Candace

“What do you think?” Ingrid asks. “The green or the gold?”

I study the dresses hanging from each of her arms. The green is a soft seafoam, a frothy thing that makes her look like she’s just stepped off the top of a wave, especially when she lets me style her hair. But the gold, embroidered with deep blue, makes her shine even at the edge of the ball, where I know she’s going to be spending most of the night.

“You can’t go wrong.” I smile.

She ...