The Last Boy and Girl in the World by Siobhan Vivian Page B

around her and a long skirt that flowed loosely to the ground. I worried it looked too much like a prom dress, but she accessorized it differently, swapping out the sparkly rhinestone jewelry for her everyday silver horseshoe pendant and a pair of tiny hoop earrings. She did her makeup dewy and fresh, just shimmery shadow, mascara, and a strawberry-colored lip. She’d been so proud of her frugality, though I bet it felt in that moment like a missed opportunity.
    I hoped that was all it was.
    â€œYou look so beautiful, I’m thinking I might just ditch Jesse and try to score with you tonight.”
    She smiled a thin, brokenhearted smile.
    As soon as we got in the gym, I’d make sure Morgan had a good time. Maybe I’d have the DJ dedicate some terrible song to her, like the chicken dance or the hokey-pokey, just to embarrass her. I’d come up with something to lift her spirits, to help her forget about Wes. It was the least I could do, all things considered.
    Her phone dinged in her lap. “It’s Elise. Someone in the gym heard that a huge tree fell across Basin Street and people had to be diverted.”
    I unrolled the passenger window the littlest bit for some air, but the rain blew in sideways, so I rolled it back up. Then I texted Elise myself and asked if any cars were trapped underneath that fallen tree. I was specifically concerned about a black hatchback like the one Jesse drove, but I phrased it in more general terms.
    Not that I heard, Elise texted back. But apparently it took a bunch of power lines down. The news guys were already there with their stupid cameras.
    Ever since the sandbag day, the news channels had begun showing up in their trucks in anticipation of tonight’s storm. They’d park half in the ditch and film themselves on our riverbanks in the kind of gear you’d expect a fisherman to wear, watching as the river crept closer and closer to sandbags we’d stacked. It became a game for me. Whenever we’d drive past them, I’d reach over and beep Morgan’s horn or yell out her window to mess up their shots.
    I imagined Jesse Ford blocks away, his car stuck in traffic on Basin Street. It was practically guaranteed that he’d dress up for Spring Formal wearing something cool, something that would set him apart from the other guys. Like flip-flops and a bow tie. Or maybe he’d go full-on tuxedo, rented, or even some weird retro number from a thrift store. That would be so Jesse.
    The rain began to come down hard enough that Morgan’s wipers could barely keep up. She turned them off to save gas or her battery or whatever. After that, we could barely see anything. Morgan reclined her seat as far back as it would go. The navy fabric ceiling had begun to sag away from the roof. The airy pockets looked like an upside-down circus tent. She dragged her fingertips across them and made them flutter like sea waves. The car was old. It was her father’s. It was the one thing he’d left for them after taking off last year.
    Morgan wasn’t having fun. That much was clear from the way she’d keep sighing or checking the radar app on her phone. She wasn’t the only one. My phone lit up with whiny, complain-y texts from girls in our homeroom about how bad this whole situation sucked. How over it they were. By that point, we’d been waiting for more than an hour.
    So I took it upon myself to keep things fun. Keep everyone’s energy up, keep us excited and primed for a good time. I took a bunch of pictures of Morgan and me and traded them with Elise and other school friends stuck in other cars in other rows of the parking lot. You really couldn’t see anyone’s dresses, so it was mainly us showing off our hair and makeup to each other, but it was something. There weren’t many chances for people to get dressed up in Aberdeen. Basically just church, which my family didn’t go to.
    Next, I got everyone to tune their car