A/N: Here's the second part! It's extra-cheesy, but it's also extra-sweet and kind of thoughtful, I think, so I hope it balances out. Please let me know what you think about it!

"It's crazy. Tonight's been absolutely wonderful." Patrick sat down next to Sarah, handing her a little paper cup of water. "I can't believe you got me to go to this thing. I didn't want to at all."

"Sure you did." She threw back the water in one gulp, tearing little ridges into the rim of the cup when she was done. "You were just scared."

He watched her shred the paper, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her task. "Yeah. I was terrified, in fact." Still am. "But we're here, and it's been great. I can't believe the gym looks so nice. And I never thought I'd have a good time in here." He had to stop with the small talk; it wasn't building his courage any, and just made him sound like a blithering idiot. He took a deep breath. "Listen, Sarah, I —"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Erik Redson, a gawky pink kid with thick glasses and a charming smile. He was one of those strange geeks who was somehow equally popular with the cool kids and the losers, and seemed to like everyone the same. Patrick had never met anyone more likable, despite his girly color. "Hey, Pat!" he said warmly, shaking his hand like they were old friends, even though they'd only had a few conversations. He plopped into the chair on Sarah's other side. "How're you guys doing?"

Oh, great. He was here to chat. By the time he left, Patrick would have lost all his nerve! There had to be a way to get him out of there. . . .

"So, Sarah," Erik said, leaning back in the chair. "I have a favor to ask."

"Yeah?" she asked, and Patrick knew she would say yes. That was just the way Erik was.

He grinned, flipping a strand of hot-pink hair away from his face. "My girlfriend dumped me, like, a week before prom, and I didn't have time to find a date. And she brought some guy with her, and they've been staring at me all night. Is there any chance I could borrow you for a song? Just a short one?" He leaned back so that he could meet Patrick's gaze. "Wouldja mind if I stole her for a little while? I need to make Sherry crazy jealous."

"Are you kidding? We're just here as friends!" Sarah leapt to her feet, dragging Erik to his. "Besides, he hates Sherry almost as much as I do. Right, Pat?" There was nothing he could do but nod; she was too excited. As she passed him, she whispered, "I owe you one. If you see a cute girl, I promise I'll help you out, kay?"

"Okay," he whispered back, his heart sinking. "Thanks."

Erik clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "I'll see you around, huh? Maybe you and Ned and I can get pizza or something later this week."

"Sure." And the horrible thing was, he was looking forward to this potential pizza outing. Erik had stolen his date, made him look like a loser, and interrupted the most important conversation of Patrick's life, and all while still being the nicest guy in Whoville.

What a jerk.

Ned was trying to figure out where he could go and think when Sally's arm clamped down on his, yanking him almost off his feet. "What was that?" she demanded. "We're not even going to talk about it?"

He'd forgotten how fast she could run, even in heels. "I can't, Sal," he said, turning to face her.

She took his arm again, more gently this time, and pulled him out of the flow of traffic. Under the basketball hoops next to the locker room, they had at least an illusion of privacy. "Why not?"

"I . . ." He didn't know. All he knew was that every time he thought about saying yes, a picture of his dad would pop into his head, and he'd hear one of the former mayor's many pieces of advice.

"Now, Ned," he would say, looking up at his son from his position under the sink as he repaired a leaking pipe, "you need to realize that as a mayor, all eyes are on you. You have Whoville on your shoulders, and every decision you make will affect everyone who lives here. The second that mayoral crest is passed from my hands to yours, you have to be mature and responsible. The world rests on your decisions, son."

Philip McDodd wasn't the most forthcoming about romantic matters, but he knew that if he could ask his father what to do in this situation, the answer would be the same as it was to every question Ned had ever asked him. He would put down whatever he was working on (and he was always working on something), stare his son straight in the eye, and say, "I want you to think long and hard about that, and tell me what you think you should do." And if Ned supplied the right answer, Philip would give him a half-smile, pick up his work, and continue like their conversation had never happened. If he was wrong, he would get a stern lecture on mayoral duties and always thinking things through.

