Over time, most of everyone had abandoned Frank's side: Alan grew disappointed he was not always the center of attention, and thus wandered about the other leadership students until he found kindred souls who believed in wholesome values like loyalty and blind obedience; Behrooz had after one too many conflicts grown introverted, almost to the degree of reclusion; and even Ms. Foster, who had the patience of a saint, became convinced her advice was beyond them—she counted the days until they'd graduate and she'd be able to go back to running her own school. That left Juliet, who sat across from Frank like she always did, and tried her hardest to recall the good times they had had the previous year when it was just them.

"Do you remember, Frank, when Mrs. Huang suggested we go to prom together? Wasn't that funny of her?" Juliet smiled, looking around to make sure nobody was listening in.

"Yeah, it was quite funny. What about it?"

"Well, I was just thinking, you know, what do seniors usually do before prom, their last main social event of the year—what should we do as leaders, you know, to celebrate everything we've done? Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Enlighten me."

"How about we go together? Like as an actual couple, not just as coworkers." She reached out her hand, and Frank hesitantly shook it.

"Life's short. Shall we rent a limo? You know I can't drive."

"Fine," she huffed.

"Just the two of us will be a waste of money—how about we get John and Beth, and dare I say, Tom and Regina? Time heals all wounds, and I think it's time I give people credit where credit is due."

"Go with Frank? What are you, nuts?" Tom shouted at Regina, who was too scared to react. "He's going to murder me—he'll push me out of the limo and I'll roll down the hill and fall into the reservoir. You've got to be kidding me."

"As much as I hate to play this card, I'm a Gamma; I outrank you. If I say we're taking a limo, we're taking a limo, unless you'd rather walk instead. This is a special night, and if you ruin my last shot at the high school experience, Frank won't be the one murdering you." Regina had come to the realization one day while tutoring some particularly incorrigible children that in all senses of the world, she was better than them: she wanted to go to medical school, what did they want to do? Shoot hoops all day? This attitude served her well, and enabled her ascension to the respectable level of society, all while Tom staunchly refused to do anything noble and thus remained a lowly Epsilon.

"OK, fine, fine, fine! We'll go, just please, shut up."

"Tom!"

"Whatever—'please be quiet, my dear friend.'"

The six of them met at Heller and waited for the promised limo. Springtime was in the air—it wafted from every fragile bloom and radiated from every door. Juliet insisted on a group photo to commemorate the then-infrequent occasion when all six of them could be in the same place with the illusion of civility.

"Who's going to take the photo?" John asked. "Someone needs to hold the camera, right? We can't all fit in a selfie. Who wishes to be erased from the annals of history?"

"Don't be so dramatic, John. I will," Frank declared, and he directed them all to the entrance to the student parking lot, in front of the wooden "Heller High School" sign that had greeted all of them on their first day. John put his arm around Beth's shoulder, Tom and Regina embraced more tightly, and Juliet did not want to be excluded and stood next to John, flanking him. After taking a few photos, Frank watched the five of them silently, weighing his phone in his hand like it were a lump of gold. Photos contained power, John was certainly right about that—how else would people understand the recent past? The distant past was a lost cause altogether, just dusty tomes and steles one needed a PhD to read. But photos, those had some merit. Anyone with two eyes could see the lavender hue of the lilac trees behind them, the orange and black banner in the far-off distance, or the shaded emerald hall of bamboo. There was some texture there.

Frank would not be entirely erased from history: Juliet had come to his house for an early dinner after Frank could no longer deny her requests to see his house beyond the front porch. His parents, too, were curious to understand what exactly it was that forced Frank to keep his school and personal life separate—was Juliet some hideous, unkempt, socially stunted wretch? They were delighted to discover their first impressions of her were not inaccurate, and naturally, they insisted Frank take a photo with his "partner in crime" at his side. So at least one photo remained extant, that was for sure. But what would that photo, Frank in a tuxedo and crimson boutonnière politely grimacing as he held Juliet in a trailing, majestic midnight-black dress next to him, reveal about the past should some historian dig it up? The backdrop told little: it revealed Frank lived on a street, which was a fair assumption to begin with, and that it sloped upward slightly. The time was a few hours before sunset, which still did not explain much. If one were to examine the sides, as Frank did when deciding how to crop his one novel historical relic, they would see a wicker fence, a Gravenstein apple tree, and a rosebush. That still told little, except that when Frank had written the saga of Frederick and Gertrude for drama class, he had drawn upon his own life. Life imitated art, and art imitated life; before Frank could reflect more, the limo arrived, and exactly as Frank had timed, they were brought to prom early enough that Frank could greet the first guests and verify that everything had been assembled to satisfy his exacting standards.

