Chapter 2 — The Unexpected Date

Claire

The art room smells like pencil shavings, acrylic paint, and a faint trace of turpentine—a mix that’s oddly comforting, even as my nerves coil tight in my stomach. I hover in the doorway, smoothing down the skirt of my dress for what must be the hundredth time. My fingers brush against the cool metal of my locket, and I clutch it briefly, as if the engraved words—“Be your own light”—might steady me. Maddie nudges me forward, her lavender hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Go,” she whispers with a grin, her voice a teasing lilt. “He’s right there. No turning back now.”

Luke Carter is hunched over a large sketchpad at one of the long tables, his denim jacket slung over the back of his chair and his unruly black hair falling messily across his forehead. The tip of his pencil moves in quick, deliberate strokes, and he’s so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t even notice us. The scratch of pencil on paper fills the quiet space, punctuated by the faint hum of the overhead lights. On the edge of the table rests a battered leather sketchbook, its pages frayed and thick with use. It’s so unmistakably him.

I clear my throat, and he looks up, startled. His dark brown eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I forget why I’m even here. There’s something about the intensity of his gaze, quiet but unwavering, that makes my heart stutter. Maddie pokes me in the ribs, jolting me back to reality.

“Hey, Luke,” I say, forcing a smile. My voice wavers, and I hate how rehearsed I sound. “Do you have a minute?”

He blinks, clearly surprised, but sets his pencil down and leans back in his chair. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” His gaze flicks briefly to Maddie, who’s hovering behind me like a mischievous fairy godmother, before returning to me. “What’s up?”

I take a deep breath, the strap of my purse digging into my fingers as I clutch it like a lifeline. My throat feels dry, but I push forward.

“So, um, this is kind of last-minute, but... would you want to go to prom with me? Tonight?”

For a second, Luke just stares at me, his pencil still balanced between his fingers. His expression shifts—surprise, confusion, and something else I can’t quite name flickering across his face. Panic floods my chest. What if he thinks this is a joke? Or worse, what if he says no? My hands tremble slightly, and I grip my purse tighter to keep them steady. My mind races through a hundred what-ifs, each one worse than the last.

“To prom?” he says finally, like he’s testing the words out loud.

“Yes,” I blurt, the word tumbling out almost too quickly. “I know it’s super short notice, and you probably already have plans or something, but my date—well, my ex-date—bailed, and Maddie thought...” I trail off, realizing how pathetic this must sound. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look down, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

Maddie steps in, her voice cutting through the awkward silence. “C’mon, Luke, say yes—she’s asking you! How often does Claire Bennett ask someone to prom?”

Luke’s lips twitch, and a small, hesitant smile forms. He glances at his sketchpad, then back at me. “Okay,” he says simply, after what feels like an eternity.

“Okay?” I echo, blinking in disbelief.

“Yeah. I’ll go to prom with you.” He sets the pencil on the table, his movements unhurried, before leaning back in his chair. There’s a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “I mean, I don’t have a tux or anything, but...”

“That’s fine,” I say quickly, relief flooding through me. “You don’t need a tux. Just—whatever you’re comfortable in.”

He nods, his gaze flicking to Maddie’s grin before landing back on me. “Alright. I’ll meet you there, or—?”

“No, we’ll pick you up,” Maddie interrupts, checking her phone. “We’ve got a limo. Mrs. Garcia’s driving. Be ready in...” She glances at the time. “An hour.”

Luke nods again, his expression thoughtful. “Got it. An hour.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I start to turn away, thinking the conversation is over. But then Luke stands, reaching for a small box on the table I hadn’t noticed before. He hesitates briefly, glancing down at it like he’s second-guessing himself, before holding it out to me.

“Here,” he says, his voice soft. “I was working on this earlier. For practice, mostly. But... you can have it if you want.”

I stare at the box, unsure. “What is it?”

“A corsage,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. His fingers leave faint smudges of charcoal on his skin. “It’s not, like, traditional or anything, but... I thought it might be nice.”

I take the box hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his. Inside is a delicate corsage made of silk flowers in soft cream and blush tones. One petal catches my eye—it’s been painted with intricate detail, a tiny sketch of a smile. My smile.

“Oh,” I whisper, my chest tightening. The corsage feels impossibly light, yet it carries a weight I can’t quite explain. My fingers trace the painted petal, the soft brushstrokes capturing something raw and unfiltered. It’s beautiful, but it’s also... personal. Too personal.

Luke shifts his weight, looking almost sheepish. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I just thought...”

“No, it’s—it’s beautiful,” I say quickly, my voice catching slightly. “Thank you.”

His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world feels still. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “I, uh... thought it could match your dress. Or... I don’t know. Forget it if it’s weird.”

Maddie claps her hands, breaking the spell. “Alright, Romeo. Be ready in an hour. And don’t forget to smile—this is prom night, after all.”

Luke chuckles under his breath, picking up his pencil again as Maddie and I head for the door. As we step into the hallway, Maddie bumps my shoulder, her grin as bright as ever.

“Well, that went better than expected,” she says cheerfully, her tone teasing. “He didn’t even run screaming.”

I clutch the box with the corsage, my thoughts swirling. “Yeah,” I murmur, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—her or myself.

As we make our way back to my house, Maddie chatters on about hairstyles and lipstick shades, her voice a comforting hum in the background. But my mind keeps drifting back to Luke’s corsage, to the painted petal with my smile. It’s beautiful, yes, but there’s something about it that feels... raw. Unfiltered. Personal in a way I don’t know how to handle.

I clutch my locket again, its familiar weight grounding me. Tonight isn’t about vulnerability or personal gestures. It’s about salvaging my perfect prom night.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.