Apparently Furst and Prowl, er, Harrison had made good use of the time alone, because Harry seemed much more at ease, rising fluidly before pulling out a chair for Kathryn. Furst, of course, was as genteel as ever, but he offered me his arm instead of a chair. "Shall we?"

I hesitated. Up until then, we'd only danced to sappy slow songs; this music was a little too fast for the steps I'd learned so far.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"I don't know if I can waltz to this."

"I didn't intend to. It's much more suited to the cha-cha."

I just about choked to hear Optimus Prime say 'cha-cha,' even if it was coming from Furst's mouth. He misunderstood me. "I am certain you are up to the task, Annabelle."

Shaking with giggles, I nodded my consent and he led me out onto the dance floor. Even if I did end up looking like an idiot, at least I was embarrassing myself with the best voice ever counting the steps for me.

Most of the other kids were just kind of swaying or bopping around a little. Furst took me into a dance position and counted out the steps. "Right, rock, cha-cha-cha. Left, rock, cha-cha-cha." After about five times of trying to make it through the basic step, I was able to control my giggling enough to get it right. A couple more times through, and then he started to mix it up. "Turn, step, back-to-me. Left, rock, cha-cha-cha."

Still handicapped by fits of giggles, I realized I was genuinely, truly having fun. Tonight was one of the best times of my life – better than backyard football games, better than being given a real Autobot nickname, better even than Phase V of The Perfect Prank. I was being me – the sixteen-year-old human girl – and having fun!

At the end of the song, Furst again offered me his arm and started escorting me back to our table, but the DJ's words stopped me in my tracks. "And this song goes out to all the cowboys in the crowd!"

Some dippy, twangy, stomp-your-feet kind of music with the stupidest lyrics ever started up.

"Where did you come from, where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye joe?"

My cheeks flushed hot as my hands balled into fists. Brian!

Furst gave me a sidelong glance, curious about my reaction. "Shall we?"

"No," I growled. "It's a crappy old line dance that no one will do with us."

"So? Let's dance."

"But…we'd look stupid dancing by ourselves."

"Annabelle…"

"They're making fun of you," I finally blurted out, the words burning my throat. Furst had been nothing but courteous to any of us. Respectful, not that any of us deserved it. And then I thought about who they were really mocking and tears stung my eyes.

Understanding lit his face, a flicker of sadness following. Then his expression turned to one of wicked amusement. "Let's dance anyway."

I shook my head. "I'm done with these petty humans. Let's go."

Extending his hand, he asked, "Annabelle, do you trust me?"

Slag him! I looked up into those blue eyes, seeing both the illusion and the reality. The eyes that sparkled with laughter and glinted with determination right before he threw the football. And I saw the light in them – the optics that witnessed uncounted alien worlds and blazed as he battled the demons.

What a stupid question for him to ask. In answer, I put my hand in his.

He swung me into a dance position and, deliberately placing his lips to my ear for all the jealously-watching eyes to see, he said, "Hold on to your hat."

I would have sniggered any other time, but I just rolled my eyes.

"Country swing," he continued. "Basically one big rock-step, repeated over and over. We'll begin at half-speed. Ready?"

"Sure."

He caught my hands and held them up between us, and then he proceeded to sweep me off my feet…to a beat no less. "Rock-step, rock-step. Turn-and-rock-step." I didn't have time to feel embarrassed or angry, he was throwing new turns and twists at me so quickly. But not so quickly that I couldn't keep up. Soon I was breathless and realizing that we were doing good. Really good.

Happiness softened some of the wicked amusement in his eyes. "Ready to speed it up?"

"I'm game if you are," I answered, easily holding the rocking rhythm steady. After all, if he didn't care that they were making fun of him, neither would I. Like wearing my mascara after breaking up with Brian, this was an act of pure rebellion.

Bringing us up to full speed, we all but flew through the rest of the song – and at one point, he did actually pick me up and swing me around his back. The sheer shock of it made me laugh. And then I was laughing and whirling and turning into his arms. I felt the rush of power that came from taking all that meanness and pettiness and defiantly throwing it right back in their faces.

Now Brian was the one who looked like an idiot.

The song ended, and our breathless dance ended with a low dip and both of us laughing at the heady pleasure of victory. First and Best, indeed! Much to my embarrassment, a round of applause broke out at our table, and we looked to see Prowl and the three girls sitting with him clapping their hands and even whistling.

As we straightened out of the dip, the opening chords of the next song began playing. They were slower but the song had a hint of country, surprisingly. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "Is this one your doing?"

"Bumblebee isn't the only one who can shuffle a playlist," Furst confirmed and offered me his arm. "Shall we?"

Grinning, I answered, "Let's."

I didn't recognize the song, but as I listened to the words, I understood why he had chosen it specifically.

Don't let some hempen heart leave you bitter,

When you come close to selling out, reconsider,

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance.

"Thank you," I murmured, ducking my head a little. I made a mental note to look up the complete lyrics later.

In my ear, he said, "My pleasure."

