“Steven said the song is slow,” she told me, twirling again. “He said I just have to follow him.”
“That’s right, sweetheart.”
Why my Rosie, when he could have walked into any classroom and chosen any girl?
Steven. The star quarterback. The boy whose name was on the morning announcements every Friday.
Three weeks ago he’d knocked on our front door holding a single white tulip. He’d looked Rosie in the eye and asked her to prom like she was the only girl in the county.
I’d said yes before she could, then apologized and let her say it herself.
My sister, Megan, cried when I told her. “Lauren, she deserves this. Let her have this.”
“I want to let her have this,” I’d answered. “I’m trying.”
But a small voice inside me kept asking the question I couldn’t shake. Why her? Why my Rosie, when he could have walked into any classroom and chosen any girl?
I told myself I was being unfair. That good boys still existed.
“You look like a princess.”
“Mom?” Rosie stopped turning and looked at me. “You’re making that face.”
“What face, honey?”
“The worried one.”
I set down the tea and stood up. “Come here. Let’s get you into that dress.”
She followed me down the hall, humming. I unzipped the pale blue gown we’d found on clearance and slid it carefully over her shoulders.
“You look like a princess,” I whispered.
“I do?”
