Page 14 of Damsel in Disguise

Dad sighs. “Asher…”

“What? You’re scolding me?” he points dramatically at himself. “I didn’t flip her off—”

Dad glares at him.

“No one takes my advice,” Asher grumbles.

Dad rolls his eyes while I giggle.

His eyes softening immediately as they return to me. “Ignore him.”

Asher throws his arms out as his jaw drops in the background. I shake my head.

“I’ll save y’all some seats on my graduation day. Also, you have to bring Adrian and Uncle Chris. I miss them both.”

Mom sobs and looks at me again. “We all will be there for you, sweetie. Go get ready, my little princess.”

I end the call with an over-emotional mother and sigh, falling back on the chair.

The prom hall is all dim lights and perfected glamour—gold streamers, mirrored tiles, music vibrating through the floor.

Everyone looks softer here. As if the night itself has been designed to convince us we’re still innocent.

I’m wearing a bold pink tulle skirt with a matching corset, which is pushing my tits up, making them appear double the actual size. The skirt falls on my upper thighs and is feathery, as if made from the wings of a huge, mystical bird.

I finished matching Versace platform heels. My makeup is simple, focusing mainly on my glittery, bold pink lips and a half-updo hair with a big bow clip.

I’m walking around, catching up with everyone—taking pictures, laughing, vibing with the music alongside them, and whatnot. Nobody turns me around because I’m a Keinston.

That’s when a boy from my class, Brent Callaway, walks in my direction. He’s wearing a dark colored suit with a white shirt underneath.

He’s nice. That’s the problem. Nice in the way that never quite settles into certainty—mixed signals wrapped in shy smiles, hands that hesitate to reach for mine, eyes that flick away when I’m looking at him for too long.

“Hi,” he says, stopping only a foot away from me.

“Hey,” I wave my fingers at him with a smile.

I notice him fidgeting. He’s already nervous.

“You look beautiful, Ariella.”

It takes everything in him to call me by my first name.

Nonetheless, I can’t help but smile widely at him. “Thanks. White shirt suits you,” I wanted to mention his suit, but I can’t pinpoint the exact color because of the changing lights.

A blush creeps up his face as he looks down. Then he clears his throat and takes a hesitant step towards me.

Brent bows down, offering his hand. “May I have this dance with you, Miss Keinston?”

Everyone around us stops in whatever they were doing. It takes a huge courage to ask out a Keinston like this in public.

And someone like Brent Callaway, a no-name, just did that. Even I’m taken aback by his sudden boldness.

I feel everyone is eagerly waiting for my reaction.

I smile and take his hand. “Yes.”

Most cheers for him. On us. Some regrets not making the first move.