45. Tarantallegra


Simon was ready to go to the masquerade ball. Eying himself in the mirror, he straightened his bowtie on his tux. "Looking handsome, Simon. You look like you're going to dance the night away," said a voice in his mind.

He rolled his eyes. "Dancing? You want me to see me dance?"

"Why not?"

He let go of his bowtie, then picked up his mask. Carefully pulling back the string, he slipped it over his head and checked the mirror. "Look, Shannon. We've been over this. Whenever I dance I look like someone cast Tarantallegra on me." Simon got a chuckle in response. "See? Even you know that I'd look ridiculous."

"At least it would be funny, Simon."

The dark haired boy glanced into the mirror as if his creator could see him on the other side. "But I'm not the funny guy, Shannon. That's Ethan or Zander. I'm the smooth one." He winked at the mirror and then cringed. "The awkwardly smooth one."

"You're adorable."

He winced. "I am NOT."

"Whatever you say, Simon. Have fun at the ball! Tell me all about it later. Promise?"

"Promise."