And in this case, what did he think his dad wanted to hear? "Sal, I love you. However, I have to make sure that every decision I make is a mature, responsible one. My father did not leave this job to me so that I could screw it up by being a dumb teenager. I need to live up to his legacy, and that means whatever I want has to be set aside."

She looked at him like he had two heads. "Ned, we're not talking about politics or legislature or Whoville-changing decisions. We're talking about our relationship. What does being a mayor have to do with us?"

He sighed. In his mind's eye, his father picked up the law he was reviewing and ignored him, a small smile on his face. The fact that Sally's had darkened with hurt and confusion was almost irrelevant in the knowledge that he had made his dad proud. "Being a mayor has to do with everything." He turned to head back to their table when she took his arm for the third time.

"Ned, wait." He did, surprised at how calm and confident he was. He was beginning to fill his dad's shoes, be the mayor he was supposed to be. She surveyed his impassive face and sighed. "Listen, I want to do whatever makes you happy," she said. "But impressing your dad and the council . . . that isn't what's really important. You know that, right?"

The Philip McDodd his brain had conjured up was setting aside his pen, his expression a little irritated. He knew that the answer this mental-father wanted to hear was something dismissive, something that put the job above everything else. But he couldn't say that to Sally because . . . well . . .

His confidence disappeared as the image of his dad did, leaving him just another teenage boy with sweaty palms and no idea what to do or say. "I need to talk to Patrick," he said, and for the second time left without giving her a chance to reply.

He found his friend sitting on a plastic bench that had been erected in the middle of the football field. It, along with several others and some strands of white lights, were meant to serve as a sort of garden for the prom-goers to use for some fresh air, and it was almost entirely deserted except for couples too engrossed in each other to notice anyone else. He sat down next to his glum friend without a word, and together they watched people dance and walk past the open gym doors. "Isn't that Sarah?" he asked as she whirled into their view, her arms wrapped around the neck of a bright pink Who in a pale gray tuxedo. "Is she with Erik Redson?"

"They've danced three songs together," Patrick said miserably. "I know she'll stop by to talk later, but I think this evening's kind of ruined for me." He turned to Ned with a small, forced smile. "What about you?"

He shook his head. "Not right now," he said. It made him feel better to talk about his friend's problems, and to think about something else. "You're not gonna tell her?"

It was a while before he answered, appraising the dance floor as "Billie Who" ended and "Mr. Whoboto" started up (Ned wondered if he was the only one getting sick of inserting "Who" into everything; he hoped that the fad would be over by the time his own children were teenagers). "No," he finally said, watching as Sarah entered their view again. She was laughing as Erik spun her around.

"What? Why not?"

"Look at her. She likes him a lot. She's never liked me like that, or if she did . . . well, it's over now. If I had a chance, I missed it." He kicked at a rock, scuffing up his dress shoe and causing dirt to settle on the legs of their pants.

In the building, Sarah spotted them. She tapped Erik's arm and pointed to where they were sitting. Before they could move more than a few steps, Patrick waved them away, his smile surprisingly convincing. Once they had returned to the dance floor, Ned said, "You didn't have to do that. You could still let her know how you feel."

"And ruin her night? That's not fair." He fell silent as a bunch of teenage girls shuffled by. They were making enough noise to hide his words, but they were too uncomfortable to talk until the girls had passed. "She's having a great night," he said, "and I want her to enjoy it. Telling her . . . it would just upset her, and I don't wanna do that. I'll do whatever she needs to make her happy, because when you think about it, nothing else really matters, you know?"

"Nothing else really matters," Ned repeated softly. "Ned, son, there's something really special about being mayor. Nothing else compares — not hobbies, not friends, nothing. It's the most important thing in your life, and you can't put anything or anyone else before it, no matter how much you want to."

