Biana Vacker

As I open my locker to find the lunchbox stashed in there, a shiny silvery flyer catches my eye. I pick it up.

Masquerade Ball Next Friday!

Make sure to buy your mask! 

(Author's Note: Masks mean something so different these days xD)

I sigh. I remember those days when naïve me wished I could go to a ball and meet my prince and fall in love and live happily ever after.

Yeah, right. 

The school dances I know smell like dirty socks and Axe body spray and mean break-ups and broken hearts and that dreadful feeling when while all the other couples slow dance, you're without a date. 

Trust me, I know.

I crumble up the flyer into a ball, one jagged edge of the paper digging into my fist as I slam the locker door shut.

**

Tam Song 

From my spot at the New Kid table, which me and Linh have sat at the past two days, and is probably currently being renamed the "Loser's Table", I have a perfect view of Biana Vacker--cascading curls, twinkling eyes, million-dollar smile--everything.

It hurts to think that the 47 daydreams and dreams I've had since I met her will never come true. Though, to be honest, I never thought I'd have a chance.

If I was that kid I was at 11 years old, I would have the courage to ask her to the masquerade ball. But growing older means that courage wears off you and instead the outside of an introvert forms and hardens until it's like a shell.

Biana looks up from her slice of pizza, and our eyes meet. I look away quickly and pull my hoodie down, obscuring my vision.

Back into the shell I go.