“And if you think dancing with her makes me pathetic,” I added, “then I feel sorry for you.”
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Applause started slowly, then grew. We danced under the lights while the room watched—not laughing this time, but listening.
Later, Sasha handed me a cup of punch.
“For the record,” she said, “best prom date choice of the year.”
The following Monday, Grandma found a folded note taped to her locker in the staff room.
“Thank you for everything. We’re sorry. —Room 2B.”
She kept it in her pocket all week.
That Saturday, she wore her floral dress while making pancakes, just because she wanted to.
