Sophie stood by the kitchen doorway, holding a plastic cup of orange soda. Clara had already disappeared into a circle of laughing kids near the speakers. Sophie watched the dancers: arms thrown up, eyes closed, mouths moving to words they barely knew. For the first time, she felt the weight of being fifteen—too old to be a child, too young to be free, and exactly the right age to fall in love with a moment.
Then Adrien was beside her.
When she climbed into the car, her mother asked, “Did you have fun?” La Boum
Sophie shrugged, pulling her cardigan tighter. “My parents will say no. They think ‘La Boum’ means noise, spilled drinks, and me coming home with a tattoo.” Sophie stood by the kitchen doorway, holding a
Adrien. The boy with the broken front tooth and the laugh that filled the school hallway like spilled sunlight. For the first time, she felt the weight
That night, Sophie didn’t ask. She just set the invitation on the kitchen table, next to the fruit bowl. Her father, a history teacher with kind, tired eyes, picked it up. Her mother, who always smelled of mint tea and worry, read over his shoulder.