Panic on the Dance Floor

Kenna

The ballroom at the temple has been totally transformed since the last time I came here just a few days ago. Dim, blue-hued lighting highlights the silver streamers falling from the ceiling, shimmering like starlight. Fresh flowers cover every surface, and string music whispers through the air over the rising voices all around us as I stand with my cousins toward the back of the room.

The dress I borrowed from my aunt Maddy hugs every curve like a glove. It’s a little long for me, but a pair of heels keep the hem from dragging on the floor. The sage green silk makes my sun-tanned skin glow.

Again, I feel very pretty tonight. I pinned my hair away from my face and let it fall loose in thick, bouncing curls down my back. A mask of sage and gold covers the top half of my face as I look around the ballroom.

A few formal dances take place. Young men and women twirl in tight circles, smiling and laughing. Others congregate near punch bowls or over flutes of champagne.

But no one s