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It isthelittle black dress.
Fragile as a rare flower.
Delicately woven.
Way more expensive than anything I’ve ever worn in my life.
“We need to take a picture,” dad says, sounding choked up. He looks around for his phone.
I press my lips together in mortification. “Dad, I’m not going to junior prom.”
“Hold still,” Yaya signs. She comes up to me and adjust the teardrop necklace so it’s sitting in the center of my collar bone. Next, she brushes a tendril of my hair away from my face.
My hairstyle is a half-up, half-down swoop with two curls at the front.
“Perfect,” Yaya signs.
I squeeze her hand in gratitude.
Dad takes photos.
And then mom takes photos of me and dad.
And then Yaya jumps in.
By the time we’re finished with our mini-family photoshoot, the car Sazuki sent is waiting outside.
“Go have fun,” Mom says, looking at me as if she’s my fairy godmother watching me get whisked to the ball.
“I swear, it’s like you people forgot that I’ve already been to prom,” I mumble.
“Stop grumbling and enjoy yourself,” Yaya signs.
I wave goodbye to them and step into the night.
* * *
I getan odd feeling when I see the bouquet of roses on the backseat. Thinking it’s not for me, I don’t touch it except to slide it across just in case the person it’s really for arrives.
But they don’t.
The driver takes me straight to the foundation.
My eyebrows crinkle when I notice someone is outside waiting for me. I recognize him as one of the suits in Sazuki’s bodyguard ring. It’s kind of hard not to pinpoint a face like his with its long scar. That and the buzz cut give him away.
Did Sazuki hire the bodyguards to keep the videographers in check? It feels a little over the top. It’s not like they’re crazed fans who are going to mob him the moment he steps on stage.
The suit gestures for me to walk inside.
My heart trips over itself.
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand.
The giant keeps moving. After a step, he glances over and sees I’m not with him. His eyes get bigger and he hurries back to me.
“Are you okay?” he signs.
My eyes nearly pop out of my face. “Are you deaf?”
