"The air here smells of history,

Heavy, like the weight of ghosts still tilling the soil.

I breathe it in and let it choke me,

Because freedom feels like betrayal

When the chains are your inheritance."

Growing up in the small town of Paducah, Kentucky can take your breath away. All you can see are family farms for miles, taking in the not-so-subtle stench of cow manure every morning. Sometimes afternoons, and occasionally in the evening. The golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed the Beauregard family farm in a warm, honey-like hue. The sprawling fields stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with grazing cattle and bordered by a distant line of oak trees that swayed gently in the breeze. It was the kind of beauty that made people stop and marvel, but Shelley Beauregard barely noticed it anymore. She had lived here her entire life, and to her, the farm's beauty was as familiar as her own reflection—something she saw every day but rarely stopped to admire.

Shelley sat cross-legged against the weathered wooden fence that bordered the cow pasture. Her curls, thick and wild, framed her face as she hunched over her notebook, her pen moving frantically across the page. The faint but ever-present smell of manure hung in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of hay and the sweetness of wildflowers that lined the edges of the field. To anyone else, it might have been peaceful. To Shelley, it was suffocating.

Her pen scratched against the paper as thoughts spilled out faster than she could fully form them. Poetry was her escape, the one place where she could be honest without fear of judgment.

She paused, tapping the end of her pen against her lips as she stared at the words. They felt raw, honest, like they carried more weight than she could fully understand. But wasn't that always the way? She wrote what she felt, even when she couldn't explain it.

The distant call of a cow brought her back to the present. She glanced up, watching one of the younger calves nudge its mother. The sight made her smile, but only faintly. There was something about this place—this farm—that felt both comforting and stifling all at once.

"Shelley!"

The voice startled her, breaking the quiet rhythm of the moment. She turned to see Michael, the young farmhand, jogging toward her with a grin that stretched wide across his sun-kissed face. He was lanky, with arms and legs that seemed a little too long for his body, and his curly hair stuck out in every direction, as if he'd just rolled out of bed.

"What now, Michael?" Shelley called back, tucking her notebook under her arm as she stood.

"Clarence is here," Michael said, his grin widening even further. "And he brought flowers."

Shelley raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in a smirk. "Flowers, huh? About time he figured out how to impress me."

Michael chuckled as Shelley brushed off her shorts and began walking toward the barn. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and the sun cast long shadows across the ground as it dipped lower into the horizon.

The barn came into view, its once-bright red paint now faded and peeling in places, but still standing tall and proud against the backdrop of the fields. Clarence McMullen leaned casually against his truck, a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand and his phone in the other. His blond curly locs caught the golden light, making him look almost ethereal, like he belonged in a magazine ad for summer vacations. Shelley slowed her pace as she approached, taking a moment to watch him unseen. There was something about the way he stood—confident yet unassuming—that made her heart do a little flip.

"Hey," Clarence said, slipping his phone into his pocket when he noticed her.

"Hey yourself," Shelley replied, stopping a few feet away.

Clarence held out the bouquet with a sheepish smile. "I figured I owed you these after all the times I've been late."

Shelley tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Hmm. Not bad." Then, with a dramatic flourish, she reached behind her back and pulled out her own bouquet of daisies. "But boys deserve flowers too."

Clarence blinked, momentarily stunned, before breaking into a wide grin. "You're something else, Shelley Beauregard," he said, taking the daisies from her hand.

"I know," she replied, her smirk widening.

For a brief moment, everything felt perfect. The sunlight, the laughter, the way Clarence looked at her like she was the only person in the world. But the moment didn't last.

"I can't stay long," Clarence said, his smile fading as he glanced at his phone. He fiddled with the bouquet, avoiding her gaze. "I've gotta head to my sisters' pageant."

Shelley's mood darkened instantly. Her arms crossed over her chest as she took a step back.

"Again? Clarence, this is the third weekend in a row. We never get to hang out anymore."

"They need me," Clarence said defensively. "You know how demanding my parents are. With three sisters in those pageants, it's chaos."

"And what about me?" Shelley shot back, her voice rising. "Am I supposed to just keep waiting around for scraps of your time? I'm not some side project, Clarence. Either we're in this, or we're not."

Clarence ran a hand through his curls, frustration etched into his features. "Why do you always make things so complicated?"

