The lights dimd, the disco ball above casting speckled glimrs across the floor like a constellation. A slow, cheesy love song from a decade ago started playing—one with lyrics that made most teens cringe, but for so reason, it was always the prom classic.
Couples were already pairing off, so shy, so smug, so already pretending they knew how to waltz. But right in the center, amidst the swirling gowns and awkward tuxedos, stood Tabitha and Reid.
Tabitha, radiant in her red sparkling dress, was still holding Reid by the arm like she was afraid he might bolt. Which was not a totally unreasonable fear.
"I—I don’t think this dance is scientifically designed for optimal foot coordination," Reid muttered, glancing down at his own too-large shoes. "It lacks . . . structure."
Tabitha rolled her eyes with a grin and pulled him closer. "That’s the point, genius. Dancing isn’t about structure. It’s about the mont. The feeling. The rhythm of your heart."
". . . That sounds incredibly unquantifiable."
"You’re incredibly unquantifiable."
"That’s not even an insult, that’s just vague."
Tabitha let out a snort and guided his hands up to her waist, placing her own hands on his shoulders. "Just follow my lead, loverboy. Or pretend you’re calculating a gravitational pull toward ."
"Oh, I do feel a strong pull," Reid blurted, and then promptly turned pink. "I an—uh—not gravitational. Well, taphorically, perhaps. There are so overlapping concepts. Like mass. Though—not that you’re massive! Not in that way. I an—you have mass, obviously, but in a very flattering, curvaceous way—I an—structure! Positive structure!"
Tabitha was laughing so hard, her arms shook slightly as she pulled him in closer. "Reid. Are you trying to tell I’m beautiful?"
"I—uh—I was going to compare your symtry to the Fibonacci spiral, actually."
She raised an eyebrow. "That better be a complint."
"Oh, it is. Very high praise in mathematical aesthetics. Your proportions are . . . frankly astounding. Your—uh—golden ratio is unparalleled."
"Mm-hmm," she purred. "Keep going."
"And your dress—it’s red. Which is scientifically proven to be the most attention-grabbing color. In fact, it increases heart rate, stimulates cognitive alertness, and—"
"You’re saying my dress is giving you a heart attack."
"I’m saying I might require dical attention if I keep
staring."
She threw her head back and laughed so loud a few couples nearby glanced over and looked them weirdly. "Now that," she said, tapping his nose, "is a line. You little Casanova."
"Statistically," Reid said seriously, "Casanova had nowhere near my academic accolades."
"Oh my god, shut up and dance."
And dance they did.
Or rather, Tabitha danced, and Reid kind of moved in a vaguely coordinated, panicked shuffle that was sowhere between a math equation and a robot trying to emote. He kept glancing down, counting under his breath—"One, two, three . . . one, two, three . . . "—while Tabitha glided effortlessly with a cheeky smile, clearly enjoying every second of his flustered attempt.
"You’re doing great," she said. "You’ve only stepped on my foot five tis."
"Five? I only counted three."
"Well, I rounded up for trauma."
"I can compensate with ice packs."
"No need," she said. "Your clumsiness is part of the charm."
"You think I’m charming?"
"I think you’re the only boy I’d pick at prom over anyone else in this room," Tabitha said, and her voice softened.
Reid blinked. "Really? Even over Roman?"
"Especially over Roman. He may have abs, but he doesn’t have a brain that can calculate the trajectory of a baseball while being insulted by half the school."
"Well, not everyone can multitask under emotional duress," Reid muttered.
"Exactly." She grinned. "And you? You’re one of a kind. I an—have you ever looked in the mirror and realized just how adorably smart you are?"
"I’ve done logarithmic calculations while brushing my teeth. That’s . . . close."
Tabitha laughed again. "I swear, you’re gonna kill with how weirdly hot that is."
Reid’s face went full tomato.
They kept dancing, awkwardly at first, but with every step, the tension lted into sothing comfortable. Familiar. Their movents weren’t perfect—Reid nearly spun them into the snack table once—but they were real. Tabitha’s confidence balanced Reid’s nervousness like yin and yang in glitter and glasses.
And Reid, even in his tweed blazer and bowtie, was standing taller now. Like he wasn’t the outcast nerd for once. Like maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he belonged.
"So," Reid said after a mont of silence, "do you . . . like this?"
"Dancing with you? Absolutely."
"I ant prom. The atmosphere. The social dynamics. The rituals. The overuse of sequins."
"I like this prom," Tabitha said, "because I get to spend it with soone who actually sees . Not as a joke. Not as the tabby chubby. But as—well—."
Reid looked at her, eyes softening behind his glasses. "I see you. I always have. Even back when you wore those galaxy leggings and sparkly unicorn hoodies."
"I still have those!"
"And I supported them scientifically. Stars are majestic. And unicorns, while mythological, have impressive symbolic representation."
Tabitha smiled. "Reid?"
"Yes?"
"Stop talking about unicorns and kiss ."
Reid’s brain went into overdrive. Kiss? Now? In public? What were the ethical ramifications of public displays of affection in a school-sanctioned event? Was there a protocol for this?
But then Tabitha leaned in, her nose brushing his, and he stopped thinking altogether.
And kissed her.
It wasn’t fireworks and dramatic music. It was soft. Slightly clumsy. Nerdy and sweet and exactly what it needed to be.
When they pulled apart, Reid blinked. "I may need to recalibrate my neurons."
Tabitha grinned. "Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it."
And just like that, as the music continued and the crowd blurred away, two outcasts danced like no one was watching—because in that mont, no one else mattered.
This was the mont their relationship would definitely take a turn.
The soul inside Tabitha rejoiced at the success of her master plan to win over Reid. Step one: complete. Next steps? Sail through college together, land decent jobs, get married, have a few little Reids running around the house—complete with glasses, awkward charm, and an obsession with space docuntaries—and live happily ever after like any good rom-com heroine deserved.
Everything was finally falling into place. Smooth sailing from here on out.
Or so she thought.
Because, of course, the male lead had to go and completely deviate from the script.
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