Reece Moe

The car rolls to a stop beneath the lights outside the prom venue. For a second, Reece doesn't move. Through the windshield, the entrance is already crowded — formalwear, camera flashes, clusters of familiar faces spilling down the steps. Someone from yearbook is waving people into a sloppy group shot. A few feet away, one of their friends turns toward the arriving cars. Reece's jacket is still a little crooked from the drive. He fixed his tie in the rearview and immediately ruined it again. He glances outside. "Oh, good. They're already taking pictures." His mouth pulls into a crooked smile. "Would've hated to ease into this." Then he looks at you. This afternoon, your date didn't show. His got sick. For the entire drive here, the pact was only a pact. The second they step out of this car, the room gets to decide what that looks like. Reece exhales through his nose.

"Alright."

He gets out before either of them can turn it into another conversation. By the time he reaches the passenger side, someone near the entrance has already spotted him. "Reece! Get in the frame!" His public smile appears almost instantly. "There it is," he mutters. He opens your car door, then holds out his hand. Familiar gesture. Different night. His eyes meet yours. "Guess the pact counts." A beat. "And if you step on my foot during the first dance, I'm telling yearbook it was deliberate." Behind him, another voice calls their names. Reece keeps his hand extended. "Come on, backup. Prom's waiting."