Dad, he thought, as the mental image of his father came back. He was sitting at his desk, like always, but this time Ned's mother was standing behind him with one of his little brothers in her arms. She was always waiting behind Philip, hoping that he would have a moment to spare so that he could give her a hand. But the city was always more important, and most of the time she had to figure everything out on her own.

That was when he realized that his father was wrong. Some things are more important than being mayor, he told his imaginary father. His dad shook his head and threw his arms in the air, but all Ned could see was Carol McDodd and her little baby. She had food in her hair and a tear in her dress, and she was dead-on-her-feet tired, and still Philip wouldn't turn around, because there was a piece of paper that had to be signed, a phone call to be taken, something that went wrong to be solved and then covered up, because nothing ever goes wrong in Whoville.

"But enough about me," Patrick said. "How are you and Sal?" His brow furrowed. "Where is she, anyway?"

"I don't know, Pat," he replied, climbing to his feet. "But I really need to find out."

"And then Jackie told me that she was going to try and find a teal dress! Could you imagine that? With her coloring? I'm so glad I talked her out of it —"

"Me too," Sally said, not really listening. She was hoping to catch Sarah's eye; she needed a little female interaction, and Jamie and Kira just weren't cutting it. She wasn't in the mood to listen to Jamie explain the minutiae of her life, nor could she stomach Kira's attempts to discuss books or film or other intellectual pursuits.

When she really needed her best friends, they were nowhere to be found.

"And have you seen what Sherry's wearing? I hear she's trying to make Erik jealous, but she should know that backless cheetah print was not the way to go — hi, Ned." Sally whirled around, unsure as to whether to be mad or relieved to see him.

"Sal, can we talk for a second?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he kept tugging at his tie and looking at the ground.

She nodded and waved goodbye to Kira and Jamie, who just looked at each other and smirked. Once they were far enough away from everyone else, she said, "Ned, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable —"

He held up a hand, and she noticed that it was trembling slightly. "No, I'm sorry. I was trying so hard to be the kind of mayor — well, the kind of person, really — that my dad would want me to be instead of thinking about what I want or what you want. I just panicked, I guess." Before she could do more than open her mouth to speak, he continued hastily, "A-and I've thought about it a lot while I was gone, and I . . . if you still want to, I'm ready, too."

For a second she could only stare at him in shock. Then she lunged forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in the fur at the back of his head. When she pulled away, they were both panting for breath. "I love you, Ned McDodd," she whispered.

"I love you too, Sal." He looked a little dazed, but as she took his hand to pull him into one of the classrooms (they had been left locked, but some clever seniors had picked the locks of most of them earlier in the evening), he dug his heels into the ground. "Wait! I . . ." His face flushed dark red. "I don't know what I'm doing! I'll —"

She interrupted him with another kiss. "Does anyone know what they're doing?" she asked with a giggle. "We'll figure it out."

"We always do, I guess." Ned was looking at her with an expression that was part warmth and part something she couldn't quite define. Well, she could, but it was embarrassing to put into words.

Still, she winked at him and pulled open the door, knocking first to make sure it wasn't already occupied. "That's right," she said. An empty classroom wasn't exactly the romantic setting she had always pictured, but the time was right and the guy was right, and that was all that mattered. "We always do."

A/N: And there you have it! The excitement and drama of prom. I've lived through two, and they're not all they're cracked up to be, which is why I tried to tone down the "magic" that most people expect prom to be. Don't get me wrong - they're REALLY fun, but they're not like entering a fairy land where nothing ever goes wrong or anything.

And you might be thinking that Erik is a little TOO perfect, but I'm actually basing him a bit off this guy I knew in school (without his permission, of course. But he's not the type to read fanfiction, so I think we're okay). I don't know how some people can just be so likable that the social pariahs AND the popular kids both love him, and are both liked by him. Some people are just annoying like that. Besides, if Sarah was going to like anyone, it would have to be a pretty cool guy, because how awesome do you have to be to beat Patrick, really? The answer: SUPER awesome, of course!