Second Best Cindrella

I pucker my lips in the mirror, applying my baby pink lip gloss and hoping it looks okay, tucking my fringe behind my ears and fluffing up the ends of my middle­neck length brown curls. I look down to my sister's – Mihika's – mascara and eye it nervously. I'm not sure whether to wear it or not. I mean my little sister's only twelve, and she wears it. She wears eyeliner for God's sake. But I've never been one to really wear make up – except for gloss­ because this one time I wore this tiny bit of slightly­darker­than­my­skin­shade eye shadow, and the most popular boy in class pointed it out to everyone He went along the lines of, "Ishu's wearing make up, LOOK, Ishu is wearing make up!! That's right, nerdy art maths girl is wearing MAKE UP!

Look at you, Ishu, don't you look pretty today?" The thing is he wasn't even trying to be mean about it; he totally winked at me and everything. He just likes to tease, that boy. All boys like to tease. And I know that was when I was like twelve.

But still. It's totally humiliated and scarred me for life, and all the girls in our class that already wore make up – came up and started giving me tips. Tips like, "Ishu you should wear like highlighter green, or mint green, it's totally go with those eyes you got going on. You'd be a hot babe. Wear it tomorrow; you can buy some at the two dollar shop, even. That's where I get mine since my mum never buys me any." All in front of my best friend.

I pick up the mascara, and bring it out of the tube, and then I think what the hell? and start imitating my little sister's actions, brushing the mascara wand through my lashes, and each of them a couple of times. I put the mascara wand down, and look at myself. I'm dressed in my pink chiffon party dress, and it really is the prettiest thing, and my shoes – wedges – are made of glass, with a pink ribbon lacing them up my legs.

I hate to say it, and even Mihika will have to admit when I come out, but I look pretty nice. "Are you decent?" a voice calls from the other side of the door, and my heart speeds up. It's Raman, my best friend – who I've had a total crush on since like, we met in kindergarten and gave me his salami sandwich for my cheese one.

I look at the door, absentmindedly touching my hair and wondering what on earth he's doing here. "I'm decent," I say, bemused. I mean he's not even the one that's taking me. His older brother, is taking me. And not him. He's also supposed to be taking Richa, and should be around at her house, and not mine. Raman pushes open the door, and I turn to him, nerves taking over my body. Raman's eyes widen, and he lets out a, "Whoa," which makes my face totally redden, and my heart skitter in my chest, the way he says that whoa. He usually saves whoa's like that when he watches MTV awards, and pretty girls come out dancing on stage. Or for Angelina Jolie.

I look down at my self, "You think I look okay?" I try and say breezily, although inside I'm feeling so not breezy, especially with the intensity of his gaze as he looks me up from head to toe. "You look fine," he says, although he says fine like fine, and he then holds out his arm to me, "congratulations, Richa bailed on me and is sick as a dog – you get to be my dance partner, since you were going stag and all anyway."

I look at his arm, and hurt bubbles inside my chest. Of course he doesn't know that he's the one I wanted to go with in the first place. I wanted to go with him more than anyone else in the school, more than any celebrity that could ever ask me. But even though he's my first choice; I'm obviously his second.

"Rams, are you kidding me?" I look down at his arm, feeling all miserable inside. "I'm not going to go with you." "Well we'll go as friends of –" he starts to say, sounding a little taken aback. "That's not it at all," I say and shake my head, and his eyes look curiously down into mine as I look up at him, "Raman I can't go with you, it's not even fair of you to ask. I'm not going to go with someone with whom I'm their second choice. If you wanted to go with me, you should have just asked." Raman looks down at me, tight ­lipped.