ROM. POSEY WONDERED how many people would walk away from tonight with the memories they wanted.

Only about a third of the kids were dancing—well, if you could call it that. They looked more like salmon swimming upstream, all aiming for the stage, oddly in unison, as the band played what the lead singer had called a “classic” by Eminem. Shockingly, most of the kids seemed to know the words: There’s vomit on his sweater already, Mom’s spaghetti…

And people wondered why she liked oldies.

Jon was wandering through the ranks, pulling out the kids who weren’t sober, putting in calls to their parents. A large majority of kids seemed to be trying too hard…shrill, forced laughter, exaggerated gestures, darting looks to see who was where and if he or she had noticed. And then there were those who seemed either bored or miserable. Sad, really, when you thought of how much effort and time went into preparing for the big night.

But there were the golden kids, and Posey was glad to see that Nicole was among them. She was one of the salmon swimmers at the moment; her face was bright and happy. Posey couldn’t wait to tell Liam—actually, no. She wouldn’t be doing that.

With a sigh, she looked around. Whitfield Mansion looked great. Same setup, same décor. Same cliques—the mean girls, the fringe kids, the smart-asses, the invisibles.

Well. Time to hit the loo. Posey made her way across the dance floor, stopped at a couple engaged in some pornographic moves, cheerfully told them she’d turn a hose on them if they didn’t keep six inches between body parts, and continued on. The band’s next song was another she didn’t recognize, and more kids flowed out onto the dance floor. The music was so loud, Posey could feel it in her stomach, and the quiet of the bathroom felt like an oasis.

She realized abruptly that this was the bathroom. Huh. There was the last stall, where she’d hidden. May as well use that one. A long time ago, she’d had to bite her knuckle to keep from crying in here. Funny, how huge that moment had been at the time. Funny, too, how it was now just one of those things.

When she came out of the stall, she found she wasn’t alone. A girl was wiping her eyes with the rough paper towels.

“You okay?” Posey asked.

The girl gave her a panicked look. “Are you in my class?” she squeaked.

Posey smiled. “No. I’m a chaperone. I’m thirty-four years old, actually.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“Thanks. So. Having a bad time?” She turned the water on and washed her hands.

The girl’s face scrunched up. “My boyfriend just broke up with me. Can you believe it? Like, it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

“What a putz,” Posey said, patting the girl’s arm. “Want some advice?”

The girl gave Posey that classic teenage look—dubious that this relic of the last century could offer anything useful. “Sure,” she said sullenly.

“Screw him. I mean, no, don’t screw him in the…you know. But this is your prom. Your friends are here, you look gorgeous, the band is, um, great, and you’ll never do senior prom again. So don’t go crawling off and let him see how much he hurt you. Just put that away for now and go have fun.”

“Right,” the girl said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, crawling off to cry works, too. Your choice, sweetheart.”

Posey had crawled off. But she never had again, had she? That night, miserable as it had been, had made her a better person.

The bathroom door burst open, and three girls, all pretty as swans, came in. “Sierra, he’s such an ass! Don’t hide in here, though! Come on! Pretend he doesn’t exist. Ryan Joyce will be totally thrilled.”

The girls were gone in the next instant, and for whatever reason, Posey felt…well…a sense of closure, an affection for her sixteen-year-old self, for the heartache of an unrequited, crushing first love. She’d really loved Liam back then. She really loved him now. And you know what? It was…good. Someday, maybe, she’d tell her grandkids about the bad boy with the leather jacket who took her for a ride on his motorcycle, and wouldn’t they all think she was the bomb?

Well. Time to go back and return to chastity patrol. A glimpse in the mirror revealed that Jon’s hairspray had not been up to the task of conquering the mighty cowlick, but so what? She looked like herself, and it was oddly reassuring.

As she came out of the loo, she could hear the lead singer of the band talking. “Okay, kids, we have a request, and maybe you’ve heard it, if you’ve ever been to a Red Sox game. Bear with us, we haven’t played it for years, but the guy gave us a hundred bucks to do this.”

Posey emerged into the ballroom. There was Jon, who waved to her. A few teachers were with him. Posey headed over, then bumped into Nicole. “Hi, honey, having fun?” she asked.

“Totally,” Nicole said, looking at the stage. “How about… Oh. Oh, no.” Posey looked, too, but even standing on tiptoe, she couldn’t see what was going on—the salmon had not fled the waters, and the dance floor was rather packed.

Then the bass player started to play a very familiar phrase.

“Oh, no,” Nicole said. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Posey’s heart crashed to a stop. Oh, she knew this song, yes indeed. No doubt about it. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

Then someone started singing.

“Nicole!” a girl in a pink dress shrieked, whipping out her phone. “Are you seeing this?”

“Oh, kill me now,” Nicole said. She turned to Posey. “Um…I think this is for you. Tanner, move.” She pushed Posey forward so she could see.

There, onstage, stood Liam Declan Murphy, leather jacket, five o’clock shadow, guitar in his hands.

Singing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.

Her favorite song. The same song that was playing in the elevator the day she gave him the CPR he didn’t need.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they fell on her, he smiled. “‘Sweet Caroline…’”

And a fair number of the kids and pretty much all the teachers chorused back, “Oh, oh, oh!”

