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Knock knock.

I jump at the sudden sound, losing my grip on the earring I’m putting in. Even from downstairs, the knocking on the front door is loud enough to startle anyone. Sighing, I look down to see the silver stud has landed in amongst my hair, managing to tangle itself in at least three separate curls. I’m in the process of retrieving it when the knocks sound again, more forceful this time.

“Mom, can you get that?”

There’s no movement from downstairs. Turning back towards the mirror, I can’t help but frown. Nathan’s not usually one to be impatient, and I doubt his hands are even capable of knocking so loudly. But who else would it be? The dance begins in just over half an hour, and he’s my ride.

When the third round of knocking starts up, I decide it’s time to step in. I gaze at my reflection one last time, managing a half-smile at my appearance. With my hair tamed into submission, make-up done and dress sweeping down to my feet, I actually look okay.

Tackling the stairs in heels is a treacherous task in itself (especially considering my distinct lack of balance), but with an endless amount of trip-worthy fabric around my feet, it’s even worse. In fact, when I finally do reach the bottom without sustaining any serious injuries, I feel like some kind of intrepid adventurer. Then I remember the task in hand, and hurry over to the front door to relieve my date of standing on the freezing porch.

However, what I find is a slightly twisted version of what I had been expecting.

Instead of a shy, blonde guy in a tux, I’m faced with a beaming woman in a white blouse. It’s none other than Julie, in as good a mood as ever.

“Oh, um...” I say awkwardly, too surprised to form a coherent sentence. “Hi?”

“Georgie!” Her face lights up upon seeing me, before her gaze quickly falls to my dress. “Oh, look at you! All dressed up for the dance... you look beautiful, honey.”

“Uh… thanks...”

“I can’t believe you’re the same little girl who used to play in my garden,” she gushes, clasping a hand over her heart theatrically. “It seems like yesterday and now... well, look at you. You’re gorgeous and all grown-up.”

Suddenly, without warning, I’m being swept up in a hug. As I stand crushed in Julie’s arms, I try to process the weirdness of the situation. What is she doing here? I don’t remember my mom inviting her or anything, and I can’t come up with any other reason that could serve as an explanation. It’s the night of the Winter Formal. Shouldn’t she be gushing over her own son and his glitzy girlfriend?

A week of school later, I’ve officially given up on clearing things up with Connor. It’s hopeless; he’s been avoiding me, going out of his way to make sure we never get an opportunity to exchange even a few words. Even working together hasn’t resulted in any conversation, and by now, I’ve accepted the fact he’s never going to face up to talking about it. The best thing for both of us is to erase the kiss completely from my mind and continue to lead our separate lives.

Which is a lot easier said than done.

When I emerge from my thoughts (and, at the same time, Julie’s grip), something registers in my brain that I had totally missed before. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but standing beside Connor’s mom on the porch is none other than my blue-eyed date.

“Nathan!” I say, half-embarrassed I hadn’t noticed him sooner. Still, it’s easily done. He’s never exactly a bold personality, and standing next to someone as fiery as Julie, his blending into the background is almost inevitable.

“This is your date, huh?” Julie asks, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “He’s cute.”

I blush furiously, although I’m not quite sure why. I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that she’s taking on the gushing mother role, or relieved that it’s keeping my own mom out of things. Still, the two of them are pretty even in the stakes, and both equally likely to come out with something that will mortify me into the next century. “Um, this is Nathan,” I say. “My boyfriend.”

For some reason, the word sounds strange on my tongue, despite having plenty of time to get used to the fact. Over three weeks, to be precise. Maybe it’s just because I’m announcing it to Julie that it feels odd. Although, for all I know, Connor may have told her himself.

“Nice to meet you,” he says politely.

“Uh... not meaning to sound rude,” I begin, despite there being no possible phrasing of my question that wouldn’t cause offense, “but what are you doing here?”

