“Wow. What’s all this?”

Mom has set out her finest china, and Dad is holding a plate full of steaks.

“I told you she had no idea,” Mom says. “These kids never read their emails anymore.”

Dad sets the plate down and hugs me. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“For what? What’s going on?” My stomach churns. It’s true that I haven’t checked my Gmail account in a few days. Now that basketball season is over and Coach Reilly has stopped sending out her reminders, all I get is spam and solicitations from colleges. I have a feeling the huge smiles on both my parents’ faces have something to do with the latter.

“We had to hear it from Coach Reilly. She sent us both a very nice congratulatory email this afternoon.” Mom raises her eyebrows at Dad, and I know she’s silently chiding him for the rather unkind things he said about Coach after the championship game.

I steady myself against the nearest counter. “Hear what? Could someone please clue me in?”

“U Conn. University of Connecticut. Can you believe it?” Mom is practically bouncing with excitement. “It’s a partial, so it’s not a free ride, but hey … it’s U Conn. Of course, we need to find out what their plans are.”

“They’re not going to start her,” Dad says. “Too much talent in that sophomore class.”

“Well, not as a freshman, of course. But if they don’t foresee starting her in at least a few games by the time she’s a sophomore, she might be better off at Tech or one of the other schools.”

I consider pointing out that I’m standing right here in front of them and that it’s extremely annoying when they start talking about me as though I’m invisible, but instead I sit down and busy myself with finding the smallest steak. I’m feeling a little queasy all of a sudden.

“We need to schedule a visit.” Mom sits down across from me. “I was looking at flights for next weekend and—”

“I can’t do next weekend. It’s prom.”

“I see.” Mom slices open a baked potato and sends Dad a meaningful glance. “Hand me the sour cream, dear.”

My face grows hot. I’ll never look at sour cream the same way again. For the millionth time this week, I imagine Chris’s hand in mine and picture his eyes, his lips. My stomach flutters as he leans toward me, his mouth closing in on mine.

“So you plan to go to prom?” Mom pulls me back to reality.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “There’s that analytical mind we all know and love. Yes, I’m going to prom.”

“Don’t use that tone with your mother.” Dad’s voice is sharp.

I know I’m being a brat, so I shove a piece of steak in my mouth and stare into my plate, willing them both to leave me alone. I want to eat as quickly as possible and get back to my room. And think about that Almost Maybe Kiss again.

“Are you going with that Gerald fellow?”

“It’s Jerod, Mom. J-E-R-O-D. And yes, I am going with him.”

“Is this serious?”

I raise my eyebrows at my dad as if to say, See what I’m dealing with here? Do you understand why I resort to sarcasm? but his stoic expression tells me I’ll receive no sympathy from his end of the table. I take a deep breath and swallow the comment I’m dying to make about dropping out of high school to get married and have babies. Instead, I force a smile. “It’s prom. That’s all. Girls and guys go to prom together.”

And some girls go to prom with guys they’re not that into because they need a freaking date and yes I know that makes me a terrible person so how about you leave me alone and let me finish my dinner in peace thank you very much.