"Eat, drink, and be merry!" Frank proclaimed to everyone he met, weaving between sophomores in tuxedos delicately carrying trays of canapes. The theme was still Gatsby, or a variant plucked out of time incorporating some modern sensibilities—more variety in music, for one, and the hors d'oeuvres were fairly cosmopolitan. They had spent a good chunk of their earnings to make this an appropriate sendoff to the first epoch of club domination, and Frank played his role as toastmaster extraordinaire with supreme aplomb. For a night, he hoped that everyone's dreams would come true.

John did not know whether he were in the past or present. Everything felt suffused with emotion, with every table having a story to tell. Beth wore white instead of black, but she still walked with elegance, and every time John watched her walk, he expected the band to start playing and everyone, everything else to disappear in a flash of light. Frank's loom of fate had spun out an universe of ineffable gaudiness, one which trapped John in its threads; John did not know whether he was supposed to talk with his friends or remain in awestruck silence.

"Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!" Frank had greeted Tom before remembering that he was no new guest. "Not bad, right?"

"You've outdone yourself again," Tom sneered. "I thought you were heartless, but even if this party's built on the back of Epsilon labor, not bad at all. I'm not kidding here, have you considered a career in event planning?"

"If it pays the bills, sure. This is the stuff that dreams are made of, Tom. Look down," Frank said pointing from the balcony to the dance floor framed in shiny marble. "I can guarantee that someone down there is having the best time of their life because of me. Good old humble Franklin Barnes. John and Beth, those star-crossed lovers, are finally together. Alan and Jason are having fun in their own way, bossing around all your compatriots to keep this well-oiled machine running. Regina's somewhere down there waiting for you, go. I'll watch."

"Where's Juliet? I thought you were here together."

"Probably looking for me," Frank laughed. "If you see her, tell her to look up."

Frank had instructed the band to cycle through a good mix of historically accurate music, with exceptions for classics like the Cha Cha Slide that even he could not deny. One of these songs was Shostakovich's Second Waltz, which through some cosmic coincidence Frank thought would be the sort of song Gatsby would listen to on repeat, alone in his office, crying into a handkerchief. With the first downbeat, John's promised epiphany came: the room became empty, silent, and then pitch-black except for the bright, full moon, which shined through a window overhead and acted as a spotlight on just himself and Beth. Each step was precise, exactly as John had been taught long ago: one two three one two three until in yet another flash, the illusion was dispelled and he was back with everyone else. John could have danced all night, he thought, through day and night and as the Earth grew weary in its pendulous orbit around the Sun, and even as the Sun grew red and burst in a wave of hellfire.

By this point, Frank had made it downstairs, and snuck over to where the band was to watch from the periphery, where Mr. T also stood "supervising" the least he could. The piano player muttered something in Mr. T's ear and left, and Mr. T shrugged and took his place.

"He needed a smoke break," Mr. T explained. "So, any song requests? This is your chance to complete the cycle, to leave an indelible mark on everyone here. Suggest something soulful."

Frank grinned thinly and remembered the pure ecstasy he had witnessed on John's face as he and Beth danced. There was some ultimate climax in the crescendo of the last four years, the ribbon on top that would tie everything together. Frank held the keys to the universe, and with a stroke of a pen he could rewrite history. "For John," he thought to himself. "For all the dreamers."

"Play it, Max. Play 'As Time Goes By.'"

