Page 97 of Sinister

O.M.G. You look hawt!

She texts back immediately, following that up with a string of heart-eye emojis.

But her effusive praise doesn’t distract me from the fact that, though the clothes fall over my body in just the right way, I can see and feel a bump forming over my panty line.

Well, fuck, I think. Amelia is sending more messages telling me how ravishing I look, but I have suddenly lost all interest in the whole charade.

My thoughts are again consumed by the fearful realization that it’s been almost four months since I found out . . . and neither have I told Sin, nor Amelia, nor any other adult for that matter, nor have I made the much-needed trip to the Planned Parenthood center in New Haven.

Why have I been dragging my feet on this, you ask? Partly because I’m being courted by the dreamiest, most popular guy in school, and it’s a heady feeling that’s left me ill-disposed to negative rumination. And partly because I don’t have the nerve to make a full-fledged final decision just when my life has started to get interesting.

So, determined to enjoy whatever time I had left to be a “normal teenage girl,” I dress myself carefully on the night of the fall ball.

I have chosen a baby-blue tulle slip dress that softly cascades to my ankles and is loosely belted at the waist with pearls. A thin band of flowers and small pearls sits on my head, and my hair falls to my shoulders in waves.

My parents aren’t home, which is both a relief and a bit disheartening. They’re always so busy with their own lives, and tonight is no different. The house feels oddly quiet, save for the ticking of the clock and my own racing heartbeat.

A knock comes at the door.

Sin’s here.

28

PETRA

I open the door to see him standing there in a sharp suit with a rather fetching handkerchief folded in his breast pocket. His eyes widen when he sees me, and he puts his hand over his heart in a theatrical gesture.

“Stop!” I say, feeling immensely flattered. “You’re the better-looking one.”

“Are you insane, woman?” Sin counters. “You’re the most . . . gorgeous forest nymph who ever drifted out of the woods one day and decided to grace this grateful mere mortal with her presence.”

“Shut up, you’re so dramatic!”

But inside, my heart is doing flips and somersaults.

“And you’re coming to the fall ball with me, right?” Sin asks, making a big show as usual. “You aren’t going to just change your mind when we reach the school and just leave me hanging, are you?”

“Oh my God, will you stop it?” I punch his arm again, and he staggers back, holding his heart.

“Okay, okay! I’m done, I’m done,” he says, still sighing at me. When I put on a stern face and cross my arms, he offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

I take his arm, and we step out into the cool evening air. The ride to St. Anselm Hall passes pleasantly, too, like all our “study dates” so far: filled with banter and laughter.

When we arrive at the school, the sight of the grandly decorated entrance stuns me. Twinkling lights and beautifully arranged flowers create a magical atmosphere, and for a moment, I allow myself to get lost in it.

Sin parks the car and turns to me, an excited grin on his face.

“Ready to make some jaws drop, Valentine?”

“More than ready, Arnoult,” I reply with genuine enthusiasm. After all, my time for such shenanigans is fast running out.

We step out of the car and walk into the large hall set aside for the ball. Music and laughter weave together, passing over fashionable coiffures and whimsical braids.

The SAH populace has truly delivered, it must be noted, with the girls looking bright and colorful and even the guys delivering killer looks from Balmain and Thom Browne.

Sin holds the door open for me, and we step inside, greeted by the ethereal strains of a Mitski song.

I can feel the music reaching all the way down to my soles.