Three Strikes at Prom

Jesse's vintage baseball cap sat pulled low over their eyes, a carefully curated fortress against the gymnasium lights. Prom 2026. The invitation had arrived via DM, not the mailbox, and the outfit came from TikTok, not a magazine. Still here.

"Hey!" called Sage, bouncing over with the kind of energy that made Jesse's chest tight. "Selfie time!" She thrust her iphone forward, screen already glowing with the perfect filter. Jesse pasted on the practice smile, the one that looked authentic if you didn't know better.

Behind them, the baseball banner from last season's championship fluttered—ghosts of a school spirit Jesse had never actually felt. Sage's boyfriend Tanner appeared, draping an arm around her like she was property.

"You coming to after-prom?" Tanner asked, already looking past Jesse like they were furniture.

"Probably," Jesse lied. Sage's smile didn't reach her eyes anymore. Not around him.

Then Sage's phone buzzed. Her face fell. Tanner grabbed it first, reads something, and his expression curdled. "What's this?"

"Nothing!" Sage reached, but he held it above his head like a playground bully. Jesse's iphone buzzed too. A group chat notification. Screens lit up across the gym like dominos.

Sage broke away, crying. Tanner went after her, but Jesse moved faster. Found Sage outside, sitting on the curb where eighth grade ended.

"He saw the texts," Sage said, voice wrecked. "From... before."

Jesse didn't need to ask which texts. The ones from summer, when Sage had suddenly started messaging about everything and nothing, asking questions that felt like underwater rope pulling Jesse toward surface they both pretended wasn't there.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said, and they were—for the ruined night, for Tanner, for being three months too late to say what actually mattered.

Sage laughed through tears, wiped her face with prom dress sleeves that cost more than Jesse's whole wardrobe. "You know what's funny? I only said yes to him because I was too scared to ask you."

Jesse's vintage baseball cap felt heavier suddenly. Like armor they didn't need anymore.

"Ask me now," Jesse said.

Sage's phone buzzed again. Probably Tanner. Probably demands. She silenced it without looking.

"After-prom," Sage said, standing up and offering a hand. "Just us?"

"Just us," Jesse agreed.

The baseball banner still hung inside, but some things you outgrow. Some things you grow into. Some things are worth three strikes, and some are worth swinging for anyway.