"You're gonna burn a hole if you're not careful," I warned Tommo, calling his attention away from his phone long enough for him to realize he'd stopped moving his molten hot iron.

"Damn it," He hissed, flustered as he pulled the iron off his gown, eyeing the material for damage. I chuckled to myself, turning my own phone off to enjoy the rare sight of a flustered Theodore Moorg. His cheeks tried valiantly to stop from turning pink, fingers jabbing at the hot spot. "You smell burning plastic?"

"I smell a distracting influence," I teased, nodding toward the phone in his hand. "Who're you texting that's got your head in the clouds?"

Tommo crossed his arms, looking the least menacing he ever had leaned against his mom's pastel green ironing board. When he'd pulled it out of storage I bursted out laughing at the sight. The board screaming jaded '70s housewife, not at all matching my friend's usual aesthetic of stoicism and bored judgment. "Who're you texting that's got you smiling brighter than a glow stick with every passing notification?"

"Fuck off," I replied, rolling off his bed. Standing in front of the ironing board I glanced down at his graduation gown. I picked up the thin black fabric and tried to gauge whether or not we'd have to make a last ditch attempt at buying Tommo a new one.

"It's passible," I said, squinting to make out the brown, semi-oval burn mark on his gown.

"I can't look passible, Beau." Tommo's entire face contorted into a look of anguish and I gripped the ironing board in fear he might flip it over in his panic. "Unlike you, my photo's going to be plastered all over the school halls–"

I rolled my eyes, cutting in. "Again, ever so humble."

"– I need to look perfect. Give me your gown, we'll trade."

"No fucking way." I scoffed, punching his arm when the guy made a pass for my backpack. "Plus it wouldn't even fit you. Some of us don't have tree trunks for limbs."

"Ugh, of course this would happen today." He groaned, pocketing his phone so he could rub both hands over his face. "How much time we got left?"

"Graduation isn't until tomorrow," I reminded him then jutted a thumb at the clock on his wall. "Donnie's is still open. If we leave now we can catch the bus in time to get there before traffic kicks in."

"Can't convince your boyfriend to drive us?" Tommo questioned, hands dropping as he arched a brow. I vehemently tried to keep my face neutral.

"Spencer's at work," I said, still unused to hearing the word 'boyfriend' in the context of my own romantic life.

Tommo stuffed the gown into his backpack, shouldering it hastily. "Move your ass, Minders."

"Bossy," I mumbled, grabbing my stuff and trailing behind my frantic friend. Not daring to slow Tommo down, I kept my laces untied as we jogged to the bus stop at the end of his street. Although exams were finally over, school long since out of session, the everyday work lives of our parents went on so we couldn't count on Tommo's dad to drive us. Thankfully the bus was quick, rolling up to the pavement only a few minutes later. I paid both our fares, Tommo barely functioning enough to get his student ID out for the discount. Settling into the back I dropped a hand down onto his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

"Calm down man," I said, squeezing the spot harder when all Tommo did was thunk his head against the window.

"I can't believe this is happening. And the day before graduation. My mom's going to kill me when she finds out I just threw ninety-five dollars down the drain," he groaned, sending me a look that obviously meant to signal a sympathetic response.

He wasn't going to get one.

"This is why I'm just using Thomas' old gown. And I'm guessing April will do the same when she graduates. Must suck to be an only child," I grinned and shifted in my seat to avoid the dead leg Tommo aimed at me.

"I miss brooding Beau. When he wasn't waxing poetic about his love life he sure could be empathetic," Tommo sighed, resting his chin on his fist as the bus rattled to a stop at a red light. I ignored him in favor of glancing out the window, making out a green Nissan idling beside us.

"Isn't that Mitchell's car?" I asked and Tommo tilted his head.

"Looks like it. You spoken to Jeremy lately?"

I shook my head, relaxing back in my seat. There was a cluster of gum directly beside my shoulder. I stealthy avoided coming into contact with it by basically encroaching on Tommo's personal space. "Not really. We texted a few times, but haven't made any concrete plans to catch up. He seems busy with Jessica and I'm just... busy I guess."

"Busy playing footsie's with Spencer at the mall," Tommo smirked and I threw my head against the backrest at that, glaring softly over at him.

"I still think it's creepy you just sat there watching us," I muttered, wiping my palms on may jeans. "Should've come by our table to say hello."

"With the moon eyes bouncing back and forth between you guys, I didn't want to risk stepping in," Tommo said, shuddering.

"Either way your text ruined the afterglow."

"That's disgusting, Beau," Tommo said, face screwed up while I tried to fix what I said.

"Not that kind of afterglow, Jesus. We haven't even – never mind. I just meant... It was our first actual date is all." I failed to explain myself but Tommo let me off the hook, nudging my shoulder.

"I know, you talked my ear off the entire night about it," he grumbled, acting put out, though he wasn't wrong.

Last Saturday had been me and Spencer's first official public date. The mall had felt like neutral ground for both of us, nothing too exciting but with enough things to do in case we ran out of topics to talk about. I'd spent far too long getting ready beforehand, April vetoing nearly all my outfits until she finally got bored mocking my fashion sense and headed downstairs to annoy Spencer who had showed up early. I remembered putting on too much cologne, something Spencer commented on when we got into his car.

