Juliet and Dylan are so annoying. Now that they’re sleeping together out in the open, Tristan and I have to sneak around to make sure that we don’t disturb them! Luckily, for me, though, they stay locked in Tristan and Dylan’s room, not Juliet’s and my room. I don’t know how Tristan puts up with it, but he has been a good sport about it so far.

Simon and I have also managed to mend fences. The day after the incident, I looked for him everywhere on campus and finally managed to track him down in the coffee shop on Amsterdam Avenue. After an hour of talking about it, he agreed to give me another chance, which I know I don’t deserve. I don’t know why I pushed for the second chance so much.

Do I really like Simon? I do. But something about us also seems off. Perhaps it’s all the guilt that I feel about the kiss. I didn’t tell Simon about the kiss. I couldn’t. I can’t. Our relationship, if I can call it that, is in this fragile state where it feels like if I breathe wrong it might dissipate entirely. And the kiss between Tristan and I – well, that’s much more than breathing.

The kiss. It has been days since the kiss. The kiss that Tristan and I still haven’t talked about and probably never will, if I have any say in it.

Besides the kiss, there’s something else that has been weighing on my mind: the masquerade ball. I am going with Tristan to his stupid event and that’s yet another thing that I haven’t told Simon about. I’m not sure I owe it to him. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that I’m wrong. I should tell him. I just can’t.

I’m pretty sure that if Simon knew about the ball, he’d never want to see me again. And I like him. I hate to admit it, but the fact that Tristan hates him makes me like him even more. Simon’s the first guy I had really liked in a long while. I don’t know where this thing with him is going, but I don’t want to ruin it before it gets the chance to get off the ground.

I shouldn’t feel bad about not telling, right? This masquerade ball isn’t anything. Tristan’s with Tea. And I’m with Simon. Tristan and I are friends who are going to a party together.

I pound on Dylan’s door. I can hear them inside. They sound as if they’re reinventing sex in there.

“Go away,” Dylan mumbles through the moans.

“I need to talk to Juliet,” I say.

“Go away,” he says, louder this time.

I refuse to give up. I need expert advice. I can’t do this without her.

“Juliet, I need your help,” I plead. “I need to get a gown for that masquerade ball and I don’t know where I should go or what to get.”

Suddenly, all sounds disappear.

“You’re leaving? Really?” I hear Dylan’s shocked voice through the door.

“She needs me,” I hear Juliet say through the rustling of clothes. I smile. Girls before bros! Juliet’s my girl.

* * *

After a few hours of extreme shopping – searching through 5 stores and trying on at least fifteen dresses before I stopped counting – we finally get back home with my entire outfit. We found the dress in the last place we looked – a little nondescript boutique in Soho called Francesca’s. The dress is a gold Ralph Lauren sequined v-neck gown that “catches the light in all the right places and doesn’t make your hips look any bigger than necessary,” according to Juliet.

I don’t buy a pair of shoes because Juliet has again insisted on lending me a pair of hers. And as for my mask, since this is a masquerade ball, after all, it’s a black mask with jewels and feathers that Juliet found at this posh Halloween boutique in the East Village.

“That mask makes your eyes look amazing!” Juliet says. “Wait till I do your make up – you won’t be able to keep Tristan’s paws off you.”

She’s talking like that and she doesn’t even know about our kiss.

“I don’t want Tristan’s paws on me,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “No, you want his paws on you, but you want to get to reject them.”

I can’t stand this anymore. “Okay, can we stop talking about paws, please?” I ask.

* * *

The following evening, Juliet and I spend two hours getting me ready for the ball. I tell her that she doesn’t have to help if she doesn’t want to, but she insists. She reminds me a lot of Cher from the movie Clueless – she can’t walk away from the chance of giving someone a makeover.

The door to our room is open due to all the hairspray fumes, which would undoubtedly kill us otherwise. I sit in the chair in front of Juliet’s mirror while she blow-dries and then curls my hair. From here, I can somewhat make out the conversation taking place in the other room.

“I’m so glad you’re in,” I hear Dylan say to Tristan. “You’ll see you can’t go wrong working with this guy. He guarantees a 15% return on investment, no matter what.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Tristan says.

“Oh yes, it is. Bank says that it’s not to the public, but it’s a complete lie. They just don’t want to get in trouble in case something happens.”

“So then something can happen?” Tristan asks.

“No, that’s the beauty of it. This deal, it’s just for insiders. Everyone’s doing it. At least, everyone who’s connected,” Dylan says. “My dad made $8 million last year with this guy. He’s the man.”

“Are you hearing this?” I ask Juliet. She shakes her head and shrugs.

“Do you know how much Tristan has invested?” I ask.

Juliet shrugs again. “I don’t know, Alice. You know me. I don’t much care for how money is made, only how it’s spent.”

My heart grows heavy as a thick black cloud descends around me. Whatever this investment thing that Dylan has going, it’s not good. Tristan doesn’t have much money. Definitely not enough to lose in some Ponzi scheme.

Finally, I’m dressed. Juliet’s five-inch heels are pinching my toes and my heels are already aching even though we haven’t even left the building. I complain to Juliet.

“It’s because you don’t wear heels enough,” she says. “If you wore them at least a couple of days per week then your feet would get used to them and just go numb like other women’s feet.”

The thought of wearing heels a couple of days per week scares the shit out of me. I can make it through tonight (I think), but there’s no way I’m subjecting myself to this punishment for eight hours a day a couple of times per week!

When I look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but admit that I do look beautiful. My hair falls around my shoulders and frames my face in waves. It minimizes my strong jaw in just the right way while, at the same time, bringing out my eyes. My eyes look about twice as big as they ever have thanks to Juliet’s expert make up and eyelash application. It requires a lot of strength to keep my eyes open, but when they are open, they look magnificent.

“Oh my God,” Tristan says when he sees me. “Alice.”

I look at him. He takes a step back and catches his breath. The sight of me has literally taken his breath away. Honestly, I didn’t know that was possible.

“You’re enchanting,” he whispers and kisses me on my cheek.

Enchanting? I was expecting cute, pretty, perhaps beautiful. But not enchanting.

I look Tristan up and down. He’s also dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo. With his tan, gorgeous hair, and twinkling eyes, he looks a little bit like James Bond. I’ve never been attracted to James Bond, didn’t really know what all the fuss was about, but suddenly I catch myself hoping that Tristan’s carrying a sleek, sexy gun and is about to assassinate some oppressive dictator.

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” I say.

Dylan looks up briefly from his Xbox game. “Well, well, well. You both clean up well,” he says.