The Ball

"This is so much better than the binge session I was going to have," I tell my best friend Brea.

My eyes can't absorb the beautiful scenery fast enough. Every time I focus on one particular thing, another catches my eyes.

"Addilyn move, you're blocking the door." Brea pulls me by the arm and we all descended the stairs. Though I should have been watching my feet and making sure I don't trip on my dress, I can't help but stare at the huge sparkling chandelier hanging above the crowd of well dressed dancing people. No one here looks like they got their costume from the local Halloween store. They've all found a way to make their mask work with their outfit.

A woman walks past us; she creatively made her mask look like it was seared into her face. I look around Brea to her boyfriend. "Vincent, seriously, how did you get an invite to this place?" When I heard they were going to a party, I thought it was a simple house party, not this.

He shrugs, "I'm friends with some of the event coordinators at my college."

"Let's find a spot on the floor before it gets packed," Brea yells over the music I can feel in my chest.

She links arms with Vincent, who came dressed as a prince charming, then links arms with me. With Vincent leading the way we're able to make it to the middle of the floor, right under the chandelier. The light reflects off of Brea's beautiful white princess dress. My black floor length dress absorbs the light and spits it back out through the sparkles.

A great thing about Brea and Vincent is that they never make me feel like the third wheel I am. Brea touches my arm and leans in. "Beat it. I want to dance with prince charming over here."

My best friend is always so subtle.

We've been dancing for thirty minutes already and between the lights, the music, their matching costumes, and the vibes; I don't blame them. Plus, I did invite myself on their date night.

After exploring the fancy goodies table, and eating one of everything, I grab myself a drink and go in search for a place to rest my feet. The trick about wearing high heels all night without having to suffer from sore feet is to make sure you rest them every half hour.

Those are lies that I like to tell myself when I put them on before a long night.

Finally I spot a few tables, but there aren't many. I find a seat that doesn't have shawls or purses on it.

"That seats taken."

I turn around and stare at the guy at the table reading a book. "I don't see anyone sitting in it."

"No," He says turning a page. "But someone's name is on it."

There is no way. I scoot to the edge of my chair and start looking for a name, but it takes about a second before my eyes connect to a name tag that says 'Harue', tapped to the part where my back rested.

I look at all the surrounding chairs at the table as heat crawls from my neck to my face. They all have names on them, and right there in the center of the table is a 'reserved' sign. My eyes meet the masked man who's finally raised his eyes from his book to look at me.

My moist hands rearrange the mask on my face. "Uh, sorry 'bout that."

"No it's okay you can sit. He's out on the dance floor and won't be coming back unless someone drags him."

The soft flashing light from the dance floor illuminates his intense eyes.

"No it's okay, it's his seat and I should find my friends anyway." Or I'll just find another seat. I gather my dress to stand.