Webs We Weave



Chapter Twenty

DISCLAIMER :: This tale blends together aspects of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider/Spider-Gwen from Marvel Comics, Marvel Television, and Marvel Studios. Fanfiction? Sort of. The world and characters are mine, but they may seem familiar.

Author's note: Today is an auspicious day. It is one year since Superman released in theaters. That's the movie that inspired this whole series. The 12th is the end of Beacon of Hope, for anyone keeping track of continuity. For everyone else, let's live with Saoirse on 7 June 2025, shall we?

After we finished lunch and paid the bill, Hailey assembled the Fellowship of the Dress once again. She instructed us to wave to our dates as she began shuffling us out of the restaurant. She reassured our dates that a group text would be coming “when it’s time”, whatever that meant. She offered a special smile to Jasmine before following the rest of us outside. We stood under the awning to avoid the rain and Hailey glanced at her phone.

All of us had questions and Hailey was not giving any answers. In minutes, a yellow cab rolled up to the curb and stopped. Mercifully, it was a van that could seat all of us comfortably and it wasn’t the Cash Cab. We all made a mad dash from the awning to the open door and clambered into our seats to close the door as quickly as possible. Nobody spoke to the cabbie, but he knew exactly where to go.

The biggest downside of Junior’s being on 45th Street was that our trip down 9th Avenue featured nothing worth seeing. Twenty blocks of Midtown into Chelsea and the only thing noteworthy might have been Penn Station and Madison Square Garden if any of us could even see it. We’d acted like tourists all day and the culminating cab ride was just another day in Manhattan. When the cabbie made a left onto 24th Street, a right onto 7th Avenue, and kept driving southward, questions began to arise. Hailey rebuffed all of them. She wouldn’t say a word until the cab stopped. Our driver continued southward and the crossing of Greenwich Avenue into the Village had us all asking our questions a bit louder, but Hailey remained tight-lipped. The driver stopped on Jones Street right outside Tír na nÓg. Hailey handed the cabbie a Benjamin and climbed out of the vehicle, beckoning us to follow her.

A moment later, Maven appeared in the doorway with a smile on her face. “Welcome, ladies.” She stepped to the side and motioned us inward. “Your stylists await.”

Everyone but Hailey exchanged a questioning glance. Hailey simply smiled and began climbing the steps toward the doorway. Cautiously, the rest of us followed behind her. Through the main entrance, everything was the same as it had always been. Maven’s office and sitting area remained untouched. The corridor with a few doors and the Edwardian-era stairs leading to the upper floors was the same. When we rounded the corner into the cafeteria is when everything changed. There were four stations each that looked like a hair salon, a nail salon, and a makeup station on some kind of major production. Four women stood by in all black clothing smiling at us. Hailey turned and began walking backward when we rounded the corner so she could see the look on our faces when we saw the space.

“Surprise.” She squeaked. “Each of you has your own stylist for hair, nails, and makeup for tonight’s festivities. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for being so welcoming to me in the last week or so and Saoirse since she lost her aunt and came here to live with you. Who’s ready to get gorgeous?!”

Jefa and Peach made their confirmations vocal while scrambling to figure out which stylist they’d be working with. I stood firm, staring at Hailey. My eyes could scarcely believe the person before me was my best friend. Seeing the disbelief, she approached me.

“You okay, Saoirse?” She whispered.

“I just… how did… huh?” I stammered. “Just… why?”

Hailey shrugged. “You’re the first person at Midtown High that never judged me for how I looked, acted, or who my dad was. That’s mostly because you had no idea, but still.” Her eyes met mine. “My dad’s stupid rich and I never use the money from my trust fund. I figured a day like today, the Prom, was exactly the reason to splurge. It’s something nice for my best friend and the people who make her life awesome before we all go and learn that none of us can slow dance.”

With little wells of tears in my eyes, I legitimately laughed. “Oh, this is amazing and weird all at once. Thanks, Hailey.”

“The surprises aren’t quite done, but let’s get cute first, hmm? You’re gonna blow the heels off that Shakespearean boy of yours. I guarantee it.” She winked.

I wasn’t really sure I wanted to blow his heels off, but Hailey grabbed my hand and led me to the professionals before I could overthink anything. My stylist for the day was named Heather. When she told me she was from Bensonhurst, I asked whether she was Italian or Jewish. It made her laugh, which was good for an icebreaker. When she asked me where I was originally from, I told her Crown Heights because my dad was a cop. From there, the conversation flowed as though we’d grown up on the same block.

