for the worse.

Not all hope is lost.

“Sana! You’ve been holding out on me! Tell me all about the new hottie you’re seeing! Are you bringing him to prom?”

I raise one eyebrow. What is she talking about? Or rather, who ? “What hottie? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“The guy in your Instagram.”

Oh. She’s talking about Miles. “He’s a friend—we’re not dating. He works at the bookstore a few doors down from me.”

Priya frowns, looking genuinely disappointed, which is sweet. She does want me to be happy.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she says. “You know the vintage dress you got for prom that matches mine?”

Of course I know the dress. I found it at Cosmic and fell in love with the rose-pink tulle skirt and satin corset bodice. And then I’d scoured vintage and thrift stores all over the city to find Priya a dress in the same shade, so we’d match like we’d always planned to.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Could Amber borrow it for prom? Or… could we buy it off you? You two are about the same size.”

Priya wants my prom dress?

“I—I mean…” She stutters, probably picking up on the WTF expression on my face.

“I assume you aren’t going to wear it… because you probably don’t want to match me anymore…

and you work in a vintage store, so maybe you already found something better to wear?

I don’t have time to shop again, because you know…

I have those college prep classes and my Indian dance lessons.

But if you’re going to wear it, then it’s totally fine. I just thought—”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine, you can have the dress. I got it with my employee discount, so pay me what I paid for it.”

Priya beams and wraps her arms around me. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She lets me go. “See! Amber said there was no way you’d give her your prom dress, but I knew you’d understand. This is why I adore you, Sana! I have to run… but I’ll come by this week to pick up the dress!”

She smiles and leaves. I sigh, clutching my bag to my chest. Okay, so maybe Priya doesn’t care as much about my happiness as I thought. Why did I say yes? Ugh. Now I need to find a new prom dress on top of everything else I have going on.

At Cosmic that night I scour the formal-wear section, but I can’t find anything in my size that I like for prom. I tell Jenn my situation, and she says she’ll keep her eye out for a dress. I know it’s probably too late to find something vintage that would work—I may have to go to the mall.

When I leave Cosmic after my shift, I see Miles at the counter on his laptop in Second Story Books. He’s looking out the window as I pass, so I smile and wave. He waves back but doesn’t smile.

My new friend is stingy with his smiles. I keep waving furiously and smiling until he finally laughs, and I bow proudly before walking away. As I’m climbing up the stairs to my apartment, he texts me.

Miles: If you’re free now do you want to go over the proposal?

I’m smiling as I write back.

Sana: Is that a ploy to see me, Mr. Desai? What were you doing in the bookstore on your computer?

Miles: I just saw you. I was applying for internships, but we can work on the proposal over the phone instead.

Sana: Okay, but I’m terrible on the phone. Do you want to work at my place?

He doesn’t respond.

Sana: I’ll tell my cat not to hiss at you.

Miles: Okay. When?

Sana: Give me 15 to change and get dinner.

Mom’s still in the flower shop, so I quickly make two quesadillas with leftovers in the fridge and plate them with some salad.

After taking one plate down to Mom, I ask her if she minds if Miles and I work in the apartment on the festival proposal.

She says it’s fine and that she’ll be working late on a large funeral order.

After I change into sweats, I start eating on the couch when there’s a knock on my door. When I run down and open it, Miles is there in worn jeans, a faded red T-shirt, and his old brown messenger bag on his shoulder. And a smile on his face. So much for being stingy.

I grin and motion for him to follow me up the stairs. “I’m still eating. Want a quesadilla?” There’s enough black beans and roasted red peppers to make another one.

“No, I’m good. I just had a burger.”

We sit on the sofa, me with my plate balanced on my lap and him with his computer, and start going over the proposal draft.

He did a lot of research. In the community impact section, he wrote about how other festivals have helped revitalize communities.

I add more personalized information about Love Street and how increasing visibility could strengthen the close bond the community members already have.

We work together on the financial section next, covering sponsors, vendor fees, and the BOA budget for the event.

“Don’t forget to add something about the statue we want to put in LOL Park,” I say. “Maybe we can find a sponsor to pay for it.” I did a bit of research, and, while I hate to say it, Miles was right all those weeks ago—it’s not something we can afford without help.

Miles shakes his head. “It’s going to be an enormous amount of work to get it approved, and the piece will cost tens of thousands of dollars. People will come for the street vendors and the performances. This big heart sounds so…”

I exhale. “So what?”

“Trite.”

I can’t believe we’re here again. Why do we keep having the same argument? “I have no idea how I’m supposed to plan a festival of love with someone who doesn’t believe in love,” I say.

That comment makes his brows knit together. “I believe in love.”