Page 96 of Sinister

Then it dawned on me. Ah, this is going to be awkward.

“That’s really sweet, Harry, but umm, I don’t really do school dances. Tacky costumes, mediocre food and beverages, even more mediocre music,” I was rambling away, internally praying for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. “It’s just not for me. Thank you for asking, though, I just-I hope you understand . . .”

“Of course, Petra, no pressure!” Harry had sputtered when I had finally paused for breath. “And no hard feelings at all.”

He’d smiled warmly at me.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Or anyone.”

It had been a bittersweet proposal and a graceful declining (at least I hope so), but now, when Sin asks me to the fall ball for the umpteenth time, I can suddenly not find any of my usual qualms about these dances.

Caught in the moment’s erotic drift, I find myself responding to Sin without thinking. “You know what, Arnoult? All right. I’ll go to the fall ball with you.”

Sin’s eyes light up with genuine surprise. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yup, you’ve convinced me. Let’s go. What the hell, right? Let’s make it a night to remember.”

The days leading up to the fall ball whirl by in a blaze of coursework for Ms. Matthews and putting the final touches on the first draft of my creative portfolio for college applications.

But they are also marked by long sessions of costume selections, styling vision boards, and micro photo shoots, as I fully indulge my guilty pleasure of dressing up to the nines.

Thankfully, it’s been a relatively quiet period when it comes to my odd dreams; perhaps it’s because I’ve been spending more time with Sin, and therefore, my mind does not have to make up more absurd scenarios anymore.

Maybe.

I have just put on a demure white and gold Karl Lagerfeld ensemble when my phone pings with a message from Amelia.

Hey, girl! Tell me tell me tell me that you found THE dress?

I’m still trying to decide. My closet feels like a battlefield right now.

And I’m not even exaggerating. My room is now littered with half of my wardrobe. Dresses, skirts, heels, and accessories are strewn across every surface.

Show me! I help!

I snap a few pictures of potential ensembles that I have laid out across the room and send them over to Amelia.

What will it be, Petra? LV or Dior? Or are you going with something new and edgy?

Decisions, decisions.

I don’t know yet, Ames!

I text back.

Hopefully I won’t go crazy and end up in a boring Chanel two-piece.

Anything but Chanel.

All my homies hate Chanel!

She texts back, making me chuckle.

Mama wants more shots, so keep them coming, baby girl.

I try on a Burberry dress from the 2012 collection and take a few selfies. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

Next, I put on a red and blue dress with an ombre effect, a sleek silhouette from Armani Privé that highlights my collarbone and plunges quite low in the back. I take a mirror selfie and send it to Amelia for approval.