After hiding behind a privacy screen and stripping down to my underwear, I slipped into the most comfortable robe I’d ever worn. It was just a plain white terry cloth thing, but felt pretty expensive. Heather started with my pedicure, then moved to the manicure. She rattled off a bunch of words I had zero frame of reference for. Upon seeing the expression on my face, she slowed down and explained things. In the end, I opted for the gel polish on my toenails and standard rounded tips with gel polish for my fingernails—both in a really neat purple that matched my whole ensemble. It seemed everyone else was on roughly the same trajectory, so there was quite a bit of cross talk and a great deal of stupid jokes flying around the room. The ease of slipping into teenage girl banter likely would have scared me and made me a little jealous a couple of months ago, but it was feeling more like second nature anymore.

The UV light for curing the gel polish was a new thing and frankly felt like my fingers might be getting a sunburn. Hailey warned me not to touch anything for a few minutes until the curing process was complete. I already had those toe separator things that made walking weird and now I couldn’t touch anything for a few minutes? It was a wonder why other women put themselves in this precarious position multiple times a year.

Walking strangely, I made my way over to the station where Heather would do my hair. Once again, I had no idea what I wanted, what the terminology was, or what would even look good. I blurted out that something like what Julia Stiles wore in 10 Things I Hate About You, what Hilary Duff wore in A Cinderella Story sans the bangs, or even Rachel Bilson’s look from The O.C.. Heather laughed at me. She told me using so much product to plaster my hair to my head and achieve the curls would be a bad idea, but she’d make something work. Over the course of the next hour, she styled my hair in what she called an "updo." Every so often, the room filled with the sharp sizzle of a curling iron meeting product-treated hair. Slowly but surely, curls formed starting at the crown of my head and reaching to the base of the hairline at the back of my neck. She even pulled two pieces of bangs from the front and curled them as well. When I finally had the courage to look in the mirror, it seemed like there was an entirely different person staring back at me. A smile formed on her lips.

There was no time to dwell on the reflection. The toe separators were thankfully removed and my hands were free for use as we moved to the makeup station. Before anything else, Heather plucked my eyebrows. That had never happened to me before and I still wonder why people do that on purpose. Thankfully, my healing made it so the irritation didn’t stick around very long. The next thing she asked me before beginning was the color of my dress, shoes, and jewelry. I answered honestly. She went to work. For more than half the time Heather worked her magic, my eyes were closed. She only asked me to open them when she was doing my mascara. Forty-five minutes flew by in the span of a heartbeat. Heather turned the chair toward the mirror.

Heather called the makeup look a “warm wash” but fit for an evening of dancing. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. I looked like my mother if she’d ever worn a 2000s-revival hairstyle and 2020s makeup. The sight overwhelmed me. Tears formed in my eyes without discernable reason. I was crying and I couldn’t really tell why. Out of nowhere, three sets of arms wrapped around me and let me have my moment. Jefa, Peach, and Hailey all held me while I had my cry. Heather had to redo some of the makeup afterward, but somehow understood what was going on more than I could articulate.

When we were all declared finished, my eyes scanned my compatriots. Jefa’s hair had been done up in a high, sleek ponytail and her makeup had as much gold and sparkle as her dress. Hailey looked like she could be the lead in any 1990s movie with her minimalist makeup, deep red lipstick, and hair done up with butterfly clips. Peach’s hair had been styled into a bob and his makeup seemed inspired by a bubblegum pop star. Jefa described my hair as “2000s chic” with 2010s makeup. Hailey agreed. I enjoyed the look and it was tailored to match my dress.

One-by-one, we excused ourselves to slip into our dresses. Maven had collected them for each of us and Hailey brought hers from home. Some of the planning had to have happened when Mark and I were having breakfast. When it was my turn to get dressed, there was a bit of trepidation in the back of my mind. The demon of imposter syndrome tried to show her face, but I swatted her away. I did have to take off my bra for the dress to fit and look proper, but it was a small price to pay. I needed a little help with the back zipper and halter ties, which Heather volunteered to assist with. When I stepped out, Hailey slipped in behind me. Everyone else was fiddling with their shoes and jewelry. The appointed time was nearly upon us. My anxiety was already starting to spike.

