When Chad had gone, Lucy leaned over to me.

“You didn't tell him,” she whispered.

“Tell him what?”

She gave me a look over the top of her glasses.

“Nick. I read the Kansas City Business Journal. Last year. ‘Twenty-Eight-Year-Old Mechanic Builds Auto Repair Empire.' There was a photo. You were under a car.”

I laughed. “Nobody reads the Business Journal.”

“I do. I cut it out.” She went a little pink. “I've got it on my fridge.”

She looked across at table one, where Brooke was taking another selfie.

“And I know something else,” she said quietly. “Brooke didn't do any fundraising. She told the committee the club gave her a discount. Then suddenly there was an anonymous sponsor who paid for everything. Forty-one thousand dollars.”

She looked back at me.

“It was you, wasn't it?”

I didn't answer.

“It was you,” she said. “Because you couldn't afford prom.”

I looked down at my hands. The black around the fingernails.

“Jenny's got three kids,” I said. “She's been looking forward to this for months.”

Lucy didn't say anything for a while. Then she put her hand on mine on the tablecloth. “Your hands can fix things,” she said softly.