“I just want to look at the dress! Not my hair.”
“Trust me. You’ll be so happy if you wait to get the full effect.” She beamed. “Besides, I’m really enjoying this.”
I couldn’t exactly say no to the woman who had spent the last week altering my dress. So I sat on the edge of the bed and let her start brushing and braiding.
“Balthazar’s a terrific guy,” she said. “Seems that way to me, at least.”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Hmm. That sounded less than enthusiastic.”
“It isn’t. At least, I don’t mean it to be.” My protests sounded weak, even to me. “I just don’t know him very well yet. That’s all.”
“You study together all the time. I’d say you know him well enough for a first date.” Mom’s deft fingers wove a slender braid at my temple. “Is this about Lucas, maybe? Whatever happened with you two?”
He tried to turn me against you and then started beating up on construction workers in town, Mom. So naturally he’s the one I want to be with. Maybe you and Dad would like to go chase Lucas with flaming torches now? “Nothing really. We’re not right for each other. That’s all.”
“You still care about him, though.” She spoke so gently, and I wished I could just turn around and hug her. “If it helps any, you and Balthazar obviously have more in common. He’s someone you could be serious about. But I’m getting ahead of myself. You’re sixteen, and you don’t need to think about being serious. You need to have fun at this dance.”
“I will. Just wearing this dress is sort of amazing.”
“It needs something else.” Mom stood in front of me, studying her handiwork with her hands on her hips. Then her face lit up. “Eureka!”
“Mom, what are you doing?” To my dismay, my mother was walking over to my telescope, scissors in hand, and snipping off the ends of my strings of paper origami stars. “Mom! I love those!”
“We’ll fix them later.” She held two small strands now, the ones with only the tiniest stars on the end. Their silvery paint sparkled as she put them in my hands. “Hang onto those for a second, will you?”
“You’re nuts,” I said, the moment I realized what she was doing.
“Tell me that again after you see it.” After Mom slid the last bobby pin in place, she wheeled me around to face the mirror. “Look.”
At first I couldn’t believe that the girl in the reflection was me. The midnight-blue dress made my pale skin look as creamy and perfect as silk. My makeup wasn’t all that different from what I usually wore, but my mother’s experienced hands had shaded everything more softly. My dark-red hair was pulled back from my forehead in several small braids of varying widths, then flowed down my neck—the way women might have worn their hair in the Middle Ages. Instead of a wreath of flowers like they wore in old pictures, I wore silver stars in my hair, small enough to look like jeweled clips. They glinted as I turned my head from side to side, studying myself from every angle. “Oh, Mom. How did you do this?”
Tears were welling in my mother’s eyes. She was such a sap, in the best way. “I had a beautiful daughter, that’s how.”
She always told me I was pretty, but this was the first time I’d ever thought Mom might be telling the truth. I wasn’t some magazine-cover knockout like Courtney or Patrice—but this was beauty, too.
When we went into the living room, my father looked about as shocked as I felt. He and Mom hugged each other, and she whispered, “We did good, huh?”
“We definitely did.”
They kissed each other like I wasn’t there. I cleared my throat. “Uh, guys? I thought teenagers were the ones who were supposed to make out on prom night.”
“Sorry, honey.” Dad put one hand on my shoulder; his hand felt cool to me, as if I were glowing with warmth. “You’re absolutely stunning. I hope Balthazar knows what a lucky guy he is.”
“He’d better,” I said, and they laughed.
I could tell that Mom and Dad wanted to go downstairs with me, but to my relief, they didn’t. That would have been taking chaperoning a little too far. Besides, I liked having a few moments to myself as I went, the skirt of my dress lifted in one hand and fluttering as I made my way down the steps. It gave me a chance to convince myself that all of this was real and not some dream.
Below me I could hear laughter and talk and soft strains of music; the dance had already begun, and I was running late. With luck, Patrice would be right about keeping guys waiting.
The second I reached the bottom of the stone steps and walked into the candlelit great hall, Balthazar turned, as if he’d somehow sensed I was coming. Just one glance at his eyes, at the way he was staring at me, made me realize Patrice had definitely been right. “Bianca,” he said, stepping closer. “You look amazing.”
“So do you.” Balthazar was wearing a tuxedo, classic, the way Cary Grant dressed back in the 1940s. As handsome as he was, though, I couldn’t help glimpsing the great hall behind him and sighing, “Oh, wow.”
The hall was hung with bowers of ivy and illuminated with tall white candles that had been set in front of old, hand-hammered plates of brass, so that they reflected even more light. On a small stand in the corner sat the band, not a bunch of rock’n’rollers in blue jeans and T-shirts but classical musicians in tuxes even more formal than Balthazar’s, playing a waltz. Dozens of couples danced, in a perfect pattern, like a scene from a picture two centuries old. A few of the new students stood against the wall, guys in suits meant to be campy or cool, girls in short dresses with sequins; they all seemed to be aware that they’d misjudged the occasion.
“I just realized I should have asked you this before—Can you waltz?” Balthazar offered me his arm.
I took it as I said, “Yes. Well, mostly. My parents taught me all the old dances, but I’ve never done them with anyone else. Or anyplace but at home.”
“First time for everything.” He led me further into the great hall, so that the candlelight shone more brightly all around us. “Let’s begin.”
Balthazar swung us into the dance as if he’d rehearsed it; he knew exactly where we belonged and exactly how to move. Any doubts I had about my waltzing ability vanished immediately. I remembered the steps well enough, and Balthazar was a wonderful lead, his broad hand against the small of my back guiding me expertly. Nearby I saw Patrice smile at me approvingly, before she was whisked away in the next move of the dance.
After that, the dance stretched into one long, happy blur. Balthazar never got tired of dancing, and neither did I. Energy flowed through me like electricity, and I felt as if I could’ve danced for days without slowing down. Patrice’s smiles and Courtney’s disbelieving stare told me that I looked beautiful, and more than that—I felt beautiful.
I’d never realized just how wonderful that kind of dancing was before. Not only did I know the steps but everyone else did also. Each couple was a part of the dance, everyone moving in time, all the women extending their arms at just the right angle, just the right time. Our long, full skirts all twirled with us, creating colorful swirling rows ahead of the guys’ black shoes, everyone’s steps precisely on the beat. It wasn’t confining—it was liberating, the freedom from confusion or doubt. Every move flowed from the one before it. Maybe this was what it was like to dance in the ballet. We were all moving together to create something beautiful, even magical.