While I was sitting to put my shoes on and discovering that bending over in a corset was difficult, Maven rounded the corner from her office with a grin on her face.

“Your escorts for this evening have arrived, ladies.” Her eyes scanned all of us in the room and the grin broadened into a smile. “All of you look quite lovely. Marisol, I adore the way the dress looks on you and your hair is a bold choice. Very fitting, love. Eli, you are quite lovely. That dress really is exquisite on you, dearie. Hailey, I feel as if I am looking upon a protagonist from one of Saoirse’s movies from the 1990s. It’s a wonderful look on you, love.” Her eyes fell on me. “Saoirse, those shoes and that dress complement one another beautifully. That blue is absolutely your color, love.” I could see a bit of tears form in her eyes. “You’re all absolute visions.”

Jefa, Peach, and I chorused, “Thanks, Aunt Mae,” while Hailey said, “Thank you, Ms. Maven.”

We were instructed to line up so that we could be introduced one at a time. Maven was doing her best to capture photos of the whole situation. Her initial goal was to capture the reaction from our dates, then get couples photos. Jefa and Peach went before me. I could hear the stunned reactions from their dates and the light chuckles afterward. Finally, it was my turn to be introduced. The sound of my own beating heart came to a crescendo in my ears while I fidgeted with my dress and made sure my hair was still in place. I could swear my palms started sweating as well. My own breath caught in my chest before I rounded the corner and stepped through the open side of the double doors into Maven’s office area.

Everyone else's dates waited in the bohemian-style chill space while the person escorting each of us stood in front of the main entrance door as we entered. Maven decided bringing the festivities indoors was the better part of valor given that the rain outside was rather intense. Mark stood fidgeting with his suit and holding a clear plastic box with some floral arrangement inside. When our eyes locked, his arms dropped, his eyes widened, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. The flash from Maven’s camera happened in the blink of an eye, but felt as if it lasted more than a minute. My cheeks burned and my lips formed into a nervous smile. There was an incredibly pregnant pause sitting heavy in the room before either of us spoke a single word to each other.

After a few seconds that stretched into a small eternity, Mark’s strained voice broke the silence. “You… I mean… Wow…” His arm finally lifted the plastic box. “This… this is for you.”

Neither of us moved for another second. My entire body was tingling and I wasn’t totally sure what to do next. Saoirse.exe was rebooting. It took the nudge of Maven’s head to get feet.dll to initialize so I could cross the room toward him. His feet moved him toward me and met me halfway. His shaking hands fumbled while opening the plastic container. I don’t remember ever seeing a corsage before that night in person. When Mark got the box open, my hands were still at my sides.

“I… uh… need your arm? The… um… the left one, please?” Mark requested.

My blush deepened as I raised my arm for him. “Oh… right… yea… thanks.”

Static electricity seemed to run through us both. His touch as he slipped the corsage onto my wrist sent waves of energy through my entire body. As he labored, my eyes drifted to his tie that was a shade or two darker than the color of my dress. I didn't remember telling him my dress was satin, yet somehow his tie matched it almost perfectly. He had always been taller than me since the moment I first saw him. The four-inch heels gave me a bit of a boost, but he was still another four inches taller because of the thickness of the soles of his own black oxfords. The navy blue slacks and jacket tied everything together. When he was finished, the corsage sat atop my left wrist in a very aesthetic way. There was still a smaller bundle of flowers in the box. They matched my corsage. Maven let me know that was the boutonniere and instructed me on how to place it on him. I was afraid I’d stab him with the little pin before I got it placed properly. I was wrong.

From that point, everything seemed to become a blur. Maven instructed Mark and me to pose near a bookcase, my arm around his waist and his arm over my shoulders. My hand was on his, clearly displaying my corsage for the camera. We moved to the side and Hailey took her turn with her date, the awkwardness of their interaction on par with ours. Finally, we were subjected to a group shot with all four couples crammed into the frame. From there, the true battle began: the logistics of getting from the shelter to our transport without the rain ruining hours of professional preparations. The driver of the large limousine parked at the curb graciously offered to escort each of us under a massive umbrella for the short trip. Once everyone was safely inside the dry sanctuary of the car, we shared a collective laugh over the ordeal, already debating whether we’d have to fight the storm all over again at the venue. Much to my dismay, there was no “bubbly” in the fridge. I had to remind myself that we were all legally teenagers and five years began to feel like an eternity.

