‘Why am I going to the ball?’ Cecelia wailed.


I rolled over on the inflatable mattress laid out on the floor next to Cecelia’s bed and propped myself up on my elbows. Cecelia had two folders of notes and a chemistry textbook arrayed on the bedspread, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her head in her hands. A half-drunk glass of suspiciously green juice sat on her bedside table.


I glanced at my phone. 9:30am. ‘How long have you been up?’


She turned to me, eyes wild. ‘I’m losing a whole day! I should never have bought the ticket.’


I flopped back on my makeshift bed. ‘It’s only one day.’


‘I got an A-minus on the last English essay. And there’s a chemistry test on Monday.’


‘It’ll be good for you to have a night off.’


She glared at me. ‘You’re not going.’


‘I’m also not spending the day doing homework.’


I was, rather, spending the day helping Cecelia get ready, having promised to do her makeup and take photos with her. I felt more than a little guilty and was doubting my earlier conviction about not attending. I knew Dad was upset, and Cecelia would be happy – maybe – to miss a day of study if I accompanied her. But it was too late now.


Or it wasn’t.


***


As favours went, Zenna owed me for life. She’d even messaged Cecelia first so I couldn’t say no.


By 4pm, I was standing in my underwear in Cecelia’s parents’ walk-in robe while Nancy, her mum, riffled through a vast collection of evening gowns. We had just over an hour before the limousine picked us up, and I still had my hair wrapped in a towel on my head. Cecelia and Zenna had gone to the local shopping centre to find me a pair of shoes because my chunky black sandals wouldn’t match any of Nancy’s delicate wardrobe.


Nancy was taller than me, but she was supermodel thin. No amount of sucking my stomach in would get me into her slim-fitting outfits. A shimmery black number caught my eye until Nancy mentioned she had worn it while pregnant with Cecelia’s youngest sister.


No way was I wearing a maternity dress.


My only other option was a magenta one. Nancy favoured pink in every shade, so I supposed I was lucky it wasn’t pastel. And the design was a loose-fitting style from the bust down, so at least it didn’t pinch or dig into me everywhere.


Zenna pulled my dyed-black hair into a messy French twist. I fixed my makeup. At least I was confident with my winged eyeliner strokes and red lipstick, even if it was a rush job and not enough to offset the red roots coming through in my hair.


Dad sent me a text. Glad you’re going. Have fun xo


A rite of passage, he’d said.


I wasn’t ready for whatever lay on the other side.