Sehun has a date. Kyungsoo has a date. The popular guys like Kris Wu and Park Chanyeol have had dates since elementary school. I still do not have a prom date.

      But this doesn't stop me form marching up to the prom ticket table after school. "Two please," I say to Yujin.

          "Who's your date?" she asks, friendly because we know each other from music class.

          "Dunno."

          "You don't know?" she asks. "Prom is a week and a half away, Jongin. All my friends are taken."

    Thank God, I almost blurt. Because Yujin's friends are supersmart-like Kyungsoo-and I don't want to spend the evening comparing grades. (For the record, I am not a runner-up for anything.)

          Then I remember my manners and say, "That so?"

          "So sorry. Good luck." She hands me my tickets with a smile thats edged with pity.

At home I drop my backpack on the floor, shout "I'm home," and head to the kitchen for a snack. I sat on the living room couch, with my backpack next to me, open, in order to get my books out to do my homeworks.

I'm getting my utensils out when my mom appears next to me.

          "Who's the lucky guy?" she asks, fanning herself with my prom tickets.

          "Mom!" My cheeks grow warm.

          "Oh, you don't have to tell me," she says. "I was just curious."

          "Its just that-Well, I don't know yet."

          She laughs gently, then asks, "Can I pay for your tickets anyway?"

      I nod, not having the heart to tell her that I'll probably chicken out and ask a girl, not a guy, to prom. Which I could, technically. But it doesn't seem worth the fuss, even if I liked someone, which I don't. My school isn't exactly crawling with cute gay guys, except maybe a sophomore or two. I wonder if Mom will be disappointed. She's been this way-eager-ever since I came out to her, as if she can't wait for me to bring a boyfriend home to meet her.

In art, Ms. Song has the lights off and the projector on, and we're flying through art history at breakneck speed. Ms. Song is certain we'll get up to present-day art by the end of the term, but the class has a bet going--most of the girls say she will and the guys say she won't.

      I write ₩1000 in my notebook and slide it across the table to Jieun. 

      In my pocket, she writes back.

      I'm about to write No Way when Ms. Song leaps ahead half a decade and sums up Dadaism in one sentence. No fair. She segues to the Bauhaus, and I know I should be listening. Those Bauhaus dudes are the founding fathers of graphic design.

      But I'm not listening. You going to prom? I write.

      Again I slide my notebook to Jieun.

      She looks at me, an are-you-crazy? expression on her face.

      I gesture at the note.

      She writes something. Slides it back. No.

      Why not? I scribble.

      She doesn't wait for me to pass the notebook; she just reaches over and writes. No date.

      Be mine.

      She looks at me again, then writes: I thought you were gay.

      I freeze. How the hell does she know?

      Jieun takes the paper back before I write anything. And you want to go to prom with me?

      Yes.

      Not possible, she scribbles.

      Why not?

  Ms. Song glances our way, and Jieun pretends she's taking notes on the lecture.

      When she slides my notebook back, it reads: You're out of my league. Not to mentio