Wednesday morning, I wake with a start. Today’s the day. My mind buzzes the way it usually does before a big game, but this isn’t about me. It’s about Abi. If all goes according to plan, Operation Promposal will go down after the last bell.

Of course, that’s a pretty big “if.” Maybe I shouldn’t have planned something quite so elaborate. My classes drag, and I squirm and fidget through them like a six-year-old, full of nervous energy. What if not everyone shows up? What if Abi doesn’t arrive at the appointed location at the appointed time? What if someone blabs to her? Worst of all, what if Briggsy wusses out at the last minute?

Half the school is buzzing with anticipation, including Chris and Massey. “Who do you think is behind this?” Chris asks me as I sit down across from him at lunch.

I shrug. I swore Briggs to secrecy. Can’t have the entire school catching on to my mad matchmaking skills. “Maybe he came up with it himself.”

Chris and Massey laugh as though that’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Which perhaps it is. “Hey.” Massey nudges Chris’s arm. “Maybe there’s a Girlfriend Whisperer out there somewhere.”

“Maybe.”

“I need to hook up with her. Or him. Maybe we should beat Briggs up until he tells us who it is.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” I wave a finger at them. “Violence.”

Lindsay joins us, her eyes shining. “You guys, I’m so nervous. What if I can’t stall Abi from getting to her locker this afternoon? Everything hinges on it, you know.”

I should be thrilled that Lindsay is taking her role to heart. After all, she’s right; everything does hinge on it. But instead, I’m annoyed that she’s acting so important. After all, Abi is one of the most easily distracted people I know, and she only has to stall her for about five minutes. Part of me wants to show Lindsay up and proclaim to Chris and Massey and the whole stupid cafeteria that I, Lexi Malloy, am the mastermind behind today’s production. Whereas just minutes ago, I wanted nothing more than to keep it a secret, now I’m dying to tell everyone. Of course, that would be rash and highly counterproductive, so instead, I glare at Lindsay and take a big bite of my mac and cheese as I swallow my pride.

The plan is true brilliance. Last fall our school did a production of Grease. A few days ago, I reached out anonymously to a few of the cast members and asked them to revise one of the numbers and perform a flash mob for Abi’s benefit. Oh, yeah, and to teach Briggs some of the words and dance moves while they were at it. It should be entertaining, and, I hope, successful in showing Abi that she—and only she—is the one he wants.

Civics is my last class of the day and after about three hours, or maybe forty-five minutes, of listening to Mr. Grawley drone on about the importance of due process, the bell finally rings. I shoot out of my desk, through the door, and toward A Hall, where Abi’s locker is located. By the time I reach it, most of the cast is already assembled. Roland Briggs, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” Marcus Winters, the guy who played Danny and presumably taught Briggsy everything he knows, is muttering and wringing his hands. “If he stands us up after all those hours trying to teach him a proper hip swivel, I swear I’ll kill him.” Marcus is a total drama king, and I swear I’d laugh if I weren’t so annoyed at Briggs myself. I slip away and head toward the nearest boy’s bathroom. It’s worth a shot.

I knock on the door and crack it open. “Briggsy? You in here? Is anyone in here?”

Briggs appears at the door, his face pale and his eyes wide. “I can’t do it, Lexi. I’m sorry, but I’m—”

I push my way in and shut the door behind me. “Briggsy, Briggsy, Briggsy. You can and will do this—right down to each and every hip swivel. Because you adore Abi, and you’d do anything for her, and anyway, if you really throw yourself into it, you’ll be awesome. I get that you’re nervous, but everyone will love it so long as you own it.”

Briggs shakes his head. “That’s not it. I don’t care what people think. And anyway, believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at the hip swivels.” He performs one for me, and I have to admit, boy’s got game.

“What then?”

“What if she says no?” His voice is strained. “What if after everything, Abi still refuses to go to prom with me?”

I blink. I’m used to delivering girl-power pep talks, but this is new. Could Briggsy—the self-proclaimed living, breathing chick magnet—have the same insecurities as some of my clients?

“Dude, she’s not going to say no. Trust me. This will work.” I check my Fitbit. “You have less than a minute before she arrives. Get your butt out there.”

Briggs groans and punches the nearest sink. “Ow!”

“Brilliant.” I grab him by the sleeve and pull him out the door. “Come on. If you don’t ask her, you definitely will not be going to prom with her. What do you have to lose?”

Briggs rubs his hand and takes a deep breath. “You’re sure she won’t say no?”

I give him what I hope comes across as a confident smile. “I’m sure. You’ve got this.”

Briggs follows me out the door and toward the still growing crowd. I slip away, so it doesn’t look like we’re together.

“There he is!” One of the girls rushes up to him and pulls him into place. “Remember your cue?”

Briggs glances over at me, and I give him a nod.

“Let’s do it,” he says.

A hush falls across the crowd as Lindsay and Abi appear around the corner. Abi stops, her eyes wide. “What’s going on? Why is everyone staring at me?”

A guy crouched behind Briggsy shouts, “Hit it,” and the entire cast breaks into their adaptation of “You’re the One that I Want.” The girls throw themselves at Briggs, who brushes them off one by one as he stares at Abi, singing, “You’re the one that I want, Abi. Ooh, ooh, ooh, Abi.” At first, he’s stiff as a statue, but on the second verse, he breaks out the hip swivels, sending the girls—and not just the rehearsed cast girls but pretty much every girl in the hallway—into a squealing mass.

Abi’s expression is a mixture of amusement and horror. She glances at me, eyebrows raised. I shoot her a pleading look. Say yes, Abi. Give him a chance.

As the number ends, Briggsy takes a few running steps and drops to his knees, skidding across the tiles and stopping in front of her. He leans back and lifts his arms in the air. “Abi Eisenberg, will you accompany me to Grand View’s Junior Prom?”

Abi looks from him, to me, to the crowd, and back to Briggs. Her voice shakes as she answers. “That was awesome, but I … I’m … I don’t …” She turns and takes off down the hall.

Briggsy’s shoulders slump. Everyone is dead silent, until a girl in the back giggles and stage whispers, “This is awkward.”

Massey walks up to Briggs and punches him on the arm. “Tough one, dude. Sorry, but I gotta catch a bus.”

With that, everyone disperses, leaving Briggs to wallow in his rejection. I want to run, but I can’t. I got him into this mess, and I can’t just abandon him. He peers up at me as I walk over. Where I expect to see anger, I see only defeat. Ugh. This is not the brash Briggsy I know and love.

I take off down the hall in the direction Abi ran. If she wanted to escape, I have an idea where she might be.