"Did you raid a Calvin Klein store earlier or something?" He asked, all but shoving his face into he crook of my neck when we hit a red light.

"Jesus Christ," I stammered, pushing his face away and he laughed. "This is why I never try to do anything nice for you."

"You think assaulting my sinuses is a nice thing, Beau?" He shot back cheekily and I crossed my arms, sinking deeper into my seat with embarrassment. "Sorry, sorry! I'm just teasing. I like how you usually smell, no need for all these smoke and mirrors."

"Can we turn around so I can go home and shower then?" I asked, half-serious, and Spencer shook his head.

"We'd miss the movie if we did that," He reminded, hand skimming the wheel as he debated changing lanes to overtake the sluggish Suzuki we'd been stuck behind for the past few blocks. "Barely going to make the previews as it is because someone decided to be a prima donna and take an extra half hour to get ready."

"I couldn't find clean socks, okay," I said, flushing as Spencer's lip quirked slightly. "My room is still a typhoon of dirt, filth, and no longer necessary study notes."

"I know, it's why I always suggest we hang out at my place," he said, letting out a breath of relief when we finally turned into the mall's underground parking lot. "That and the fact your dad hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," I rolled my eyes even though Spencer couldn't see my face in the low lighting. "He just doesn't like any of my friends that aren't Tommo."

"Friends, huh?" Spencer pondered, clicking his tongue as he pulled into a parking space.

"You know what I mean," I groaned and Spencer shrugged, unbuckling his seat belt after cutting the engine. Sighing, I took a hold of his chin, forcing eye contact. "Are you going to bitch and moan the entire date?"

This time Spencer blushed, ducking his gaze. When he met my eyes again I caught the shaky smile on his lips and I was pleased that for once he was just as nervous as I was. "Your hand is really sweaty."

"Fuck you." I laughed despite myself. When I went to dry my palms on my pants though Spencer stopped me, pressing it back in place. I sunk my fingers into the skin under his jaw, chuckling when my thumb grazed against a shaving cut.

"I'm glad we're doing this," he admitted, grey eyes earnest. "And I promise to be on my best behavior the minute we step out the car. I'll even hold doors for you and all that other chivalrous crap."

"Why do you always make me the girl in this," I grumbled, squeezing his chin when he smirked, confidence reclaimed in point-zero seconds. "This better mean you're buying me dinner after this."

"As long as dinner is McDonald's I'm paying." He grinned, with enough charm that I couldn't stop myself from kissing the look straight off his face.

"And here I thought I would have to wine and dine your ass first," he muttered when we pulled apart and I nearly broke a blood vessel from how hard I rolled my eyes.

"Shut up before I decide to walk home."

The movie had been long and boring enough that we decided to skip out halfway through. Surprisingly most of the mall was empty and finding a table in the food court didn't take the usual push and shove routine I was used to. It turned out that Spencer was the type to pool fries, dumping our cartons into the middle of the tray to be eaten communal style. I tried not to judge him too hard for it, swayed when he offered to split his sundae with me since I had lied and said I hadn't wanted one when we were at the till.

Somehow we had gotten onto the topic of bad first dates, and where I lacked expertise in the area, Spencer more than made up for it with insane stories that made me wonder if this was his warning for me to get the hell out of dodge. Seeming to catch onto this, under the table Spencer hooked my foot with his, bouncing my leg until I had to tell him to stop after almost spilling soda all over myself. He didn't and it wasn't long until our feet were wrestling each other under the table while we pretended to carry on normal conversations.

"They've got a bowling alley in the basement," Spencer remarked, acting as though he hadn't just played dirty and kicked me hard in the shin.

"Guy got stabbed there last fall," I said, taking a hard pass.

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah. But no human murders happened in the arcade upstairs, just wallets," I offered, trapping both Spencer's feet under mine and declaring the war over.

Spencer pulled the lid off his drink, crushing ice between his teeth loud enough that my own mouth ached in response. "Sure. I'm in the mood to whoop your ass over ice hockey."

And he fucking did. We ended up spending over an hour at the ice hockey table, having moved on to a new game just as the overhead speaker system announced the mall was officially closing. Piling into Spencer's car neither of us really talked as he drove me home. Halfway across town though he dropped his hand on my leg, palm face up. I stared at it for a moment, dipping my index finger into the center then retracting when he went to grab my hand.

"You're a child," he scolded when I repeated the action a couple more times then let him entwine our fingers.

"What does that make you then?" I countered. The warm of his palm was nice against my own and I turned towards the window so he couldn't see the dopey smile that threateningly pulled at my cheeks.

"A hopeless romantic?" He was aiming for smooth and missed the mark by a mile.

"I would drop and roll out of the car, but I'm sure my Mom will murder me if ending up in the hospital meant missing graduation," I said and Spencer ignored me in favor of practically crushing my hand.

"Sorry the movie was a bust," he segued, inching the car slowly down my street.

"We can't all have good taste," I shrugged, unbuckling my seatbelt even though Spencer hadn't yet stopped the car.