The ride to the Chelsea Piers took nearly half an hour because of the rain. The driver wound through the Village and onto Christopher Street toward the West Side Highway. A strong desire to open the sunroof and cheer as we passed the Stonewall Inn flared up, but it was quickly defeated by the downpour. Traffic slowed to a crawl after we turned onto the West Side Highway and headed northward. Dull chatter echoed inside the limo, but my eyes drifted past the window to the deluge outside, tracking the hazy gray view of Hoboken across the Hudson River. Mercifully, the rain stopped just as we hit the 11th Avenue and 24th Street loop down toward the piers. By the time the limousine came to a final stop, the sky was clear, leaving only the massive Manhattan puddles left to contend with.

The theme of Midtown High School’s Prom was “Main Character Energy”. There was a blue and red awning with those words outside one of the entrances. The driver masterfully maneuvered the limo close to the curb, rendering the puddles a non-issue as he helped us out of the vehicle and into the protection of the canopy. He informed us that he would wait to get us back home once the festivities had concluded at midnight. We thanked him and turned toward the metal and glass doors, which seemed to be hiding a secret of their own, completely draped in heavy blackout curtains to obscure the world within.

Through the first set of doors into the foyer, two people were stationed at podiums to collect tickets. There was a line, but the staff were managing it very well. Everybody around us was just as done up as we were in the finest suits and dresses a Manhattan high school kid could afford. When Mark and I reached the podiums, he pulled the tickets out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed them over. He and I were both stamped on the underside of our left wrists and ushered toward the second set of doors. As soon as that happened, the illusion behind the blackout curtains was revealed.

The doors opened into a tunnel of trees where the trunks formed the walls and the canopy wrapped overhead. There were little fairy lights randomly placed and speakers strategically positioned to provide the ambient audio of birds chirping, little ringing sounds like Tinkerbell, and the sounds of rapidly beating wings. The floor looked like a dirt trail but was solid so heeled shoes weren’t a problem for feminine-presenting individuals. As we advanced through the tunnel, the music from the main venue began to bleed through. The tunnel opened up to a grand space. Before decoration, it was probably a huge, open, rectangular space with pillars and duct work. Our eyes feasted on those very pillars decorated like trees and duct work hidden by canopies and vines. The space itself was decorated to look like a medieval village. Refreshment stations were actual market stalls. The far wall looked like the tiered façades of buildings probably found in old European towns. The opposing wall was done up like a castle wall. The DJ station was as modern as it gets, but every so often a dragon would rise behind and “breathe” LED-lighted fire toward the crowd. The flooring was actually a cloth painted to look like cobblestones. Midtown High must have had some insanely wealthy boosters to pull something like that off. It was completely insane and entirely awesome.

Mark’s arm slipped around my waist and he took my left hand in his, leading me into the space for reasons unknown to me. My blush and nervous smile returned with the gesture. It was revealed that he was leading me toward the photo station. We took our place in line and waited. It was decorated like the rest of the venue on a micro scale. Photo subjects would stand on the cobblestone with the old medieval town surrounded by a circular canopy of trees behind them and a scroll banner stating “Main Character Energy, Midtown High School Prom 2025”. When it was finally our turn, the photographer had Mark stand behind me with his arms around my midsection. Standing in front of him and slightly to the side, my arms rested on his with my corsage viewed in its full glory. The makeup was thankfully hiding the deep blush on my face but the camera captured the full, toothy smile I didn’t want to suppress.

After Mark asked the photographer when we could expect the prints, we moved directly toward the dance floor. The first half hour of the night was a little awkward. I didn’t really know the songs, so referencing the beat didn’t inform my body movements that much. Then, the first few words of Benson Boone’s Slow It Down echoed through the hall. As the piano joined, Mark turned me toward him. Gently, he guided my arms around his neck before resting his hands atop my hips and we started slowly swaying back and forth. A sensation that I could not describe made its way through my body while I lifted my head to look into his eyes. The difference between our heights wasn’t drastic but still significant.

The monarchs of Michoacán took flight in my stomach. The little demon of imposter syndrome reared its ugly head. Years before, I had imagined that moment. My partner was faceless at the time. It didn’t matter who they were, so long as I got to play the part of “pretty princess” for just one evening. It had been a fleeting dream of adolescence that died with the rest of my innocence before I moved to Boston and the dorms at MIT. The little demon on my shoulder tried to remind me that I shouldn’t be there. I shouldn’t be in a dress and I shouldn’t have my arms around the neck of some boy half my age. Its annoying voice rang in my ears for a few moments.

