I try it on in the dressing room, pleased with how the fabric falls over my body, how the crimson color contrasts my complexion, makes my skin look soft and smooth as milk.
When I step out, the store manager gasps in dramatic approval.
“Oh, you lookincredible! Doesn’t she look stunning?”
One of the shoppers stops browsing the racks and glances over appreciatively at me. “Could I try on that dress after her?” I overhear her ask.
Her friend lets out an envious sigh. “If I looked like that... I think I’d be happy walking around in a garbage bag.”
I bite back a smile and do a slow spin before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, sucking in my stomach and subtly arching my back. I meet Ares’s eyes in the reflection. He doesn’t shift his gaze away, doesn’t pretend to be fascinated by something else the way most boys do when they’re caught staring. He simply stares right back, dark brows raised, as if to say,Don’t you want me to look at you?
“Should I take this one?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “If you want.”
“Is it pretty, though?” I press.
“You know it’s pretty,” he says, but I can’t tell if that’s meant to be a compliment.
“It’s a very nice dress,” I allow, scrutinizing my reflection. “The shape is perfect, and I love the color and all, but I don’t like how the straps look. They’re a bit too thick over here, on theshoulders, and the clasp makes it tacky. It’d be my dream dress if it had simple spaghetti straps.” I turn to the store manager. “Any chance you could alter the dress?”
“We can’t do any alterations, I’m afraid,” she says.
I purse my lips. “All right. I’ll get it as a back-up dress for now. Let me just take a photo to show my friends.”
The store manager ducks out of the way as I raise my phone, angling it so that you can see the full shape of the dress—and Ares’s unmistakable reflection in the mirror. Then I post it to my close friends story with the captionprom thingsand a tiny heart. Ares might not plan on asking me to prom yet, but it can’t hurt to let people at schoolthinkhe has, so that by the time he does ask—and hewill, he must—we’ll already be the perfect prom couple in everyone else’s eyes.
The notifications flood in right away. Individual replies to my story from everyone in my circle.
omg????
CHANEL! IS THAT ARES YIN??!!!
girl what chapter did I miss??
spill. right now.
THE DRESS? THE MAN?!
please tell me you’re going to prom with ares yin (and that you’re getting the dress)
I fuel the speculation with just a few cryptic eye emojis.
“What are you smiling at?” Ares’s voice sounds over my shoulder, much closer than I’d expected.
I hastily shove my phone away but keep the smile on my face. “My friends agree that the dress is pretty,” I say, only a half lie. “Looks like our mission is complete for the day. Want to go grab food now? I know areallygood spot—prepare to be amazed.”
“I’m never amazed,” he says, but he doesn’t reject the dinner invitation outright, which I’m choosing to take as a sign that he’s warming up to me.
“Well,” I say, clapping my hands together, “that’s about to change.”
After Ares drops all my bags off at my driver’s car, we step out together into the evening air. The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, burning a brilliant orange as if setting the skyscrapers aflame.
We walk down the street in silence for a while, until it becomes clear that Ares isn’t going to initiate a conversation.
That’s fine. I’ve got it under control.
“So. Have you broken any bones before?” This is my go-to question. A classic. I’ve tried it out on at least ten different boys, and I’ve been continuously stunned by how well it works—even the most reserved of them will light up and tell you in vivid, heart-pounding detail their grand tale of heroism, the pain they suffered through and ultimately overcame, the drawn-out process of getting a cast, getting classmates to sign the cast, taking offthe cast, and the long recovery afterward.
