Virgin 4 Life

Chapter 29

Monday morning, 7 AM. I'm in my graduation gown that Hanna pressed last night with an iron that barely works, trying to make my hair cooperate when Caleb's phone rings. Coach's name flashes on the screen.

He answers on speaker, probably expecting another lecture about thrown opportunities.

"Voss, need you to come to my office. Got news that can't wait. Bring your transcripts."

The call ends abruptly.

Caleb looks at me, confusion written across his face. "What could he want?"

"Maybe he's found another program?" I suggest without hope. Who would take him with pending assault charges?

"Get ready for graduation," he tells me, already pulling on yesterday's clothes. "Whatever this is, I'll handle it. I'll be with you today, and tonight we'll be prom king and queen."

I laugh, but it comes out bitter. "You're literally banned from school property."

"Trust me." He kisses me quickly, tasting like coffee and determination. "Just be ready. Wear the green dress."

Graduation happens without him.

I walk across the stage to receive my diploma, my heels clicking too loud in the gymnasium. The crowd blurs into a sea of faces, none of them his. When Principal Morrison calls "Evelyn Harper," I shake his hand, accept the rolled paper tied with blue ribbon, and scan the audience desperately.

Hanna's in the third row, gives me a thumbs up. The seat beside her stays empty.

My father isn't here. Neither is Caleb. I'm completely alone in my moment of triumph.

The ceremony feels hollow, like playing a part in someone else's story. When they throw their caps, I throw mine too, but my heart isn't in it. It lands somewhere in the chaos of falling mortarboards and I don't bother finding it.

The Spring Formal starts at seven. I wear the green dress anyway because I promised. The fabric whispers against my skin, cool and soft. I do my makeup the way YouTube taught me, curl my hair until it falls in waves Caleb loves to tangle his fingers in. Hope is stupid but I paint it on with mascara anyway.

I arrive with Mia and her date, force my lips into something resembling a smile at the enchanted garden decorations. Paper vines twist from the ceiling, fairy lights make everything glow soft and golden. The prom committee transformed our ugly gym into something from a dream.

Everyone's dancing, laughing, living their teenage dreams while I stand by the punch bowl like a wallflower cliché. Madison swirls past in pink tulle. Stacy grinds against some footballer. Even Brittany looks happy, slow dancing with a guy from the wrestling team.

Eight o'clock comes and goes. Then nine.

He's not coming.

Of course he's not coming. He's suspended, probably sitting at home with Coach discussing whatever community college might take a chance on him.

I escape to the bathroom, stare at myself in the harsh fluorescent light. My lipstick needs touching up. My curls are falling. The green dress that made me feel beautiful in his bedroom mirror now feels like a costume for a play where my scene got cut.

At 9:45, I'm done pretending. I text Mia that I'm leaving, start walking toward the exit. The slow songs are starting—the last dance section where couples press together and pretend this night will last forever.

The opening notes of Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud" float through the speakers.

At 9:58, my hand is on the door handle when I hear the gasps.

The gym doors on the opposite side burst open.

Caleb walks in.

He's wearing the suit from yesterday's attempt at bail—dark blue, slightly wrinkled, no tie. His hair is pushed back like he's been running his fingers through it. Coach is beside him, looking official with a clipboard, but I only have eyes for Caleb.

The entire gym stops.

The dancing freezes mid-spin. Conversations die mid-sentence. Three hundred people turn to stare as Caleb Voss, suspended and banned, walks across the dance floor.

His eyes find mine across the space. The corner of his mouth lifts in that smile that started everything—confident, dangerous, just for me.

He doesn't walk. He strides. Parts the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea. People step back, whether from shock or respect or habit, creating a path straight to me.

The music swells: "When your legs don't work like they used to before..."

My hand falls from the door handle. My feet move without permission, meeting him halfway.

"You came," I breathe when he's close enough to touch.

"I promised."

He pulls me into his arms without asking, one hand on my waist, the other taking mine. We start moving to the music like the entire school isn't watching, like we're alone in his living room.

"But how—"

"Later." His hand spreads warm against my back, pulling me closer. "Just dance with me."

The gym fades. The whispers become white noise. There's just Caleb's chest against mine, his heartbeat rapid under my palm, his breath stirring my hair.

"People are staring," I murmur.

"Let them."

He spins me out, the green dress flaring, then pulls me back against him. Someone whistles—Marcus probably—but it sounds far away.

"Morrison's watching," I warn, seeing the principal's tight face by the DJ booth.

"Coach made a deal. I'm technically here as his assistant, helping supervise." His lips brush my ear. "I'll tell you everything later. But I have news. Good news."

"Tell me now."

"No." He dips me slightly, making me gasp. "Right now, we're just two teenagers at prom. Everything else can wait."

The song continues, sweet and slow, and I let myself melt into him. His cologne mingles with the smell of gym floor and fruit punch.

The fairy lights make his dark eyes look like stars. This boy who broke someone's nose for insulting me, who lost everything with his fists, who still found a way to keep this promise.

"We'll dance like this at our wedding one day," he murmurs against my hair. "When you're done with Yale and I'm done with... wherever I end up. We'll have a ridiculous wedding and scandalize everyone all over again."

"Is that a proposal?" My voice catches.

"It's a promise." His hand tightens on mine. "We've survived everything else. We can survive the future too."

The song ends but we keep swaying for a moment, neither wanting to let go.

Then Vice Principal Stevens takes the microphone, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Time to announce this year's prom court."

We move to the edge of the dance floor, Caleb's arm steady around my waist. I'm not listening, too focused on the warmth of him beside me, the miracle of his presence.

"...runners up for Prom Princess, Madison Cole and Stacy Wheeler..."

Mia appears beside us, grinning. "You two better win this thing. The whole school voted. It was unanimous."

"And your 2025 Prom King and Queen..." Stevens pauses, looks at his card twice like he can't believe it. "Caleb Voss and Evelyn Harper."

The gym goes completely silent.

Then Marcus's whoop breaks the spell. "THAT'S MY BOY!"

The basketball team erupts. Then others join in—not everyone, but enough. More than enough.

We walk to the makeshift stage together, my hand in his, both of us probably in shock. Stevens places the plastic crowns on our heads with obvious reluctance, his lips pursed like he's sucking a lemon.

"This is highly irregular," he mutters, but the crowd's applause drowns him out.

Standing on that stage, overlooking the sea of faces that once called me V4L and him a delinquent, Caleb cups my face with both hands.

"Ready to really give them something to talk about?"

He kisses me before I can answer. Not the brutal claiming kisses from before, not the desperate ones from dark parking lots. This is soft and sure and real, a promise in front of witnesses.

When we break apart, the crowd is actually cheering. Not mockingly, but genuinely. Like they've all been watching this story unfold and finally, finally got the ending they wanted.

"How's it feel to be queen?" Caleb asks as we dance again, plastic crowns catching the light.

"Surreal." I touch the cheap crown that feels worth more than diamonds. "Six months ago I was the virgin everyone mocked. Then I was the slut in that video. Now I'm prom queen with the bad boy everyone said would end up in prison."

"And I'm prom king with the good girl I corrupted," he adds, spinning me again. "Guess we both won."

Looking around at the gym full of our classmates—some still recording, some already moving on to the next drama—I realize we have won. Not the way I planned when this year started. Not with perfect grades and father's approval and a mapped-out future.

But with something harder earned: the right to be ourselves, messy and imperfect and real.

The good girl and the bad boy, crowned in plastic and dancing like they own the world.

Because tonight, in this moment, we do.