Concrete

Never thought I’d end up feeling so uncomfortable playing dress up, Francis thought as she adjusted her masquerade mask. It had gotten pretty itchy after a while. Plus, her C-cups were trying to make an escape out of her bodice. And there was no amount of pulling the dress up that could help. It was a shame, really, considering how hard she’d worked to put the whole look together. She went to JoAnn Fabrics and found a plain white mask and covered it with a champagne satin that matched the elegant, form-fitting strapless gown she’d found at Via’s Vintage in Uptown for a steal. Then she bought a bunch of sew-on pearls and lace to put on the mask. It looked great and she was proud of her handiwork, but she'd neglected comfort in her design.

“Having fun?” her friend Laura’s black and white checkered cat mask danced into view accompanied by her crimson smile.

“Tons.” Francis replied sarcastically, looking around the room of grinding formal wear. She had to admit, despite the lack of chaperones to avert any prom night conceiving, Winston Crawley High had gone all out for the last hurrah before winter break: A masked ball. Gold streamers tastefully roped the stairs and walls, white and pink balloons bouncing around as people danced with them, comedy and drama mask cut-outs were hung a couple feet above the , and silver confetti peppered the floor.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Laura tried to console her, placing a supportive black gloved hand on her shoulder. Francis sighed.

“I guess,” she bit her pale pink bottom lip and felt her fingers twist together. She was nervous.

“I have something!” Laura exclaimed. Francis watched as Laura reached into her cleavage to pull out a long, white scarf. She handed it to her.

“Bosom buddies,” she smirked.

“You’re a godsend!” Francis cried out, gratefully accepting the scarf. She tied it around her neck with no hesitation. She may have looked like she was wearing an elegant bib, but she would much rather wear a bib than flash the people she was supposed to never see after graduation.

“Shame,” Laura tutted, gazing at her fashion fix wistfully. “Some of us aren’t as blessed.” Francis pinched Laura’s slim waist.

“Look who’s talking,” she laughed. Laura grabbed Francis’ hand and led her onto the dance floor.

It was the most fun she’d had in the past couple of months. Senior year was coming to a close, so the faculty was hounding the seniors at every turn. She’d spent four years at Winston-Crawley and was ready to get out, like everyone else. She’d turned in enough assignments, presented enough PowerPoints, and maneuvered enough idiocy provided by her student body. So it was nice to let loose before getting a two week break from the chaos.

She and Laura were the only two in their group of friends that didn’t have dates, so they took each other. Francis couldn’t understand why Laura didn’t have a date, seeing as the wrestling team was foaming at the mouth for her at any given moment. But she didn’t have to worry about that. She was having a blast.

Then she had to see them. She felt her stomach twist and turn in the nastiest way. Alan Cole and Serenity Nelson seemed to glide by, holding hands. Francis tried not to watch them, but she couldn’t help it. Serenity’s golden blonde tresses were gracefully swept into a neat updo, she was sporting a silver winged mask, and was shimmering in a long white gown. And Alan. Oh, Alan, she thought, gazing at him longingly. He was in a simple tux and a Phantom of the Opera style mask. Even with his dark hair slicked back and his face covered, he was enticing. Such a shame he got bored with her and dumped her.

But that was at the end of last school year. She had her time to mope about it over the summer. It had been a couple of months; wasn’t it a little silly to still be forlorn about it? She should have moved on by then, right? Sighing, she made her way over to the punchbowl and poured a glass of punch and took a sip. She sighed again. Someone had spiked it. Suddenly, feeling her jaw tighten and her eyes sting, she beelined for the exit door.