…

We danced until I was out of breath, and then Furst took a couple of turns with Kathryn. Not to be outdone, Prowl – er, Harrison – took a break from his growing flock of admirers and danced with me once.

"Why are you here, anyway?" I asked him, once we were safely secluded on the dance floor.

"It is unusual for Prime to take time off like this. There was concern for his safety."

"Yeah, Dad told me about that. And about Jolt's betting pool."

"You have your answer, then."

I smirked. "You're here to officially find out what Furst is up to for the betting pool?"

"Furst?"

I flushed, realizing my slip. "That's the name he's going by tonight. Tim Furst."

"…Tim…Furst?" he repeated with an incredulous smile. In my sixteen years, that was the closest he'd come to laughing.

"Yeah. You got a problem with it?"

"Not at all," Prowl answered, his expression turning speculative as he examined me. "But I am curious about his appearance."

Shrugging, I said, "I couldn't very well bring someone old enough to be my dad to the prom, now could I? I dressed up for the occasion, and so did he."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied by my answer. "One final question. Who asked whom?"

I bit my lip, wondering if Prowl was able to actually brig Optimus if it came to that. Deciding the boss 'bot was able to handle the consequences, whatever they might be, I admitted, "He asked me."

"Interesting" was his only response, and we finished the dance in silence.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, if you didn't count Prowl getting the email addresses of no less than six girls, beginning with Kathryn, of course. When she asked for his, he got a panicked look and turned to Furst like a drowning man looking for a life preserver. That wicked amusement flashed in Furst's eyes again before they grew distant for a second. Focusing on Harry again, he said, "Why don't you give them harrison-dot-pitt-at-hotmail?"

Prowl glowered at Furst but jotted the email address down on a napkin and slid it across the table to Kathryn. I smothered a grin – Prowl and Prime were so going to have words over this.

"Hey Harry," Furst said over his shoulder as he led me back onto the dance floor. "Don't disappear tonight before we have another chance to talk."

When another fast song came on, Furst and I walked toward our table, but Prowl, erm, Harrison jumped up and intercepted us on the edge of the dance floor. "You wished to speak."

I smirked. And you wish to escape all those teenage girls.

"The timing of your exit is important," Furst quietly explained. "The D.J. currently has three more songs lined up. If you wish to avoid excessive questions or embarrassment for Annabelle, you should leave before then."

"Would you object to me leaving now?"

"Your harem might," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He sighed and glared at Furst, who smirked.

"Just go," I said, taking pity on him. "Just wish the girls a good evening, say you're needed back on your ship, and walk out."

He surprised me by nodding deferentially. "Agreed."

Furst and I got refills for our drinks, and I watched from the punch table as Prowl utterly failed to sneak out of the dance. Two of my classmates made such a fuss about him promising to email them that I could hear them all the way across the room, and a third walked him to the door.

"Can I get an info dump after you two hash this out?" I asked Furst.

He chuckled softly. "As long as it's not classified."

After the last song, Furst retrieved my wrap and his cowboy hat, pointedly ignoring the chatter all around us about the post-prom party Heather was throwing. We weren't invited, not that we would have gone, anyway.

Tropical stars twinkled above us as we walked back to his alt, and I rested my head on his shoulder, except he was tall enough that it was more like I was resting my head on his bicep. Regardless, I felt so safe with him, no matter his form or the setting. All those months ago when we gave Optimus his human name of Tim Furst, Mom had teasingly whispered to Dad that no one could be good enough for his daughter. It had been a joke, but I wasn't sure if any mere human could ever top this evening. I mean, I hoped a human boy would one day give Tim Furst a run for his money, but there weren't going to be that many out there who could.

"I am sorry about Prowl's interference," Tim said out of the blue.

I lifted my head to smile up at him. "He didn't interfere, not really. And you've got the best blackmail ever to leverage against him now, so no harm done, I guess."

In his Not Happy Prime voice, he added, "It is fortunate for him that you feel that way."

I chuckled and rested my head on his shoulder again. Now that the thrill of the prom was winding down, I began to feel just how tired I was. Physical therapy had helped get my hip into shape, but I hadn't dared to do much cardio before tonight. At his alt-form, I managed to hold back my yawn until after Tim had helped me into my seat and closed the door to walk around to the driver side. The short ride home was in contented silence.

When we arrived, he again helped me out and to the ground. The lights were bright in the living room and on the front porch, so I didn't need his help to make my way up the porch steps and to the door. I took his arm anyway. This was almost as awkward as when he first asked me to the prom. No good-night kiss, obviously, but how was I supposed to let him know that he'd given me one of the best gifts I'd ever received?

"Good evening, Annabelle," he said at the door, tipping his hat before turning to leave.

I caught him in a quick, tight hug, resting my head on his chest. "Thank you, Optimus. You really are the Best."

He squeezed me back and chuckled. "Thank you, child. I had an enjoyable evening. More so than I expected, to be honest."

When he relaxed, I stepped back and said, "Good. See you at the football game tomorrow."

"See you." He nodded and retreated back to the waiting semi.

Author's End Note: If you want to understand Prowl's logic in this fic a bit better, check out "Prowl and the Prom," also on our profile.