The Last Boy and Girl in the World by Siobhan Vivian

they’d already begun to fall out the way Mrs. Dorsey had told us they would, turning looser and beachier by the minute.
    Mrs. Dorsey sprayed me with hairspray and turned me around to face the mirror. Mrs. Dorsey mostly did old people’s hair around town, and I wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull this look off for me, but it came out perfect. She’d parted my hair off to the side, then braided a few pieces and pinned everything into a bun set low and off-center. It was pretty and special, but hopefully not so much so that Jesse would realize how less pretty and un-special my hair normally looked.
    Right then, my phone buzzed in my hand. Two texts from Jesse, back to back.
    The first was a picture he’d taken of an old photograph. There was a bit of glare from the plastic sleeve, so it must have been inside a photo album. The picture was of a little Jesse, maybe nine or ten, probably taken at some family wedding. Sweaty-headed, surrounded by adults, in the middle of busting a serious move on the dance floor. His arms in a V shape over his head, one foot lifted off the floor, chin jutted forward, eyes closed, mouth open wide enough to see his bottom molars. His hair was white, the center of the sun. Also, little Jesse was wearing a freaking mini-tuxedo.
    My heart liquefied, hot wax dripping over my ribs.
    His second text said Warning: This is my body’s automatic response to hearing Cupid Shuffle. Just so you’ll be ready for me tonight.
    I was ready, Jesse Ford. Oh God, was I ready.
    My mom was supposed to make it over for pictures, but she got behind seeing patients, so Mrs. Dorsey took some with her phone and texted them to Mom. Mrs. Dorsey also pulled out an old photo album of when she, my mom, and my dad were all in high school together. Spring Formal was called Spring Fling then. My mom looked beautiful. And so young, her hair the color of ginger ale. I’d never seen it that color in real life, only in pictures. This might sound gross, but my dad was a total fox, tall and lean and tan with dark hair and even darker eyebrows. He had his arms folded, his chin lifted, his legs spread apart just slightly. He oozed confidence. In a couple of the shots, I saw my grandparents, and great-grandparents too, all Hewitts, Dad’s side. Mom had lost her parents when she was young, and the Hewitts basically adopted her once she and my dad started dating.
    Just for kicks, Morgan and I tried to duplicate one of the poses together, where our moms were both doing some kind of weird curtsey to each other. Then Mrs. Dorsey sprinted outside and pulled the car inside their garage so Morgan and I wouldn’t get wet climbing in.
    At that point, the storm was more annoying than scary, even though it was the one we’d stacked sandbags to prepare for.
    Our preparations were different. We were thinking of the dash from her car into the gym. Morgan had on her pea coat, plus a rain poncho on top of that, plus rain boots and matching umbrella. Her silver heels were tucked inside a plastic bag. She also had the genius idea of gathering up her long skirt with rubber bands so it wouldn’t drag in the puddles. I had my winter coat on, my umbrella, and my rain boots. I tucked the shoes I was borrowing from Morgan, a pair of gold sandals, into my coat pockets.
    As we pulled out of the garage, I couldn’t have been more excited. I’d looked forward to Spring Formal since I started high school. But it was about going with my two closest friends, dancing all night long, having a great time, taking a million pictures.
    I still wanted those things, but now there was something else. A huge thing that had seemed completely unimaginable one week ago but now appeared within reach. And even though I couldn’t see the stars through the rain clouds, I had this feeling that they’d magically aligned for me.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Spring Formal was supposed to kick off at seven o’clock,