She laughs wildly, as if the mere sound of my voice is utterly hilarious. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Nathan staring at her, looking slightly awestruck. I don’t blame him; I’ve had years to get used to Julie’s vivaciousness, but for a first encounter, I’d say he’s taking it pretty well. He hasn’t run away and hid yet, which is always a good sign.

“Oh! I was just wondering if you had a camera charger that I could borrow,” she says. “Ours has gone flat and I can’t find it for the life of me.”

“Uh, sure,” I answer. “I think my mom’s in the living room. You could ask her.”

She thanks me and heads inside, leaving Nathan and I alone on the front porch. When she disappears from sight, both of us exchange questioning looks.

“Connor’s mom?” he queries.

“Yeah,” I answer. “She’s, uh... friendly. Takes a bit of getting used to.”

“Right,” he says, his lips twitching into a smile. There’s a brief pause between us, in which his gaze drops to my dress. “She was right about one thing, though. You look beautiful tonight.”

Color rises to my cheeks. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well, too.”

It’s true; with his smart tux and neat hair, he looks adorable. Not heart-stoppingly gorgeous, but cute in a way that kind of makes me want to hug him. Just as this thought crosses my mind, I find myself wondering what Connor looks like in his tux. A wave of guilt washes over me immediately and I banish him from my mind, scolding myself furiously for thinking about that jerk when my date is standing right in front of me.

I go to speak, but at that moment, my mom comes rushing out onto the porch. She’s clutching a camera and wearing a huge smile on her face. “Look at you two!” she says. “You look so cute! Come on, we have to take some photos before you leave.”

As it turns out, ‘some photos’ translates from my mom’s language as one billion and one shots, with a couple of videos thrown in for good measure. When we finally break away from our photo-shoot – in which the both of us are required to smile sweetly at the flashing camera in a way that doesn’t reveal how much I want to murder the person behind it – I’m already tired, and the dance hasn’t even started.

Thanks, Mom.

“Sorry about that.” I grimace as I hitch up my dress and climb into Nathan’s truck. “Don’t be surprised if she mails you some of those photos either.”

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “In fact, it was actually pretty fun.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Fun?”

“Well, I had my arm around you pretty much the whole time. I can deal with that.” The ghost of a smirk lights up his features and I can’t help but smile back. “Anyway, I like your mom. She’s sweet.”

I can think of a million adjectives to describe my mom – and ‘sweet’ features nowhere on the list – but I sense it’s the wrong time to launch into the many reasons why. Instead I just shrug and respond with, “If you say so.”

The ride to the school, where the dance is being held (on account of the fact that North Shore is too poor to afford anywhere better), is short and we’re entering the busy parking lot before I know it. Ever the gentleman, Nathan opens my door for me, but I’m kind of preoccupied scanning the rows of cars for familiar faces to really feel flattered by the gesture. Of course, when I say ‘familiar faces’, I’m not looking for anybody specific.

Okay, so I’m hoping to see Charlotte. But only because I’m curious about her much-speculated dress.

Nothing to do with Connor. At all.

“You ready to go in?”

“Huh?” I look up to see Nathan smiling at me expectantly. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize he’s taken my hand in his and is giving it a comforting squeeze. “Oh, um... yeah.”

“I want to see how the dance committee got on with the decorating,” Nathan muses. “I just hope they’ve learnt the meaning of ‘less is more’ so we don’t end up with a repeat of last year.”

I nod half-heartedly, although he does have a point. Last year was the first time the organizers were given an advance on their budget, which they then proceeded to spend on pretty much the entire country’s supply of balloons and ribbons. Maybe it would’ve turned out okay if they’d invested in a better staple gun – no one would ever forget the moment Allison Perry tripped on a trailing ribbon and the night ended with her being carried out on a stretcher. She didn’t break anything, the dance committee adamantly reminded us, but it was still a pretty memorable night.