"Because I want more than whatever this is!" Shelley gestured between them, her voice cracking. "I deserve more."

The silence that followed was deafening. Clarence looked at her, his expression unreadable, before shaking his head and turning toward his truck. "I don't have time for this right now," he muttered, climbing in and slamming the door.

Shelley watched as his truck kicked up dust on the gravel road, the wildflowers still clutched in her hand. She wanted to cry, but she refused to let the tears fall. She wouldn't give him that power.

"Love is a ghost," she thought bitterly, "always slipping through my fingers."

Dinner at the Beauregard household was never a quiet affair. The dining table was long enough to fit the entire family, and every inch of its surface was covered with steaming dishes of fried chicken, collard greens, cornbread, macaroni and cheese, and mashed potatoes. The aromas filled the air, making Shelley's stomach growl despite her sour mood.

She sat between her two older brothers, Marcus and Elijah, who were already in the middle of one of their usual arguments.

"I'm just saying," Marcus said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of cornbread, "if you're gonna take the last biscuit, you should at least ask."

"You snooze, you lose," Elijah shot back, grabbing the biscuit in question and taking a big bite out of it.

Marcus glared at him, but Elijah just smirked, chewing obnoxiously.

Shelley rolled her eyes at their antics, poking at her collard greens with her fork. Her appetite had disappeared the moment Clarence drove away.

"So, baby sis," Marcus said, turning his attention to her. "You really think you're ready for college? You know you don't have to go. You've got everything you need right here."

Shelley's grip on her fork tightened. "Not this again."

"I'm serious!" Marcus insisted, leaning back in his chair. "You don't need to work a day in your life if you stay here. We'll take care of you."

"I don't need to be taken care of," Shelley snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. "And I'm going. End of story."

"Enough," Mr. Beauregard boomed, slamming his fist on the table. The plates rattled, and everyone fell silent. "She's going, and that's final. We need educated folk to work on this here farm. This isn't just land—it's a legacy. Your great-grandparents built this from nothing, and I'll be damned if it gets swallowed up by some corporation."

"Watch your blood pressure, dear," Mrs. Beauregard said gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"She's gonna soar," Mrs. Beauregard added with a smile. "I ought to know it."

Shelley forced a smile, but the knot in her stomach tightened.

"Damn right! She going to the great ole University of Kentucky, my alma mater" Mr. Beauregard exclaimed with a smile full of pride.

Dinner went on with the usual jokes sparking the air and the tense conversation was a shadow of the past. And soon after sounds of cutlery being placed down, with a collective room full of hums of approval string through the air. As Mr. Beauregard lays a hand on his belly, singing praises with blessings to his wife's exquisite cooking. Everyone else followed suit and kissed their mother cheek.

"Alright now. Enough, enough, thank you for the kind words now hurry up an wash up. We got a big day ahead of us. We are going to yaya's house" Mrs. Beauregard stated firmly, though her eyes were soft. In this house, though Ma claims Dad's the man of the house, we all know whose word is law.

The night sky was a blanket of stars, each one twinkling like a tiny promise of something greater. The full moon hung low and heavy, casting a silvery glow over the Beauregard farm. Shelley sat on the back patio, her notebook open on her lap. The pages were blank, but her mind was anything but.

Mrs. Beauregard appeared in the doorway, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. "What're you doing out here, honey bunny?"

"Thinking," Shelley said quietly.

Mrs. Beauregard stepped outside, her gaze sweeping over the fields. "It's a beautiful world, isn't it? Sometimes we get so caught up in what we want, we forget to see what we have."

Shelley hesitated, her pen hovering above the empty page. "Mama, I don't want to work on the farm."

Mrs. Beauregard's smile faltered. "Don't start with that nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," Shelley said, her voice trembling. "I want to write poetry. I want the world to hear my voice."

Mrs. Beauregard's expression hardened, but there was something else in her eyes—something Shelley couldn't quite place.

Later that night, Shelley lay sprawled out on her queen bed, the glow of the moon spilling through the bay window and pooling on her chest. Her notebook sat open next to her, the pages filled with half-thoughts and crossed-out lines. She stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over Clarence's name in her recent calls.

Her emotions were still raw from their argument earlier, but her need for answers outweighed her pride. She tapped his name, hearing the dial tone as her heart thumped in her chest.

