The first person to notice me as I walk in is Charmaine Johnson. She is part of our high school’s royalty. Don’t ask me why. She’s pretty stupid. I know that I’m being a bitch even thinking this, but hey – she’s got everything else going for her.

At first I think she’s in fancy dress too – as a prostitute – and then I realise: that’s just how she’s dressed. I want to laugh but I am too busy being fierce. She’s in a tiny gold dress the size of a lappie. Honestly, the dress is so small, you need to look twice to check it’s there. I guess that’s the fashion. I think she looks nasty, but I don’t exactly have my finger on the fashion pulse or whatever.

She is standing next to Kim Wafer, who looks like her clone. All they talk about is money and men. I think their brains aren’t big enough to think of anything else.

Kim makes a face. “Who are you supposed to be? Lady Gaga?”

“Nobody,” I reply coolly. “I’m only supposed to be me. What are you dressed as?”

“Nothing!” she shoots back cattily. She moves her hand up and down her body. “This is fashion.”

“That shiny lappie? Could have fooled me,” I say, and walk toward the drinks table to get a cup of punch.

I hear people laugh. I’m glad I can’t see Kim’s face. I bet her eyes are throwing knives into my back.

“That was awesome,” says a voice. I look up from pouring the punch, and see Loukmaan September. He is president of the chess club and is three grades below me. I figure he must be another of the ‘uncool’ kids invited. He is wearing a blazer that hugs his round body very snugly. He reminds me of Humpty Dumpty.

“And may I say I think your outfit is very charming. Really artistic.”

“Thanks!” I say. “That’s very sweet.”

He smiles shyly, then waddles off.

The party ends up being a lot easier than I thought. I get a number of comments from a number of people. Here follow some of the highlights.

Unathi Mpokhoto tells me I look ‘fierce’. Unathi is a blogger and has some video channel on YouTube. I watched it once and it was all footage of her and Theko (her bestie) discussing what they were wearing. People seem to think she is some authority on fashion.

Carla Gerardi, a Goth, asks me who made my outfit, she’s been looking for a similar skirt. My Mom makes outfits for private clients all the time so I say I’ll give her my Mom’s number next week at school. She looks pretty excited about it. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. If Goths want to steal my look, I’m not complaining.

A dozen kids, some of them even from my class, ask for a photo with me. At first I am nervous of this – I need to know they aren’t doing it to mock me. But I don’t get that feeling of menace, for once.

For about an hour, I don’t feel afraid. It’s almost as if the costume is giving me protection, letting me be someone else. And how I have always longed to be someone else! I don’t care what they do with the photos. It just feels so good to be recognised, not just passed by like a stranger in the street.

It’s tiring, though. By 7.30 p.m. I’ve had enough.

Some people have started drinking alcohol. As always, booze is smuggled in somehow. Most parties (I hear) are non-alcoholic events, or the parents would never let their teenagers throw them. Little do they know that everyone gets drunk anyway. Some people think if you’re not drinking, you’re not having fun. I am not one of those people.

Also, people get so bossy and aggressive when they’re drunk. Or for instance, if they’re drunk, they’ll say one thing over and over, without noticing. And you’re supposed to nod and think that’s a good conversation.

I still haven’t seen the queen of the ball, Carmen. It doesn’t really bother me. I guess I should be angry with her for tricking me, but I can’t even be bothered. Even if she has seen me, I haven’t noticed. I’ve been too busy having my photograph taken and talking to people. Sorry Carmen, wherever you are!

I go out into the garden. Carmen may be a cow, but she knows how to make a cool party atmosphere. The garden is full of paper lanterns and some are hung in the trees too. The effect is magical. It’s like a fairy-tale forest.

I notice a figure standing by some rosebushes, with a camera aimed at the sky. A guy in black jeans, with his back to me. He is wearing a dark blue anorak. I take a step forward. My heels crunch on twigs – snap!

He lowers his camera and turns to me. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he says.

I am so stunned he is talking to me so suddenly, and with such openness, that I don’t know what to say. He looks up into the sky again. I follow the arrow of his eyes and see what he sees. Of course. The moon. It is hanging in the sky like a glowing shield.

“It looks almost pink tonight, doesn’t it? Like rose-coloured wine.”

His voice is mellow, boyish.

“It looks like one of the lanterns,” I say.

He looks into my eyes, quizzically, before looking at the lanterns strewn over the lawn.

“You’re right!” he says with enthusiasm, before taking a snap of a lantern in a tree. “I didn’t think of that!” he says, after lowering his camera.

I can get a better look at him now that he isn’t holding the big camera up to his face. It’s one of those proper cameras with a long zoom the size of a coffee cup – not the itty-bitty phone cameras everyone in my class uses.

Even by the moonlight and the wavering lantern-light, I can tell he is handsome. He has short-cropped black hair, but there is a hint of a curl to it, which he probably controls by keeping it short. His eyes are large and liquid – they remind me of a puppy. His lips are formed into a cheeky natural smile. He looks like someone from Teen Vogue, if you want to know my honest opinion.

“I’m Jonah,” he says, smilingly, and I realise I have been lost in a daze looking at him.

I clear my throat. Suddenly I feel like coughing. Great, Aggy, cough all over the place, like you have TB, I think desperately. Despite this, I manage to force out my first name: “Agnes.” I am hoping he can’t see me blush in the near-darkness. He doesn’t seem to though.

He just says “Wow.”

***

Tell us what you think: Do you like having your picture taken? Or do you prefer to be the one behind the camera?