In the days leading up to the masquerade ball, it’s the talk of the school: who’s going with whom, who’s wearing which costumes, and who’s planning on spiking the punch with “happy pharmas.” I’m surprised when, the evening before the dance, the Similars announce they plan on going too. Maude with Jago, and the others as a group. Pru has majorly mixed feelings about it, reminding me why we’re friends in the first place, but she relents to go after I beg her to come with me and Ollie, in solidarity. The more of us who are there ironically, to laugh at the whole thing, the better.

The Friday morning of the dance, as excitement for the evening builds, our teachers have a hard time getting anyone to concentrate in class. I pass Ollie a note during chemistry that says, “It’s not too late to change your mind.” He shoots me a grin and shakes his head. Damn. I’m not off the hook.

Still, I’m sticking to my word and refusing to wear a costume, even as Ollie relentlessly teases me about how I’ll be the only one to ever attend a “ball” in jeans and a T-shirt. He wanted normal, though, didn’t he? That is normal, for me.

At dinner that night, the masquerade planning committee rushes us through the food line. They complain about the unreasonably tight schedule, moaning that an hour isn’t enough time to transform the hall from drab to fab. I have to hold back a laugh as one of the girls I recognize from the Fall Fair lashes out at a first year for moving too slowly. He’s so flustered and intimidated by her, he spills his pasta all over the floor, which causes her to flip out, becoming totally incensed. I remind Ollie this is why I hate balls, and school functions, in general. They make everyone forget how to behave.

Back in our room, Pru models two different costume choices—a sequined jumpsuit and a pleather unitard.

“I walked to town yesterday with Pippa to that thrift store, Common Threads,” she explains, striking an awkward pose that makes me laugh. These outfits are the antithesis of Pru, who lives, breathes, and sleeps in athletic clothes. “Which one says, ‘I’m wearing this costume against my will?’”

I vote for the jumpsuit but, admittedly, I’m not really paying attention.

There’s a knock at the door, and I answer it. It’s Ollie, dressed up in a cape and a bow tie, and he holds one of those masks in his hands that’s on a stick and looks vintage, but is probably a cheap reproduction. He smiles from behind it, charmingly, and I’m so happy to see him so happy that I almost forget about how annoying this dance is going to be.