Tears were welling in my mother’s eyes. She was such a sap, in the best way. “I had a beautiful daughter, that’s how.”

She always told me I was pretty, but this was the first time I’d ever thought Mom might be telling the truth. I wasn’t some magazine-cover knockout like Courtney or Patrice—but this was beauty, too.

When we went into the living room, my father looked about as shocked as I felt. He and Mom hugged each other, and she whispered, “We did good, huh?”

“We definitely did.”

They kissed each other like I wasn’t there. I cleared my throat. “Uh, guys? I thought teenagers were the ones who were supposed to make out on prom night.”

“Sorry, honey.” Dad put one hand on my shoulder; his hand felt cool to me, as if I were glowing with warmth. “You’re absolutely stunning. I hope Balthazar knows what a lucky guy he is.”

“He’d better,” I said, and they laughed.

I could tell that Mom and Dad wanted to go downstairs with me, but to my relief, they didn’t. That would have been taking chaperoning a little too far. Besides, I liked having a few moments to myself as I went, the skirt of my dress lifted in one hand and fluttering as I made my way down the steps. It gave me a chance to convince myself that all of this was real and not some dream.

Below me I could hear laughter and talk and soft strains of music; the dance had already begun, and I was running late. With luck, Patrice would be right about keeping guys waiting.

The second I reached the bottom of the stone steps and walked into the candlelit great hall, Balthazar turned, as if he’d somehow sensed I was coming. Just one glance at his eyes, at the way he was staring at me, made me realize Patrice had definitely been right. “Bianca,” he said, stepping closer. “You look amazing.”

“So do you.” Balthazar was wearing a tuxedo, classic, the way Cary Grant dressed back in the 1940s. As handsome as he was, though, I couldn’t help glimpsing the great hall behind him and sighing, “Oh, wow.”

The hall was hung with bowers of ivy and illuminated with tall white candles that had been set in front of old, hand-hammered plates of brass, so that they reflected even more light. On a small stand in the corner sat the band, not a bunch of rock’n’rollers in blue jeans and T-shirts but classical musicians in tuxes even more formal than Balthazar’s, playing a waltz. Dozens of couples danced, in a perfect pattern, like a scene from a picture two centuries old. A few of the new students stood against the wall, guys in suits meant to be campy or cool, girls in short dresses with sequins; they all seemed to be aware that they’d misjudged the occasion.

“I just realized I should have asked you this before—Can you waltz?” Balthazar offered me his arm.

I took it as I said, “Yes. Well, mostly. My parents taught me all the old dances, but I’ve never done them with anyone else. Or anyplace but at home.”

“First time for everything.” He led me further into the great hall, so that the candlelight shone more brightly all around us. “Let’s begin.”

Balthazar swung us into the dance as if he’d rehearsed it; he knew exactly where we belonged and exactly how to move. Any doubts I had about my waltzing ability vanished immediately. I remembered the steps well enough, and Balthazar was a wonderful lead, his broad hand against the small of my back guiding me expertly. Nearby I saw Patrice smile at me approvingly, before she was whisked away in the next move of the dance.

After that, the dance stretched into one long, happy blur. Balthazar never got tired of dancing, and neither did I. Energy flowed through me like electricity, and I felt as if I could’ve danced for days without slowing down. Patrice’s smiles and Courtney’s disbelieving stare told me that I looked beautiful, and more than that—I felt beautiful.

I’d never realized just how wonderful that kind of dancing was before. Not only did I know the steps but everyone else did also. Each couple was a part of the dance, everyone moving in time, all the women extending their arms at just the right angle, just the right time. Our long, full skirts all twirled with us, creating colorful swirling rows ahead of the guys’ black shoes, everyone’s steps precisely on the beat. It wasn’t confining—it was liberating, the freedom from confusion or doubt. Every move flowed from the one before it. Maybe this was what it was like to dance in the ballet. We were all moving together to create something beautiful, even magical.

For the first time since I’d arrived at Evernight Academy, I knew exactly what to do. I knew how to move, how to smile. I felt comfortable with Balthazar and basked in the warmth of his admiration. I fit in.

I’d never seen how I could be a part of the world of Evernight, but the path stretched before me then, broad and deep and welcoming—

“If that crew had gotten their claws into you—a sweet girl like you—I didn’t want to have to watch.”

Lucas’s voice echoed in my mind, so clear that he might as well have whispered into my ear. I stumbled, and the rhythm of the dance was lost to me in an instant. Balthazar quickly steered me off the dance floor with his arm across my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just—it’s so warm. I think I’m getting overheated.”

“Let’s get some fresh air.”

As Balthazar guided me through the dancers, I realized what I’d nearly done. I had been proud to be a part of Evernight—a place where the strong preyed upon the weak, where the beautiful looked down on the ordinary and where snobbery was more important than friendliness. Just because they’d stopped picking on me for one night, I was ready to forget what bastards most of them were.