"D-sharp major, just like the movie," Mr. T told the singer, who nodded knowingly. Frank listened and felt his apotheosis complete. Even from across the room, he could see John's dull expression suddenly brighten as memories flooded into his head from all directions. Past, present, and future crystallized, unified; it was a miracle John did not collapse from the sensory overload, but instead remained upright and resolute.

"This is the song from that movie we watched," Beth whispered, not wanting to speak too suddenly and shatter the enchantment of the music.

"I know, I've always known." John remembered vividly then that when at the lake, in their mist-shrouded house where storms raged and battered, Beth had worn blue. Watery blue, a deep aquamarine, that shone from the sea and down from the sky when she swam, whenever it was that the sun had come out to play—not that year, it couldn't have been, it was dark then. Must have been the year afterward. Blue skies, nothing but blue skies then; John had never seen the sun shining so bright as it did then, and he thought he would never see it again. Now that he thought about it, the sky was blue on the day of winter formal, that day that passed by a blur with nothing but bread, butter, and Beth. He'd always have Paris, that was a fact on which he could rely. Bread was good, John thought; he liked food. One time Beth had rung his doorbell one early Saturday afternoon, a cloudy day like any other; John had heard the noise and casually sauntered from his room to the door, expecting his new gaming mouse, and nearly dropped his coffee mug in astonishment when Beth stood on his porch instead. A few minutes later, John was in her minivan, where he thought he could see his reflection in the polished backs of the car seats. They drove somewhere to eat, he couldn't even remember where at that point, but it was just the two of them. Like it always was. John's mind kept jumping between times—only the good ones, of course, as there was no room for the bad in a moment like this. Moments which evoked no pathos could simply be discarded; nobody would miss them. With the final chords, John's breath slowed, his heart dropped, and their steps ground to a halt.

"My dear protégé, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality," Mr. T remarked after the song finished and the piano player returned to his post.

"On the contrary, Mr. T, I've now realized for the first time in my life the vital importance of being Frank." Instead of laughing, they watched the dance floor silently, following John as he roused himself and went to the snack bar to sit down and sob.

"I miss him. I really do," Frank admitted, shedding a solitary tear that worked its way down his cheek and landed on his boutonnière. "I hope if he's watching, he'll forgive me for my sins. He probably wouldn't—he's never been that nice—but I think he would understand."

"I don't know to whom this entire party is a tribute, but whoever they are, I am sure they are pleased. And that they forgive you for all your sins. You have a date, don't you? Daisy calls." As if by magic, Juliet walked up to them and forcefully grabbed Frank's hand, and they walked to the dance floor. Throughout the night, people came to pay their regards to them, thanking them alternately for the food, the music, and the "vibe," whatever that meant. It was no surprise, then, that Frank and Juliet were voted prom king and queen; Alan didn't even have to rig the votes. Frank wore his plastic crown a little, then when nobody else was looking threw it in the trash; he folded the sash down into a tiny square, which he tucked in his breast pocket as if it were a fashion accessory.

Juliet's sporting kiss on the cheek at the end of the night was a gesture Frank was quite surprised by, and also one he did not think was necessary to return. It was their first and also most likely their last, he assumed. They were just a couple of people living their lives, not a couple in the other sense of the word. That's the answer he gave other people when they asked if they were anything but partners in crime. As much as he loathed the term, perhaps they were BFFs. They waved goodbye to each other couple as they left down the steps and to their parents' cars.

"I'm sorry," Tom mumbled with a pat on Frank's back. "You're a good kid."

"You don't need to apologize. I forgive. I always have," Frank responded, waving to Tom and Regina as they left; once they were out of sight, Frank took out his phone and logged into TigerTalk, and Tom and Regina became Alphas once more. The subtle April heat began to wane, even though it was only 10 PM, and Frank grew tired of well-rehearsed goodbyes just as he saw his parents arrive; being the gentleman he was, he helped Juliet into the car, and together they drove back to familiar ground. Ordinarily Frank would have wanted to help clean up the mess, but Alan had insisted halfway through the night that he finally be put in charge of something, all with such a furious intensity bordering on tears that Frank stepped back and kindly bequeathed the responsibility.