Spencer's eyes drifted my way as he slammed the car in park in front of my house, obviously ready to lecture me on road safety. "What do you think you're doing, Beau?"

"I'm thanking you for a wonderful night." I hedged, leaning over to turn his engine off then yanked Spencer down for a slow kiss.

When I made it into the house, thankfully unbombarded by April as the rest of the family were still asleep, I checked my phone to find a text from Tommo sitting there from hours earlier.

T. MOORG (9:43 PM): I've never seen a more aggressive game of footsies in my life. Have you always dated so violently?

Safe to say, I didn't hesitate in calling him immediately.

When Tommo shifted in his bus seat and dropped his hand from my shoulder I glanced back over at him awkwardly. "Thanks for listening, by the way, not sure if I said so before."

"It's cool. Was kind of funny hearing both sides of the same story. Yours was more dramatic though," Tommo mused and I gaped at him. "What? Why are you looking at me in surprise? Do you still think Spencer exists only in an orbit that revolves around you? The guy's my friend too."

"Shut up," I mumbled, picking at my sleeve while Tommo cast his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for the Gods to smite my stupid ass down.

"He invited to the family dinner tomorrow?" Tommo asked after a while of silence, referring to the barbecue my Mom had been prepping for since Thursday. The fridge was stocked with more Tupperware containers of marinating meat than I thought were possible. I was just glad we were truly weening our way off pasta once and for all.

"I haven't asked him yet," I admitted and Tommo threw me an incredulous look. "Don't glare at me like that! April already invited him but I didn't like invite him to the dinner."

"So, what you're tryna say is that you're not out to your parents yet?" Tommo cautioned, gathering that April must know, and I, more or less, nodded.

"I mean, I haven't said anything  outright–"

"I'm noticing a pattern here," Tommo hummed and I threw him a look to shut him up.

"But they, like, know... I guess? I mean, Spencer's been around, a lot, and I'm out with him most of the time I'm not with you or Iris. I'm sure they've put two and two together," I shrugged and Tommo sighed, long and hard.

"This dinner is going to be a shit show," he chuckled, clapping my knee as we stood up, bus finally having reached our stop.

"Don't say our friendship doesn't afford you any benefits," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets as we strode up the steps to Donnie's.

Like everything in central Northport, Donnie's Suits and Tailoring was obnoxiously set-up to be as impractical as possible. Giant mannequins in fitted suits littered most of the store floor, at their feet long, reclined couches. The racks were pushed to the sides, forcing you to weave through plastic perfection and never-ending mirror paneled support beams. When we finally made it to the graduation gown's section I was almost ready to just pitch a tent and move into the store forever in order to avoid fumbling my way back to the exit. Italian opera blared from the speakers, a feature that let us know Donnie's mother was currently manning the counter. The woman was in her seventies, with a full head of dyed black hair, insanely arched eyebrows, and a love for making conversation with the local youth. From her spot at the counter, she waved over at us, forcing Tommo and I to paste on our friendliest smiles.

"Mrs. Abruzzo, ciao bella," Tommo crooned. I covered my face in secondhand embarrassment, swiftly flicking through the racks as Tommo made an ass of himself.

"Come stai?" The woman called, earning a confused look from Tommo who motioned to the clothing rack.

"Burned my gown, looking to buy a new one," he said, praying he answered whatever the hell she was asking. I found one in his size and shoved it into the guy's chest, more than ready to leave before Mrs. Abruzzo trapped us into an hour-long story about her time spent riding Vespa's through Venice during her youth.

"I'll meet you outside," I told Tommo, ducking from his side as he tried to grab my arm and drag me with him to the counter. Throwing a goodbye over my shoulder to Mrs. Abruzzo I shut the door behind me, sitting down on the stoop. The weather had warmed up enough that the concrete didn't numb my legs at first contact. I kicked up my feet onto the short banister, taking out my phone to find an app to pass the time while Tommo tested how far his powers of politeness extended. It was in the middle of a tense game of Words with Friends against Flemming that Tommo finally stumbled out the store, an hour and a half later, with two additional bags at his side.

"She convinced me to buy a lavender button-down and a pair of slacks," he said, voice hollow and eyes wide in confusion. "Why the hell did you leave me alone in there? My dumb ass just wasted two hundred and eighteen dollars."

"Look at you, helping out the economy." I jumped to my feet. "Next bus is only a couple minutes away, come on."

Tommo stomped behind me, a wounded look on his face as he glared down at the bags. "She must have some kind of voodoo power. I just kept saying yes so she would stop telling me about her daughter Verona, who is very single and open-minded."

"The fuck does open-minded mean?" I asked, brows furrowed until Tommo made a vague gesture at himself. "Oh, what the fuck does she think her life is, Othello?"

"I will wear this gown until the day I die," Tommo declared, sticking an arm out to signal our bus. The action was very Carrie Bradshaw, bags dangling from his forearm dramatically and I quickly took a photo.

"With the slacks and the lavender shirt," I reminded him, pocketing my phone.

Tommo groaned. "Do you have any idea how much shit the guys are going to give me if I show up wearing something like that?"

I snorted at that, shaking my head.

"I can only imagine man."