I took my grandfather in his wheelchair to prom after he raised me alone. When a classmate made fun of him, what he said into the microphone silenced the entire gymnasium.

She used it to put others down.

Amber had given me a nickname that spread through part of my junior year class like a bad cold. I won’t repeat it here. I’ll just say it wasn’t nice.

I learned not to let my emotions show on my face. But it hurt me.

***

Prom season arrived in February, bringing with it the boundless energy of graduating seniors. Dress shopping, debates about bodices, group discussions about limousines—the hallways were buzzing with plans.

I had a project.

“I want you to accompany me to the ball,” I asked my grandfather one evening at dinner.

Amber had given me a nickname.

He laughed. Then he saw my face and stopped laughing. He stared at the wheelchair for a long moment before looking up at me.

“My darling, I don’t want to embarrass you.”

I got up from my chair and crouched down next to him so as not to be in a dominant position. “You pulled me out of a burning house, Grandpa. I think you deserve a dance.”

Something crossed his face. It wasn’t just emotion, but something older and more stable than that.

He placed his hand on mine. “Okay, darling. But I’m wearing the navy blue suit.”