Alan sat on a box of chinaware and stared at the grand hall, which without any decorations seemed pedestrian; even the statues had to go, which were lugged onto carts and dragged to trucks. Where was his happy ending? Why had his heart not burst out of his chest in a bloody ba-boom? He had been cheated out of something everyone else in the room had earned; even Jason, who also had no date, had found his epiphany in the choreographed movements of his waitstaff. He had lost the war.

The euphoria of prom rapidly reverted to more practical concerns the next school day, where those who had spent the entire weekend riding the sugar high of that magical Friday night rediscovered mortal concerns like tests and essays. For Frank, prom proved a reminder that for all his visionary spirit, if their well-oiled machine were to persist once its progenitors left, the coming election proved to be of utmost importance:

"Wheels must turn steadily, but cannot turn untended. There must be men to tend them, men as steady as the wheels upon their axles, sane men, obedient men, stable in contentment," Frank explained to Jason. "I need a list of the top-ranked students at the school. The most alpha of the Alphas. Most importantly, we need people who understand exactly what the complicated, twisted legacy they're inheriting is. We need stability—community, identity, and stability are pillars of our society, are they not? We need followers who understand, or can be made to understand, that How To Be A Good Person is satire, but that that has no bearing on society today. Get someone sensible like Behrooz to give his opinions on them. Sense, that's what we need."

"I have four loyal members of the robotics team who would be perfect for the job. Pranav chose them himself, long ago; I'd like to think he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that they would be destined for greatness."

Behrooz stared at his four new lieutenants, trying to read in their faces exactly who they were—with Frank and Juliet, he had at least known them as people with heads on their shoulders and brains sloshing somewhere around in their cranial cavities. But these juniors, with names he had never seen before, promised nothing. They may as well have been anonymous.

"What's your goal for the school?" Behrooz asked nobody in particular.

"Sir! Our goal is to repeat this year's success tenfold!" The tallest of them, who Behrooz believed was going to be the new president, announced.

"And how exactly will you do that?"

"Sir! By focusing on our scriptures, and by crushing all dissenters like bugs!"

"Very well. You have my blessing," Behrooz sighed. All of them were perspicacious in their own ways, possessing perfect GPAs and a laundry list of extracurricular activities between them, but where was that passion? Where was that genuine desire to make the school a better place? What they possessed, and he did not, was an earnest belief in the righteousness of their actions; they had never complained one bit about the security cameras, the caste system, or the uniforms. They had been groomed over the years to accept nothing but that, and their casual disregard for anyone opposed to that goal made them perfect candidates to take up the torch. There was little need for pageantry with the elections that year: there was only one set of candidates, the ones Behrooz had reluctantly approved, and so they used their speeches to hearken back to the year's successes and promise many more in the future. Their speeches were reserved, with no pounding of the lectern or hoarsely shouted appeals to unity, and the audience clapped timorously while troublemakers were quietly led outside. The seniors did not get to vote, and so it took some time for the news to spread that next year would be a repeat of this year; that elicited some laughter and wisecracking, but why did they care? It wasn't their problem anymore.

One day, Tom and Regina were driven by a strange sense of curiosity to check out a Monday club meeting, when new material was introduced and they consequently were less likely to be out of the loop, to see what had transpired in their absence. The desks were arranged in little pods of four, and Frank talked in a muted voice introducing Euthyphro; he pointed to a table to the side, where copies of the text were available, displayed next to a table with an array of fresh fruit and other snacks. The MPR was just as packed as usual, but unlike before, no inquisitive eyes peeked through the glass walls. It seemed peaceful enough, and so Tom and Regina grabbed packets and found empty seats.

Discussion Questions:

The chapter title was a working title for The Great Gatsby; once again, what references to that novel do we see in this chapter? In what other ways have chapter titles been relevant?

One of perhaps the most iconic scenes in film is in Casablanca, when Rick instructs Sam to play "As Time Goes By"; what function does the reference here accomplish thematically?

Why is the ending of this chapter so anticlimactic?