The call connected almost immediately. "Hey," Clarence said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"You sound tired," Shelley said softly, rolling onto her side.

"I am," Clarence admitted. "It's been a long day. I just got back from the pageant a little while ago. My sisters—man, they're something else."

"What happened?" Shelley asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Clarence sighed, and for a moment, Shelley thought he might avoid the question. But then he started talking, and once he began, the words poured out like a flood.

"It's just… my parents expect me to do everything. I'm not just their brother, Shelley—I'm their third parent. My mom's always on me to help with their routines, their costumes, their hair. My dad acts like I'm supposed to be the responsible one, the guy who keeps everything running smoothly. I love my sisters, I really do. But I want to live, Shelley. I want to hang out with friends, stay out late, not have a curfew. I want to take you on real dates. I don't want my whole life to revolve around pageants and expectations."

Shelley's heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She'd never heard him talk like this before—so open, so raw.

"I love you, Clar," she said softly, the words slipping out before she could think about them.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Long enough for Shelley to wonder if she'd made a mistake.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, I'm still here," Clarence said quickly. "I was just… caught off guard. And I told you to stop calling me 'Clar.' That's an awful nickname."

Shelley chuckled, relieved by the lightness in his tone. "I can't help it, Clar Bear. I want to call you something I know no one else will because I love you."

Clarence let out a soft laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Shelley teased.

After a beat of silence, she added, "You don't have to say it back right now. There's no pressure. I just… I needed you to know."

Clarence's voice softened. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I do," Shelley said with a grin. "Oh, and I have a surprise for your birthday tomorrow."

"A surprise?" Clarence asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yup. Meet me at Stacy's Diner at noon. Trust me—you're gonna love it."

The next day, Shelley stood outside Stacy's Diner, the mid-morning sun casting a warm glow on the small, retro building. The diner had been her favorite spot for years—a cozy retreat with red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the best milkshakes in town.

She smoothed down her sundress, a soft yellow number that clung to her in all the right places extenuating her warm brown skin, as she adjusted her curls. Butterflies flitted in her stomach as she waited for Clarence to arrive. The rumble of a truck engine caught her attention. She turned to see Clarence pulling up in his shiny 2025 Ford Ranger 4x4. He parked and hopped out, looking slightly awkward but undeniably handsome in a button-down shirt and jeans.

"Hey," he said, taking her in with wide eyes. "You look… wow."

Shelley smirked, trying to hide how much his reaction pleased her. "Thanks, country boy. You clean up pretty well yourself."

Clarence chuckled, the tension between them easing. "So, what's this big surprise?"

"Patience," Shelley said, leading him inside.

The smell of burgers and fries hit them as soon as they stepped through the door. Stacy, the diner's owner and namesake, greeted them with a warm smile. She was a petite woman in her late forties with a Southern drawl as thick as molasses.

"Shelley! Clarence! Y'all make such a cute couple," Stacy said as she showed them to their table. Shelley blushed, but she didn't correct her. After they ordered milkshakes and fries, Shelley placed a small, gift-wrapped box on the table in front of Clarence. "Happy birthday," she said, her smile wide and proud. Clarence raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped the box. Inside was a LEGO set of the Titanic, complete with over 9,000 pieces.

"How did I get so lucky to deserve you?" Clarence asked, his voice low and filled with awe. He stared at the box like it was the most thoughtful gift he'd ever received.

"You're worth it," Shelley said simply.

Clarence set the box aside and looked at her, his expression serious. "In all my past relationships, I've tried to be the perfect partner. I did everything right, but it didn't matter—I still got cheated on. Repeatedly. I started to think I wasn't worthy of happiness. Like love wasn't something I could have."

Shelley reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. "If you think you're unworthy of happiness, I wouldn't be here."

Clarence blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. "You're… you're something else, Shelley. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

The moment lingered as their food arrived, breaking the intensity. They switched topics, laughing about high school antics, reminiscing about prom, and planning a road trip to Florida as their last big adventure before college.

The days following Clarence's birthday were a mix of highs and lows. They spent hours on the phone, talking about everything and nothing. Some nights, their conversations got playful, filled with teasing and the occasional dirty joke. Other nights, they fell asleep together on FaceTime, their phones propped on pillows as their breathing synced across the miles.

