La Boum -

“Yeah,” she said, and smiled. “It was a real boum .”

“You’re going, right?” asked Clara, her best friend since the sandbox, already scanning her own invitation for dress-code clues.

Sophie leaned her head against the cool window. Outside, Adrien stood on his porch, waving. La Boum

The invitation arrived on a folded sheet of pale blue paper, smelling faintly of cheap vanilla perfume. It wasn’t the perfume’s owner that made Sophie’s heart stutter—it was the place: Chez Adrien .

“My parents let me,” she said, then winced. Stupid. He doesn’t care about your parents. “Yeah,” she said, and smiled

Then Adrien was beside her.

At 11:47, Sophie checked her watch. Her father would be outside soon, headlights cutting through the dark. She should have felt sad. Instead, she felt grateful—for the song, for the glittering light, for the boy who didn’t let go until the last chord faded. Outside, Adrien stood on his porch, waving

The disco ball spun. Tiny shards of light slid over his face, over her dress, over the walls filled with posters of bands she’d never heard of. They didn’t really dance. They just moved—clumsy, close, laughing when their knees bumped.