But then Mark lowered his head and met my eyes. I had never truly looked into his eyes until that very moment. Under typical lighting conditions, they were an interesting milk chocolate color. They might be brighter in certain light. That night, some lights hit them at just the right angle to create a stunning amber color that made my breath catch in my throat. The myriad of sensations and emotions that ran through me could not be adequately quantified. In the moment, I was simply mesmerized by the chocolate to amber transition. The demon’s voice was quiet. Mark smiled at me, enjoying the moment.

Before we knew it, the song was over. The tempo of the music rose back up and the party kicked into high gear once more. The time seemed to fly by with the music of Dua Lipa, Ke$ha, Sabrina Carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo, and Lady Gaga. There was one memorable moment where the piano intro of Chappell Roan’s Pink Pony Club started playing and a group of girls started some kind of improvised line dance in the middle of the dance floor. Hailey, Jefa, and Peach found me, grabbed my arm, dragged me into place, and we all joined. Before the first chorus, every person in a dress was in the middle of the dance floor participating in the improvised line dance and half of them were singing along. By the second chorus, most learned the steps so it wasn’t complete chaos.

The DJ started to diversify the songs a bit, moving beyond the most recent five years and into the 2010s. As we danced, it seemed a lot of people knew those songs better than the ones from the last five years. I didn’t quite know what to make of that. There was little time to analyse any of it. Hailey looped her arm around mine and drug me off to the punch bowl for any gossip she could squeeze out of me about how the date was going. I was about to answer before a song ended and a voice came over the speakers throughout the venue.

“This next song is dedicated to Saoirse from a handsome young man named Mark. Here is What Makes You Beautiful from One Direction,” The DJ announced.

My heart nearly stopped as the clean, single-coil tones of a Stratocaster came out of the speakers. I turned slowly to find Mark approaching through the crowd. He started singing the lyrics. To my surprise, some other guys joined him but they were looking at their own dates. It wasn’t the solidarity moment for the guys like Pink Pony Club had been for the other half of the room, but the guys that had the courage to participate were undoubtedly gifted. I found myself smiling, blushing, and lowering my head — which was the exact gesture mentioned in the lyrics of the song. The embarrassment was probably my price for agreeing to attend the Prom with a theater kid.

While we shared a moment by the punchbowl, I vowed retribution. He laughed it off. Finished with our drinks, we returned to the dance floor. The distorted down and up chords of one of my favorite songs started playing, signaling the turn toward pop-punk and emo classics. I started singing Dirty Little Secret by All American Rejects with my eyes closed, alternating between air guitar and air drums. At first, Mark was bobbing along with me and getting into the song. By the time I got to the bridge, he stood back and stared at me. The half smirk on his face was hard to decipher. I was totally in the zone, so my processing power was a little hindered. The fact I could belt the higher notes in the bridge surprised me. To my own ear, my voice sounded almost like a mix between Avril Lavigne and Hayley Williams. Jefa gave me a high-five when the song ended, complimenting my performance. Peach added his two cents of affirmation as well.

“You’re into emo music? I had no idea.” Mark voiced through chuckles while the next song started playing. “I figured you were a Billie Eilish and Sabrina Carpenter kind of girl.”

I shook my head, the rush still resonating through my body. “Nah… I mean, they’re okay, but I guess my heart will always be in the 2000s.”

“Sounds like your aunt had great taste in music.” His chuckle continued.

My brain and my body stopped simultaneously. I started to respond that it was the music of my teen years and an integral part of my soul, but then… I remembered that there was a cover story to maintain. His assumption was that I was born about the same time as him, so I couldn’t have actually had lived experience of that time in music history. Reluctantly, I played along. “Oh… yea… she did.”

I think he deduced that my aunt’s recent passing still weighed heavily on me through the tone of my voice. He changed the subject quickly and our minds returned to the situation at hand. I was still a little distracted for a few songs before I got back into the groove.

Before anyone anticipated it, the DJ got back on the microphone. “Ladies, gentlemen, and everybody in-between, I’ve had an absolute blast here with you Wildcats tonight. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Cuddle up with that special someone for the last song of the night. Your last song for the Midtown High School 2025 Prom will be Die With A Smile from Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga. Good luck with Regents, everybody.”

