“I don’t need to go to prom,” Wren said.
We were standing in the school hallway after parent-night check-in. Wren had wandered half a step ahead of me, then she stopped near the flyer for prom.
“A Night Under the Stars,” it said in gold lettering. The borders were decorated with glitter.
“It’s all fake, anyway,” she added.
She gave a small shrug and kept walking.
But that night, long after I heard her bedroom door click shut, I went out to the garage looking for the extra paper towels and found her standing completely still in front of a storage closet.
