She bites back a smile and ushers me in the direction of the classroom. “I’m just saying, he could end up giving Damien a run for his money,” she teases. “Anyway, grab your stuff so we can get out of here.”

I hurry down the hallway, trying to put my embarrassment behind me, but my mind lingers on the moment Mason’s fingers grazed mine, a sensation that felt familiar and foreign at the same time.

08 | Uncover

Torrential rain arrives in Pender Falls on the same night as my party. It comes down in sheets, soaking everything in sight, making for low visibility and blurred headlights, especially with the added cover of nightfall. I get ready in Zoe’s lavish bedroom, holding still while she swipes glitter across my cheeks.

Her house is stunning. It’s a three-story character home with a wraparound porch and Victorian references everywhere you look. Both the exterior and interior are beautiful, although extremely intimidating. I thought my house was nice, but it feels like nothing compared to this.

“Excited?” she asks, concentrating as she puts on the final touches. She’s beautiful as always, her winged eyeliner making her eyes look sharp, but they’re softened by the glitter on her own cheeks. Her blond hair has been styled in loose curls, a thin, gold headband nestled into her hairline.

“Sure.”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “It’s your birthday. Can you at least smile?”

I do my best to obey her orders, but I have a feeling it comes off as more of a grimace.

Zoe laughs, turning to the mirror to fluff up her hair, and I peer at my own reflection, feeling like a doll she’s primped and polished, entirely unlike myself. My features are more defined thanks to Zoe’s makeup expertise, and my hair frames my face nicely, but my expression is somber. It reminds me of how I looked when I tried on the dress in Plaisir—a skewed reflection of the old Allie. She pulls out her phone, loops an arm around my shoulder, and brings me to her side as she takes a mirror selfie. Standing side by side like this, we’re reminiscent of an angel and a demon. After snapping a few more in which I try not to look miserable, she seems satisfied and tosses the phone into her purse.

“I’m just nervous,” I admit, fiddling with my skirt. “And you haven’t even told me where we’re going yet.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you all night,” she promises. “Pinkie swear.”

I reach up to lock our pinkies together. “Okay.”

The door to her bedroom bursts open, and Mrs. Harris enters. Zoe is practically the spitting image of her mother, but with younger, rounder features. The way the woman carries herself reminds me of Sofia: poised and dignified, seeming to be above everything else.