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VINCENT
The weekend of the Masked Ball, Sabrina goes to New York with her dad, Mr. Jackson.
I decide impulsively to go to the Ball, although I promised Sabrina I would stay at home and pine for her. She is definitely getting too serious.
I dress up from head to toe, making sure every inch of me is covered. I have only one intention and that is to dance with Chrissie, just the one time. I need to dance with her, feel her body close to mine, and then I can move on, I convince myself.
After I park in the student parking lot, I sigh deeply while I pull the full face, gold coloured mask over my face.
I get out of the car and walk to the hall.
Looking through the slits in the mask, I notice her immediately. Juliet pales to the comparison of Chrissie.
I walk straight to her, through the crowd and then I touch her lightly on her shoulder with my gloved hand.
She turns around and after hesitating briefly, she smiles up to me. I bow down a little.
I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, but her smile widens, and then she moves into my arms. I hold her tightly to me while she puts her hand on my shoulder.
She looks up at me frowning faintly, smiling quizzically, and then everything around me disappears. My world becomes just Chrissie and me dancing to the heartbeat of the music.
When the song ends too soon, I move away from her unwillingly, bow again, and then I abruptly turn around and walk away.
I leave the dance and walk to my car.
Part of me wishes she would come after me. I might have intrigued her, but she does not follow me.
Every afternoon I look forward to spending time with her. I share my hopes and dreams with her, something I have not done with anybody else. We can talk about anything and everything. We usually sit on the carpet after Simon, George, and Dennis leaves. She normally sits cross-legged in front of me—I notice the curve of her legs, and I want to trace my fingers along her skin—and she smiles and laughs happily.
Although my dad has stamped it irreversibly on my mind that I am never to fall in love with someone outside of my race, especially a white girl, I cannot help it. I fall more and more in love with her each passing day.
Every evening, I sit in my bedroom and I am busy writing a song. It started out as a letter to her, but then it turned into a song. I want it to be perfect, as perfect as she is. In addition, I want it to say everything I am unable to say to her in mere words.
