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Hannah had no such illusions.
She knew what she looked like. She knew the odds. She’d watched other girls get asked with balloons and banners and one boy even hired a mariachi band. She’d smiled and clapped for them, genuinely happy, and told herself she didn’t care.
She did care. She just didn’t want to admit it.
The week before prom, the whispers started. A few kids in her English class had a running bet—who would be desperate enough to ask Hannah? Some said it would be a freshman, too naïve to understand the social hierarchy. Others said no one would. Hannah pretended not to hear.
She didn’t cry. She’d learned not to.
But on Thursday morning, three days before prom, a boy named Leo Johnson walked up to her locker with a single daisy in his hand and asked her to prom. Just like that.
No banner. No crowd. Just Leo, his hands shaking slightly, his voice steady.
“Hannah, would you go to prom with me?”