But then things started to change.

Clarence started hanging up earlier, always giving me the same excuse: "My best friend is having relationship problems." At first, I didn't think much of it. I mean, everyone has things to deal with, right? But then the calls stopped completely. Instead, I'd get these short, impersonal texts—just enough to say he'd reached out, but they felt hollow, like he was checking off a box rather than actually wanting to talk to me.

One night, I sat on my bed, staring at my phone, willing it to light up with a message or a call. Something. Anything. But it never came. Meanwhile, somewhere across town, Clarence was sitting around a firepit with his friends, laughing and joking like I didn't even exist—like the weight of *us* wasn't even on his mind. All the glory to Michael for keeping me in the loop about what he's been doing. I feel like I'm losing him and along with it my sanity.

The next morning, Shelley was rudely awakened by a bucket of cold water being dumped on her head. She screamed, flailing as Marcus clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the noise.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Shelley hissed once she was fully awake.

"Sibling bonding time," Elijah said with a grin.

Wrapped in her soaked bed sheets, Shelley was unceremoniously carried out to the horse pasture, where her brothers had set up a makeshift paintball arena. The moment Shelley's brothers handed her the paintball gun, she knew this was a setup. She glared at Marcus and Elijah, the two towering figures who had dragged her out of her bed (soaked and wrapped in sheets) and into the pasture.

"Don't look at us like that," Marcus said, smirking as he adjusted his goggles. "We figured you wouldn't join us willingly, so we had to get creative. And angry Shelley is way more fun."

"Angry Shelley is about to make you regret waking her up at six a.m.," she snapped, yanking the goggles over her curls.

"Good," Elijah chimed in, loading his gun. "Use that rage, little sis. You'll need it."

Shelley's nostrils flared as she glanced around the makeshift paintball arena they'd set up in the horse pasture. Hay bales were stacked haphazardly to create cover, and old barrels dotted the field as additional obstacles. The horses were penned further back, lazily munching on their morning feed, oblivious to the chaos about to unfold.

"Rules are simple," Marcus said, tossing a paintball into the air and catching it with a grin. "Last one standing wins."

"No teams?" Shelley asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Free-for-all."

"Good," she muttered, cocking her gun. "I'm going to destroy both of you."

Elijah and Marcus exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. "You? Destroy us?" Elijah said, bending over dramatically. "That's cute."

Shelley didn't wait for them to finish laughing. She raised her gun, aimed directly at Marcus's chest, and fired.

The paintball hit him square in the middle of his shirt, splattering bright orange paint across the fabric.

"Holy—" Marcus stumbled back, looking down at the stain in disbelief. "You little—"

Shelley didn't wait for him to finish. She bolted, her boots kicking up dirt as she darted behind a stack of hay bales.

"Oh, she's dead!" Marcus yelled, already reloading his gun.

"Better move fast, Marcus," Elijah teased, raising his own gun. "She got you good."

"You're next if you don't shut up!" Marcus growled, and soon the sound of paintball guns firing filled the air.

Shelley crouched behind the hay bales, her heart pounding and her breath coming in quick bursts. She peeked around the edge, spotting Elijah advancing toward her position with a mischievous grin.

"Come on, Shelley!" he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "You can't hide forever!"

Shelley rolled her eyes. "I don't need to hide forever," she muttered under her breath. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she popped up from behind the hay bale and fired three quick shots.

Elijah yelped as two of the paintballs narrowly missed him, splattering against the barrel behind him, but the third hit his thigh, leaving a bright pink stain.

"Damn it, Shelley!" he shouted, stumbling backward.

"Gotcha!" she yelled, pumping her fist in triumph.

But her victory was short-lived. A paintball whizzed past her ear, so close she could feel the air shift. She ducked just in time as Marcus's laughter echoed across the pasture.

"You're mine now, sis!" he called, his voice full of glee.

Shelley scrambled, weaving between hay bales and barrels as Marcus chased after her. Her breath came in sharp gasps, and her legs burned, but she refused to let him win.

"Come on, Shelley!" Marcus taunted, firing a shot that barely missed her shoulder. "You're supposed to be angry! Where's all that fire now?"

"I'm saving it for when I take you down!" she shouted back, diving behind a barrel. She leaned out just enough to fire a shot in his direction, but he was quicker, ducking behind a hay bale before the paintball could hit.

