The gym smelled of floor wax and nervous anticipation. Melody Marks stood at the edge of the basketball court, now transformed into a mock ballroom for prom night practice. Streamers in school colors hung limply from the bleachers, and a senior with a laptop played a tinny version of “At Last” through portable speakers.
Dominic smiled. “She’d say it’s about time you two stopped practicing and started living.” melody marks prom night practice
“I saw you practicing in the hallway mirror during fifth period,” he said quietly. “You’re actually good.” The gym smelled of floor wax and nervous anticipation
Melody tugged at the hem of her emerald green dress—a thrift store find she’d altered herself. Her curls were pinned up with a borrowed clip that kept slipping. She wasn’t the popular girl, not the one anyone expected to shine on prom night. But she had a secret: she’d been practicing the foxtrot in her socks on the linoleum kitchen floor for three weeks. Dominic smiled