My mother locked my bedroom door on prom night. That was the moment I knew something was wrong. Downstairs, Noah was waiting for me in a navy suit and the bow tie he’d been talking about since November, chatting with my aunt through the floor.

Then Mom turned toward me: “You can go with Noah tonight, Chrissy. But only on one condition. I need one promise from you.”

I stared at her: “Let me guess. Midnight?”

“No.”

“Eleven-thirty?”

“Christina.” The fact that she used my full name wiped the smile off my face. Her hands were trembling.

“You have to hear something first. About Noah. And about me.” She sat on the edge of my bed: “I owe both of you the truth.”

Noah and I met because of raisins when we were six. Our first-grade teacher had handed everyone those little red boxes during snack time. I was quietly hiding mine beneath a napkin when the boy beside me whispered, “That’s smart.” I looked over—he was doing the exact same thing.

“You hate them?” I asked.

“They’re old grapes. Old grapes are gross.”

That settled it. By lunch, we were best friends.

Noah had Down syndrome, but at six, that mattered to me far less than the fact that he cheated at dinosaur trivia by memorizing the answers before asking me the questions. He knew an unreasonable amount about dinosaurs, while I drew them—badly. The first time I showed him my Tyrannosaurus rex, he stared at the page: “What is… that? It looks like a potato with arms!” I shoved him, and he laughed so loudly our teacher separated us.

Our friendship was simple until another kid made it complicated. One afternoon, our teacher announced she was getting married, and the class erupted with ideas about cake and music. Noah raised his hand: “My wedding will have chocolate cake. And no slow songs, Miss Veronica, because they’re boring.”

A boy across our table snorted: “You’re not getting married, dude. Nobody’s going to marry you.”

I remember the exact second Noah’s smile vanished. He looked down at his hands, and something hot rose in my chest.

“That’s mean, Roger! Somebody will love Noah.”

“Then you marry him,” the boy taunted.

Later, after class, Noah looked at me with serious eyes: “Chrissy… would you… love me?”

I thought about it: “Maybe I will.”

Noah immediately looked up: “Really?”

“Maybe. But first we have to go to prom.”

“What’s prom?”

“A dance when we’re almost grown-ups.” He held out his pinkie: “Promise?”

I hooked mine around his: “Promise.”

I forgot about it by dinner. Noah didn’t.

As the years went on, I had no idea that a single moment in a school parking lot six years later would change everything, until my mother stood before me on prom night holding a secret she had kept locked away for half my life…