"Ro?"
The voice was so familiar, so achingly familiar in the silly boy nervousness that Ro's eyes opened their own accord, dimly focusing on the familiar dark hair and purple jacket. She focused on him, the face. He was younger here, hair more wild, more real. Ro suddenly had the urge to touch it, smooth it back down into its perfect, no cow-lick, fly-away holographic form. Her hand was half-way up before her senses came back.
"Huh?"
Zee was shifting nervously from foot to foot with a nervous little smile, fingering the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, what do you say?" He shrugged hopelessly, casting a winning smile. "Wanna go?"
Ro stared blankly at him, then forced her tongue to move. "Ahh, sure." Go where?
He visibly relaxed, and his smile didn't seem so forced. "That's great," he said enthusiastically. "Is 8 o'clock good?"
She nodded slowly. " . . . Uh-huh."
"Great. Great!" He nodded again, full of boyish glee. Then he quickly peck her cheek, blushed when he pulled back, and walked quickly away, with a "Bye."
Ro patted her cheek and made a face. "Ehhh . . .?"
There was a squeal at her elbow. "Ro!"
She turned her head slowly, mouth still open. There was Tiffy again. Hi, Tiffy. You cut your hair. It looks nice. "Tiffy?"
Tiffy was still missing her shell-shockedness, gripping her arm and jumping up and down, taking Ro's left side for the ride. "I can't believe it! He asked you to Prom!"
Ro blinked. "He did—"