“Lunch?” I ask, threading my fingers through his again. Feeling his hand in mine, my breathing starts to slow. I relax, if only for a moment. Ollie is back, I remind myself. Nothing can be that bad if Ollie is back.

On our way to the dining hall, as we walk in a comfortable silence, we pass a bunch of kiosks in front of the main house, all part of the Fall Fair advertising tryouts for plays and clubs. Oliver stops in front of a booth. A printed sign reads MASQUERADE BALL in loopy letters. Two students behind the booth are selling tickets. They wear old-school masks and long capes, like they just came from a Renaissance fair.

Ollie grabs a flyer from one of them and scans it. “This looks fun. Wanna go?” he asks, a smile playing over his lips. He turns to face me. “With me, I mean.”

I stop short.

“You want to go with me to a masquerade ball.” I’m practically speechless. Ollie and I never do stuff like that. Never did. We were the ones making fun of organized social events, not attending them.

“Could be a trip, right?” Ollie shrugs. “I know this wasn’t usually our thing, this kind of supervised, generic fun-in-a-box…”

“Um, no, it isn’t. It wasn’t. When’s the last time you saw me wear a costume?”

“Never. You hate Halloween.”

“Exactly. Why would I want to…” I skim the flyer, reading about the event. “Take part in the first annual Darkwood costume ball, a chance to shed my old identity and start a new year, fresh?” I make a face. “Sounds excruciating.”

“Two tickets, then?” one of the costumed teens behind the booth asks. “It’s going to be the dance of the century.”

“The century, huh,” I mutter. Ollie kicks me in the shin. He wants me to play nice.

“The dance is totally student organized and run,” the kid continues, oblivious to my sarcasm. “Teachers will be there, but only because it’s required,” she adds as a disclaimer.

“No, thanks,” I say quickly, pulling Ollie away from the booth so we can have a moment in private. “Seriously, Ollie? Are you sure those pharmas didn’t permanently alter your prefrontal cortex?”

“Definitely not.” He laughs. “But I was on that island a really long time. Alone. All I thought about when I was there, all I dreamed about, was us. Having one normal day with you. One normal hour.”

“Normal for us is staying up all night on a Kubrick bender. Watching Full Metal Jacket and Dr. Strangelove and sprinkling M&M’s on our popcorn… Sneaking shots of vodka from your flask.”

“We can bring the flask with us to the ball.” Ollie shrugs. “The M&M’s too.”

I shoot him a dubious look.

“Fine, this dance is cheesy and so not our style. There. I said it.”

“Thank you.”