The rhythmic strumming on a mid-20th century hollow-body guitar and brilliant tenor voice of Bruno Mars began to fill the venue. Mark and I locked eyes. Once again, he guided my arms up and around his neck and he settled his hands on my hips. We swayed to the chart-topping duet. Mark couldn’t take his eyes off of mine and I didn’t want to deviate my gaze from his. It was the kind of scene they put in movies but never fully capture the emotion of. The knowledge that it was the last song of the dance was bittersweet. I didn’t really want it to end and Mark’s eyes were telling me he thought something similar. Intrusive thoughts won and I lay my head on his chest. His chin rested on my forehead. Our slow, rhythmic sway continued through to the end of the song and for a few moments afterward.

The house lights came on and people made their way toward the exit. It took the flash from Hailey’s camera to break our trance. She captured a really nice photo of the two of us dancing. Upon gathering Jefa, Jasmine, Peach, Chad, and Mike, we all made our way out the doors. Before entering the tunnel, I took one last glance at the venue. For the first time since I’d enrolled a month ago, I’d had a genuinely good time among a bunch of teenagers and it brought a smile to my face. I’d finally gotten the Prom of my dreams. Beckoned by my friends, I turned and exited through the blackout curtains.

The ride home was somewhat chaotic. The others were animated about sharing their experiences. I remained quiet and gazed out the window. Mark gave my hand a comforting squeeze as I watched the Manhattan scenery change while the limo navigated back toward the shelter. I couldn’t articulate to anyone how much that night had really meant to me. They wouldn’t understand. The facts were too outlandish. I stayed quiet until the limo stopped outside Tír na nÓg on Jones Street.

Jefa and Peach said “good night” to their dates before heading back inside. Mark followed behind me as if escorting me to the front stoop. Before I fully ascended the stairs, Mark gripped the back of my arm to get my attention. Acquiescing to his request, I turned and we were positioned eye-to-eye.

“Saoirse, I… I had a really good time tonight.” He admitted. “I’ll get the pictures to you as soon as they come in next week. I hope you had as good a time as me.”

Looking into his eyes and hearing his response got me thinking. The little demon of imposter syndrome seemed to speak for me at that moment. “Why me?”

The words stunned both of us.

Mark fidgeted with his suit jacket and looked around for a second before meeting my gaze again. “Wha… what do you mean?”

My lips started moving before I could even think. “Out of all the girls at Midtown, why me?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

His eyes went to the sidewalk for a few moments. He breathed heavily for half a second before his eyes rose to meet mine once again. “After all that, you’re asking why?” He huffed. “Why wouldn’t I, Saoirse? Really. I mean, for one, you’re drop dead gorgeous and you don’t even see it. That’s not everything, though.” He exhaled quickly and rubbed the back of his neck. “When I asked Hailey about you and she told me what happened with your aunt, you were really new. You’d only be in school a few days. I couldn’t stop thinking about how life had just thrown you through a wood chipper. You kept your head down and you stayed quiet. You seemed like you were just trying to move on. As the weeks went on, I saw you making other people laugh but I never saw a genuine smile on your face…” His eyes bored deep into mine. “...until tonight.” He nervously chuckled. “Call me selfish, but I wanted to be the first one to see it. Is that so crazy?”

Tears welled up in my eyes while I attempted to keep a straight face. “Not really, no.”

“Besides that, you’ve only been at Midtown for a month. It kind of hit me that nobody else was going to ask you. You would have been here by yourself tonight—doing God only knows what. I wanted to help you have a good time, for once. You deserve a chance to get out for a little while, forget the rest of this messed up world exists for a minute, and just be you—whatever that means. I’m just glad you let me be the NPC to your main character tonight.” He exhaled heavily. “I'll say it again: I had a really good time tonight. I really hope you did too.”

When I blinked, tears fell out of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. My voice came out almost like a whisper. “I had a really good time. Thank you, Mark.”

Before my brain registered the action, his body moved toward mine. His lips compacted with my own and gently kissed me right there on the steps leading toward the shelter entrance. My brain experienced a Blue Screen of Death while my body absolutely enjoyed itself. After a second, he released and backed away from me.

“You’re welcome, Saoirse. Sleep well. I’ll see you on Monday.”