Thankfully, though, entering the gym doesn’t greet us with an abundance of hazardous decorations. Instead, it’s kitted out pretty tastefully, with a strict blue-and-white color scheme, soft lighting and – where would we be without them? – a sprinkling of paper snowflakes.

“Hi!” We’ve barely taken five steps inside the place before we’re pounced on by Ava, looking predictably pretty with an updo and a short, dark blue dress. Behind her stands Jason, a guy from her AP Algebra class with messy umber hair and thick glasses. The two had apparently reached a mutual decision to come as friends, which she had been content enough with. “You’re here!”

“Yeah,” I say. “We got a little held up at my place. You know what my mom’s like.”

“You’re not late. Heaps of people aren’t here yet,” she assures me, before gesturing to the guy at her side. “You guys know Jason.”

We exchange greetings before I decide to dive straight in with the question that’s bugging me. “No sign of Charlotte yet, I’m guessing?”

She shakes her head, but we’re not kept waiting for long. A couple of minutes later, attention turns inexplicably to the door, and it’s then that I notice a couple striding into the room. I recognize them in an instant – the petite, auburn-haired girl hanging off the arm of the taller guy beside her can’t really be mistaken for anyone else. Naturally, my gaze wastes no time in flickering to Charlotte’s dress, keen to see what over-the-top, frilly designer number she’s chosen. But when it does, I’m in for a shock.

And not because it’s indecent, either.

Oh, no. Full-length and deep purple in color, it’s identical to the one I’m wearing.

‘Custom-made’ my ass.

It’s about ten seconds after me that realization dawns on Charlotte. She does a quick once-over of the gym, probably making a mental note of the people she’s going to bitch about later, but when her gaze reaches me, she freezes.

And quite rightly, too. I suppose it hadn’t occurred to her that all the while she was boasting about her expensive designer affair (which in reality came off the rack of an ordinary store in the mall), someone might have been out buying the exact same one. Did she really think she could get away with it? Wait, stupid question. She’s Charlotte Hayes, for crying out loud. Not only does she have a band of loyal followers stretching half our grade that hang on her every word, no one in their right mind would question her. Especially if it came down to challenging the authenticity of her wardrobe labels.

For a moment, we just stand staring at each other. Everyone around us notices immediately; it’s not difficult to figure out where Charlotte’s death glares are aimed. An audible silence falls over the gym, despite the music still booming through the speakers. They’re all eagerly waiting for a reaction, internally betting which one of us is going to move first.

Well, it’s definitely not going to be me.

Half of me is wondering whether I should make my escape now. Leave it any longer and I could be on the receiving end of an attack from the girl across the room. Any sensible person would assess the risk and deem it the best option to make a swift exit. For some reason, though, I stay where I am. Maybe it’s the freezing of my muscles due to fear. Or maybe – oddly enough – it’s a niggling curiosity about how Charlotte is going to react.

Instead of pouncing on me and ripping me to shreds – or at least sending a swarm of insults my way – she does the complete opposite. Without a word, her expression turns from furious to despairing before she flees the room. Connor’s left standing awkwardly for a second, watching her retreating back with the rest of us, before following her footsteps out the door.

“Well,” I say, when the moment of silence has passed and the gym has returned to free conversation, “that was awkward.”

“Wasn’t her dress supposed to be one of a kind, or something?” Nathan asks.

“Or so she said,” Ava pipes in. “If she was going to build it up so much, she should’ve at least checked no one else was going to buy the same one. Custom-made – ha!”

“All we need now is some dangerous trailing ribbons,” I say, “and this might just top last year.”

***

“I’m just going to run to the bathroom,” I say, passing my drink to Nathan. “Hold this for me.”

“Okay, but when you get back, I’m forcing you to dance,” he tells me, grinning. “No getting out of it.”

About half an hour has passed since The Dress Incident. With no sign of Charlotte or Connor since, the tension is beginning to die down. Still, that hasn’t stopped great speculation across the crowd, with most people debating whether Charlotte’s going to suck it up and return, or flee for a desperate change.

