She stepped closer. “My brother has Down syndrome. I know what it looks like when people decide someone matters less because they’re different. You’re kind. That matters to me.”
Then she did something that he had replayed more times than he would admit: she reached out and took both of his hands. Right there in the hallway, in front of every boy who had been making remarks a moment before, she held on.
She turned to them. “He’s my prom date. And no, I’m not looking for sympathy points.”
One boy studied the floor. Another became very interested in his shoes.
Tyler felt his eyes sting.
Charlotte squeezed his
hands once. “Pick me up Saturday at seven.”
He nodded like it was a condition of his breathing.
Prom Night in 2006, and the Sentence She Said on the Dance Floor That He Never Forgot
Uncle Ray drove them.
