That last bit earned some snickers from the boys’ table. I cut my eyes in that direction, trying to figure out which boy thought it was funny. There was no way to know. They were all identical. It would be impossible to identify the guilty parties.

“And with that, I open The Promise Ball,” Sarabeth said, giving a little bow.

A waltz was piped into the room, and the boys were on their feet at once. They left their table and advanced on us, making me feel like prey.

Although the boys were all dressed the same, their behavior was markedly different. Some boys greeted the girl in a polite manner, offering their hand to help her stand before leading her onto the dance floor. Other boys were rude and offensive. They made snide remarks as they sauntered toward the girls. A few boys demanded the girl get to her feet before ordering her to follow him to the dance floor. Many of the girls were frightened, but all were obedient.

But I recognized the boys for what they were. Cowards. I wondered how brave these boys would be if they weren’t hidden by their masks. A part of me wished one of these rude boys would ask me to dance; I’d slap that mask right off his face… then punch his nose for good measure. The other part of me knew that would be a bad idea. It was better I not be discovered before I was ready.

The first boy I danced with was sweet, gentle. Although his words were nice enough, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being tested. I reminded myself to stay on my toes and in character.

“I hope your stay at The House hasn’t been too uncomfortable,” he said.

“Oh no,” I said. “Everyone has been so nice here. And all the girls, we get along like the best of friends. Even better, we get along like sisters.”

It was difficult, having a conversation with someone without the benefit of seeing their face. I could take no cue from his expression, didn’t know if what I said was appropriate. I could, however, feel his posture as we danced. He was relaxed, which made me feel I had responded in the correct way.

Since we had to dance with every boy at the ball, I was under the impression the dances would be quick. I was wrong. Each waltz lasted five or six minutes. When we finished dancing, the boy escorted me back to the table, pulling my chair out for me to sit. Calla returned to her seat at the same time.

The boy placed a large red coin on the table in front of me. Calla’s partner did the same, only his was a green coin. “Would you like something to drink?” asked my former dance partner.

“That’d be great,” I said.

Calla pinched my upper arm.