La Boum -

“Just a classmate,” Sophie said. “Big party. Music. Dancing.”

The silence that followed was a living thing. Finally, her father said, “We’ll drive you. We’ll pick you up at midnight. No later.”

“My parents let me,” she said, then winced. Stupid. He doesn’t care about your parents.

But he smiled, showing the chipped tooth. “Want to dance?” La Boum

Clara snorted. “Your parents still think we’re ten.”

“Adrien?” her mother asked.

“You came,” he said. His voice was lower than she remembered. He was holding a bottle of grenadine. “Just a classmate,” Sophie said

“Yeah,” she said, and smiled. “It was a real boum .”

“You’re going, right?” asked Clara, her best friend since the sandbox, already scanning her own invitation for dress-code clues.

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.” Dancing

Then Adrien was beside her.

Sophie almost hugged him. Instead, she nodded, trying to look bored, and ran to her room to call Clara. The night of La Boum , the world felt different. The streetlights seemed softer. The air smelled of autumn leaves and possibility. Sophie wore a red dress—the one her grandmother had sent from Lyon, saying, “For when you feel brave.” Clara had done her eyeliner in two perfect wings.