Elijah, meanwhile, had regrouped and was circling around the field, trying to flank Shelley. She caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and swore under her breath.

"Two against one?" she called out. "Cowards!"

"You're just mad because we're smarter," Marcus replied, peeking around his cover.

Shelley smirked, an idea sparking in her mind. "Smarter, huh?" she muttered.

She waited until Elijah was just a few feet away, then popped up and fired a paintball directly at the ground in front of him.

The sudden splatter startled him, and he stumbled backward, tripping over a hay bale and landing flat on his back with a loud "Oof!"

"Ha!" Shelley couldn't help but laugh. "Smarter, my ass!"

"You're gonna pay for that!" Elijah shouted from the ground, fumbling to reload his gun.

But before she could revel in her victory, Marcus took advantage of her distraction. A paintball smacked into her arm, leaving a streak of neon green.

"Gotcha!" Marcus crowed, standing tall like he'd just won the lottery.

Shelley growled, raising her gun to retaliate, but before she could pull the trigger, disaster struck.

A stray paintball, fired in the heat of battle, sailed past its intended target and hit one of the horses square on the flank.

The horse, a gentle mare named Mirabelle, let out a startled whinny and bolted, her hooves kicking up dirt as she galloped across the pasture.

All three siblings froze, their paintball guns hanging limply at their sides.

"Oh no," Shelley whispered.

"Who the hell shot the horse?!" Marcus yelled, his voice panicked.

"It wasn't me!" Elijah shouted, though his guilty expression said otherwise.

"You were supposed to put the horses away, Eli!" Marcus snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"I didn't think they'd get hit!" Elijah shouted back, throwing his arms in the air.

"You're both idiots," Shelley groaned, dropping her gun and running toward the fence to see where Mirabelle had gone.

By the time they managed to corral Mirabelle and calm her down, the damage had already been done. Paint streaked her flank, but thankfully, she didn't seem injured—just scared.

The three siblings stood in a guilty huddle as the farm vet examined the horse. Their parents hovered nearby, looking angrier by the second.

When the vet finally confirmed that Mirabelle was fine, the siblings let out a collective sigh of relief. But their relief was short-lived.

"What were you thinking?" Mr. Beauregard bellowed, his voice echoing across the pasture. "Paintball? In the horse field? Are y'all out of your damn minds?"

"It was Marcus's idea!" Elijah blurted, pointing at his older brother.

"Hey, don't throw me under the bus!" Marcus snapped. "You're the one who didn't put the horses away!"

"Enough!" Mr. Beauregard roared, silencing them both. He pointed toward the cow pasture, his expression thunderous. "Fertilizer duty. Now."

Shelley groaned but didn't argue. As much as she hated shoveling manure, she knew they deserved it.

As they trudged toward the cow pasture, Elijah muttered, "Next time, we're playing cards."

"Next time," Shelley said, glaring at both of them, "I'm not playing anything with you two."

Later, as Shelley shoveled manure in the cow pasture—her punishment for the paintball fiasco—her phone buzzed her ringtone "A change gonna come" by Sam Cooke and the Supreme play out briefly. Her older brother complains when the music stops."Its a classic" he exclaims. "No, you're just old" the younger brother rebuttals "Play some Bruno Mars". The two brother get into argument as Shelley reads the message. It's from Clarence.

Her heart sank as she read the words.

"You're amazing, Shelley. Beautiful, smart, everything. But I can't do this anymore. You deserve someone who can give you what you need. I'm sorry."

The world blurred as tears filled her eyes. Dropping the shovel, she ran toward the lake, all of her senses seemed to cloud over, her footsteps pounding against the earth. She didn't stop until she reached the dock, where her momentum carried her forward.

She slipped—SPLASH

and the water swallowed her whole.

The smell of spilled beer and cheap cologne filled the air as Shelley stepped through the back door of the crowded house. Music thumped from the speakers in the living room, shaking the floorboards beneath her feet, and a haze of cigarette smoke lingered near the ceiling. The afterparty was in full swing, packed with sweaty teenagers still wearing the remnants of their prom attire—ruffled dresses, scuffed heels, crooked bow ties.

