Halo by Alexandra Adornetto

know anyone in town yet?” It amused me to watch how the more she tried prying information out of him, the less forthcoming Gabriel became.
    “We haven’t had much time for socializing,” said Ivy. “We’ve been quite busy.”
    “No time for socializing!” Mrs. Henderson cried. “Good-lookin’ young things like you! We’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that. There are some very hip clubs in town; I’ll have to introduce you to them.”
    “I look forward to it,” said Gabriel tonelessly.
    “Look, Mrs. Henderson . . . ,” Ivy began, realizing that the conversation was not about to wind up any time soon.
    “Dolly.”
    “Sorry, Dolly , but we are in a bit of a hurry to get to school.”
    “Of course you are. How silly of me to prattle on. Now, if you need anythin’, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ll find we’re a very tight little community here.”
    Because of Dolly’s “pop in” I missed the first half of English, and Gabe found his class of seventh graders entertaining themselves by throwing stationery at the ceiling fan. I had a free period next so I caught up with Molly at the lockers. She touched her cheek to mine by way of greeting and then gave me a rundown of last night’s adventures on Facebook while I unpacked my books. Apparently a boy named Chris had signed off with more hugs and kisses than usual, and Molly was theorizing on whether or not it marked a new phase in their relationship. The Agents of Light had cleared our home of any “distracting” technologies, so I didn’t know much about what Molly was talking about. But I managed to nod at regular intervals, and she seemed not to notice my ignorance.
    “How can you tell what someone’s really feeling online?” I asked.
    “That’s why we have emoticons, silly,” Molly explained. “But you still don’t want to read too much into things. Do you know what today’s date is?” Molly, I was discovering, had a disconcerting habit of jumping from one topic to another without warning.
    “It’s March sixth,” I said.
    Molly pulled out a pink pocket diary and, with an excited squeal, crossed off the day with a feathery tipped pen.
    “Only seventy-two days to go,” she said, her face flushed with excitement.
    “Until?” I asked.
    She looked at me in disbelief.
    “Until the prom, you loser! I’ve never looked forward to anything more in my life.” Ordinarily I would have been offended by her use of the word loser , but it hadn’t taken me long to realize that the girls around here used insults as a form of endearment.
    “Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about that?” I suggested. “It’s more than two months away.”
    “Yeah, I know, but it’s the social event of the year. People start planning for it early.”
    “Why?”
    “Are you for real?” Molly’s eyes widened. “It’s a rite of passage, the one event you’ll remember your whole life, apart from maybe your wedding. It’s the whole shebang—limos, outfits, hot partners, dancing. It’s our one night to act like princesses.” It occurred to me that some of them already behaved like that on a daily basis, but I refrained from commenting.
    “It sounds fun,” I said. In reality, the whole thing sounded ridiculous, and I resolved on the spot to avoid it at all costs. I could just imagine how strongly Gabriel would disapprove of such an event, with its emphasis on vanity and all things shallow.
    “Any idea who you want to go with?” Molly nudged me suggestively.
    “Not yet,” I dodged. “How about you?”
    “Well,” Molly lowered her voice. “Casey told Taylah that she overheard Josh Crosby telling Aaron Whiteman that Ryan Robertson is thinking of asking me!”
    “Wow,” I said, trying to pretend like I’d understood a word of what she’d said. “That sounds great.”
    “I know, right!” Molly squealed. “But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to jinx it.”
    She grinned and circled a date in mid-May in my school planner, drawing a