Prom. Just the word had always seemed like something out of a dream, a perfect night under fairy lights, where nothing hurt and nobody judged. But standing here now, surrounded by curls of curling irons, powder brushes, and fabric swatches, I couldn’t shake the tension in my chest.
The girls and I hadn’t been the same since the lock-in. Suspicion and silence hung over us like fog, thick and unyielding. Still, we were all here, gathered in Zenaida’s room, an unspoken agreement to try and make tonight something special, or at least bearable.
Zenaida fluffed out her dress, an elegant, pale pink gown that fell around her like a cloud. Her eyes sparkled as she examined herself in the mirror. “Cora,” she said with a warm smile, “you did an amazing job picking this color. It’s perfect.”
I smil