Shelley hugged her arms around herself as she stepped onto the back porch, the cool night air a welcome relief from the chaotic, overheated house. She'd only come to this stupid party because her so-called best friend, Amanda, had insisted.

"It'll be fun! Prom isn't over until the afterparty!" Amanda had squealed, practically dragging her out the door.

Fun. Right.

Shelley clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she thought about what had just happened. Her date—her date—had ditched her halfway through prom to slow dance with Amanda. And not just one dance. The two of them had been inseparable for the rest of the night, leaving Shelley to stand awkwardly by the punch bowl, pretending she didn't care.

And now here she was, alone at a party where she barely knew anyone, trying not to cry as she leaned against the porch railing.

She heard the creak of the screen door and turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the guy stepping out onto the porch. He was tall, with messy blond curls and a loosened black bowtie hanging around his neck. His white dress shirt was wrinkled, and his jacket had probably been lost hours ago.

He didn't notice her at first. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his head tilted back as he let out a long, frustrated sigh. Then his gaze shifted, and their eyes met.

"Oh. Uh, hey," he said awkwardly, blinking like he hadn't expected anyone else to be out there.

"Hey yourself," Shelley replied, her voice flat. She wasn't in the mood to talk, especially not to some random guy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your… brooding," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Shelley narrowed her eyes. "I'm not brooding."

"Right. My bad. You just look like someone stole your dog or something."

"Wow. Great observation, Sherlock."

The guy chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Bad night?"

Shelley hesitated, considering brushing him off. But something about the way he was looking at her—curious, not judgmental—made her pause.

"My date ditched me for my best friend," she admitted, her voice quieter now.

The guy winced. "Ouch. That's rough."

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't catch them making out in the parking lot. Yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yet?"

Shelley shrugged. "Give it time. The night's still young."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the muffled bass of the music vibrating through the walls. Then the guy leaned against the railing beside her, close enough that she could see the faint freckles on his nose.

"I get it," he said finally. "My date kicked me out of prom after I found out she was cheating on me."

Shelley turned to look at him, surprised. "Seriously?"

"Yep." He popped the "p" for emphasis. "Caught her texting some guy during dinner. When I called her out on it, she said I was ruining her night and told me to leave."

"Wow," Shelley said, shaking her head. "That's… bold."

"Right? Like somehow I'm the bad guy for noticing she has a secret boyfriend."

Shelley laughed, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it. "Okay, you win. Your night officially sucks more than mine."

"Thank you," he said, grinning. "I'll take my medal anytime."

For the first time all night, Shelley felt her shoulders relax. She studied him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the way his blond curls fell into his face and the faint dimple that appeared when he smiled.

"I'm Shelley, by the way," she said, holding out her hand.

"Clarence," he replied, shaking her hand with a firm grip. "Nice to meet you, Shelley. Even if it's under terrible circumstances."

"Likewise," she said, smiling despite herself.

For the next hour, they sat on the porch, swapping stories about their disastrous prom nights. Shelley told him about how her date had barely spoken to her all night, how Amanda had "accidentally" spilled punch on her dress, and how she'd overheard them whispering and laughing when they thought she wasn't looking.

Clarence, in turn, told her about his private school prom—the overpriced tickets, the pretentious dinner menu, and the way his date had spent the entire night glued to her phone.

"It's so stupid," he said, running a hand through his curls. "I tried so hard to make tonight perfect. I rented the tux, got the fancy corsage, even borrowed my dad's car. And for what? To be told I'm boring?"

"You're not boring," Shelley said without thinking.

Clarence glanced at her, his expression softening. "Thanks," he said. "You're not boring either."

Shelley smiled, her cheeks warming. "Well, you don't really know me yet. I could be the most boring person you've ever met."

"Doubt it," Clarence said, his voice low.

The conversation slowed, settling into a comfortable silence as they watched the stars twinkle above them. The party inside raged on, but out here, it felt like they were in their own little world.

"Hey, Shelley?" Clarence said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I got kicked out of prom."

She turned to look at him, confused. "Why?"

"Because otherwise, I wouldn't have met you."

Shelley's breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Clarence stood and held out his hand.

"Come on," he said, his dimpled smile returning. "Let's ditch this party."

Shelley hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand.

"Okay," she said, her lips curving into a grin. "Let's go."

And just like that, the worst night of her life turned into one she'd never forget.