“‘Good times never seemed so good,’” he sang, still grinning.

“‘So good, so good, so good!’” the mob sang back, and Posey’s eyes were suddenly stinging.

“Mr. Murphy, don’t quit your day job!” someone shouted, and everyone laughed, including Liam. But he kept singing, doggedly, messing up some of the words, and when he came to the chorus the second time around, it seemed like everyone in the room was singing with him.

“I think you’re hot, Mr. Murphy!” called a girl.

“Ew! Hello! That’s my father, so shut it, okay?” Nicole said. She glanced at Posey and rolled her eyes. “Sorry for you, Posey. I told him he should go out with you, but I never pictured…” The girl gave her a closer look. “Oh, man, you’re eating it up, aren’t you?”

Posey gave a shaky laugh, nodded and wiped her eyes.

The song ended, and the kids gave him a good-natured round of applause, and he jumped off the stage.

“Back to something a little, ah, more contemporary,” the singer said and counted off a beat to yet another song Posey had never heard of, and the salmon-jumping began again.

Then Liam was standing in front of her, and the sight of him was so overwhelming that she forgot to breathe.

“Want to dance?” he asked.

“Dad? Seriously? Not here,” Nicole shouted over the music. “I’m embarrassed enough.”

“Whatevs,” he said, and taking Posey’s hand, he led her through the maze of tables—there was Jon, grinning into his seltzer water and pretending not to see them.

In the foyer of the mansion, the music wasn’t so loud. “Want to dance?” he asked again, and Posey couldn’t quite answer. Apparently, he took this as a yes, because his arm went around her waist, and he pulled her close and moved in a slow rhythm that had nothing to do with the music, which was some god-awful song about wanting someone’s body and their disease—blick—but somehow it was the most romantic, mushy moment of Posey’s entire life. Holy Elvis, she might actually be crying from happiness. She could smell leather and fresh air, and his soap, and she looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling.

“That was the most pathetic version of ‘Sweet Caroline’ I have ever heard,” she said, her voice shaking.

“You loved it,” he said.

She shrugged, but couldn’t help a smile. “You’re right.”

He stopped moving and pulled back a little, taking both her hands in his. His smile was gone. “Cordelia, you’re not a bag of bones,” he said, and her mouth fell open. “You weren’t back then, either. I mean, you were a little thing, but I only said that because… Oh, crap.” He sighed. “Rick Balin said he planned to, uh…sleep with you that night.”

Posey took a quick breath. The truth was, sex had never even crossed her mind. She hadn’t thought further than the prom itself.

“And I…” Liam shook his head. “I just said something stupid to put him off. It was an impulse or whatever. Because you were a good kid, and you didn’t deserve some idiot like Rick trying to…you know.”

So Rick had been planning to sleep with her—and Posey being barely sixteen, vastly inexperienced about the world of boys, and outweighed by probably a hundred pounds by a boy used to getting what he wanted…that could’ve been really bad.

Liam was looking at her solemnly. “I didn’t realize he’d drop you like that. I just thought maybe… I don’t know. I didn’t think it through, and then I completely forgot about it. I didn’t mean to ruin your night, and I’m really sorry.”

“Oh…I… That’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s actually a little…sweet, now that I know.”

He grinned, and her knees went weak. “I am pretty sweet.”

“Well, let’s not go overboard,” Posey said, though her heart was just as soft and mushy as all her other parts were becoming.

“Cordelia,” he said quietly, his smile fading. “I seem to be in love with you.”

The words were like sinking into a vat of warm caramel sauce. “Oh,” she whispered. “That’s…nice.” If she died now, that would be fine. Completely fine.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Will you forgive me for being an idiot, then and more recently? Because that image you have of me…I wouldn’t mind trying to live up to that.”

She let those words, and all the others, sink in. The past was never what you thought, was it? Liam Murphy had been protecting her honor—awkwardly, perhaps, but there it was. He’d been looking out for her, because that was the kind of man he was, and always had been.

“So?” he said, his eyes warm.

“Yeah, well, I’ll definitely think about it, Liam, and—”

“You should probably marry me.” He smiled. “When Nicole’s ready for a stepmother, yeah. You should marry me. I’ve never been so happy as I’ve been with you, Cordelia, and let’s face it, you’ve been in love with me half your life, more, maybe, and of course, I am incredibly good-looking and—”

“My God, the ego.” But she was crying, and laughing, and almost unable to take in what he was saying, her heart pounded so hard.

Liam’s face grew serious. “I’ll take good care of you, Cordelia. I promise.” Then he was kissing her, the gentle scrape of his five o’clock shadow, the heat and softness of his lips, and she melted against him, heart utterly light.

“Lovebirds?” It was Jon. “I hate to interrupt, especially since I’m filming this for YouTube, but pay attention.” Posey pulled back—with difficulty—and looked at her brother-in-law. “I’ve released you from chaperone duty. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.”

Posey and Liam looked at each other. “Nah,” Liam said. “I think I owe you a decent prom.”

And with that, he led her back into the ballroom. And danced with her.

And kissed her.

More than once.

Right in front of everyone.