In fact, I’m kind of surprised I’m not the one fleeing. Being the target of the cheerleader’s anger is mildly terrifying, but I think I’m kind of comforted by her embarrassment. After all, I didn’t boast about the cost and extravagance of my dress like it was straight off a Paris runway.

And not, you know, straight off a mall rack (where it’s stocked in ten other sizes).

I head for the hall, where the bathrooms are situated. Access to any other hallways is strictly prohibited – they don’t trust anyone in our grade not to trash the place, which is kind of wise – and I feel like one suspicious look will get me thrown in jail.

You know, if our school had a jail. Which it doesn’t.

Outside of the gym doors, the music is muffled; the only thing you can hear properly is the bass still thumping through the walls and floor. At least here you can talk without straining your voice, not to mention listen to what somebody’s saying without having your ear in front of their mouth.

Which is why, as I’m about to round the corner, I’m able to hear the conversation clearly.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”

Immediately, I freeze. Pressing myself against the wall out of sight, I try to silence my breathing as the owner of the voice registers in my head. So this is where the unseen cheerleader has been hiding.

“I mean no. I’m not doing it.” Connor’s voice is cold; he sounds pissed. “Get your own ride.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Charlotte shrieks. “I don’t have my car here, do I? I need a ride. Look, it’ll take half an hour, tops. All I need to do is go home and find another dress. I’ve got heaps in my closet. Then we can come straight back. Why have you got such a problem with that?”

“Because,” he hisses exasperatedly, “I’ve already missed half the dance. I’m not missing the other half just because of some stupid dress. Just suck it up and wear that one.”

I silently pray for them not to sense my presence. I’m already permanently in Charlotte’s bad books (heck, I’ve probably got the cover spot right about now) and if she knew I’m spying on her... well, I dread to consider the consequences. Still, I can’t seem to muster up the courage to leave. I’m too afraid of drawing attention to myself. Or maybe it’s not that at all. Maybe it’s because I’m curious about their fight. I’ve never heard so much as a disagreement from them before. Usually, they’re completely loved-up, making out and groping each other whenever an opportunity presents itself. But this... if the tone of Charlotte’s voice is anything to go by, she wants to slap him instead.

“I can’t go back out there!” she wails. “You know I can’t!”

“Why? Because Georgie’s got the same dress as you? Get a grip, Charlotte. Who cares?”

“You don’t understand! Everyone cares! I am not going in there with the same dress as that freak. It’s humiliating! I actually have a reputation, in case you hadn’t noticed. I am not being seen dead in anything that dork is wearing. Now get your keys and drive me home.”

“What did you just call her?”

There’s a pause. I hold my breath, begging to remain unnoticed. “I called her a freak. Because that’s what she is.” Suddenly, her shrill laughter rings out across the empty hallway. “Oh God, please don’t say you’re actually going to defend her. You know she’s a dork.”

“Don’t you dare say that about her!”

“I’ll say whatever I like,” she shoots back. “You were all too happy to bitch about her all those times before. You agreed with me how pathetic she was. Why the fuck are you changing your mind now?”

Silence consumes the room. I’m beginning to feel light-headed from lack of oxygen, but I’m scared to exhale. Snooping on an argument about Charlotte’s dress is one thing, but eavesdropping when they’re talking about me is completely different. And I’m all too aware of that.

“God, please don’t tell me you realized you’re like, madly in love with her.”

“Just drop it,” he snaps. “And fuck off. I’m not driving you home, okay?”

“Connor!” she protests, but it’s clear from her voice that she’s verging on desperation now. If she wasn’t such a massive bitch, maybe I’d feel sorry for her. Unfortunately, her constant stream of insults and bitchiness over the years have eradicated any ounce of sympathy I might have for her. “Look, don’t you want to spend tonight together? If I don’t change, I’m not going back in there. You’ll be alone.”