Oscar and you have been locking metaphorical antlers since that fateful day in history class. The legendary clash culminated with Oscar shouting that she "Wouldn't recognize Marxism even if it bit her privileged father in the ass" and her bellowing back that she'd "acquaint his balls with the business end of a Bunsen burner." In that moment, everything began and ended - the gauntlet was thrown, the Rubicon crossed. It certainly didn't help matters that Oscar was emo trash and she was the bloody captain of the lacrosse team.

The Halloween Masquerade Ball was a tradition at St Sebastian's Academy. The dining hall was transformed into a real place to dance-the chairs and desks were removed, lights were dimmed. Mists from dry ice machines poured over the floor and there was so many pumpkins that it looked like a farmer's dream. Anyone could come, the main thing is to observe one rule - the face must be hidden.

Jasper and his girlfriend (the new girl who, in her first days at the academy, had whacked some jock with a golf ball - no wonder they started dating) were in matching corporate zombie costumes. Occasionally, they would raise their arms in front of them and moan, "Profit margins... synergy... downsizing..."

Theo transformed into "The Dude" from The Big Lebowski, complete with sunglasses and fake beard, periodically produced a black flask from the pockets of his tattered bathrobe and offered it to Ollie, who looked like the Phantom of the Opera straight off the cover of an erotic emo magazine.

Oscar stood nearby in his Guy Fawkes costume, wondering if anyone would notice if he lit up a cigarette right here in all this smoke. Throwing unnecessary thoughts out of his head he lifted the legendary smiling mask slightly, clamped the cigarette in his teeth, flicked on the lighter and took a drag. Dry ice was doing a decent job of obscuring his little rebellion, but he figured the chaperones were probably too busy confiscating hip flasks to notice.

Speaking of flasks... Theo materialized at his elbow, holding out a tin flask. "Dude, you gotta try this. I mixed White Russian and Monster Energy. I call it... The Dude Abides." Oscar snorted, but took the proffered flask. He took a careless big gulp and immediately regretted it. Coughing he handed it back to Theo "Christ, man. I think that just took a year off my life."

Theo shrugged. "Don't be a wuss, dude. Pain is temporary, glory is forever." He took a hearty swig, smacking his lips.

Just then, a familiar guitar riff sliced through the generic pop hits. Oscar's ears perked up. "No way... is that The Smiths?"

Theo grinned. "Yup. Jasper and I bribed the DJ. Figured we needed some proper tunes up in here."

As Morrissey's dulcet tones filled the hall, crooning about shyness and loneliness, Oscar felt a pang in his chest. Stupid Mozzer, always knowing just what to sing to twist the knife. Bloody "How soon is now?".

Oscar put out his cigarette on the nearest table and turned around. Well, what do we have here? A vision in lace and powder, Oscar mused as he caught sight of an elegant Marie Antoinette gliding through the dry-ice mists. The doomed Queen of France, swanning about St Sebastian's. How droll.

There was something about the contrast that tickled Oscar's fancy. The penniless revolutionary dancing with the epitome of aristocratic excess. Guy Fawkes and Marie Antoinette, cutting a rug to The Smiths. It was just the sort of delicious irony he adored.

Fuck it. When in Rome...

He strode up to the queen, swept into an exaggerated bow, one arm crossed over his chest.

"Pardonnez-moi, votre altesse," he murmured. "Would you do this humble revolutionary the extraordinary honor of a dance?"

He held out a hand.

The queen put her hand in his, the mask over her eyes adorned with glittering stones made it impossible to guess who was hiding behind.

They chatted as they twirled, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily.

A pretty face AND a sharp tongue? Be still my heart.

As the song ended, Oscar found himself oddly reluctant to release her. "What do you think about continuing the conversation? I swear I wouldn't even be offended if you stepped on my foot with your shoe." He joked, recalling the famous incident on the scaffold.

There was something about this girl, something that made him want to peel back the layers of brocade and bullshit. To see the real person behind the mask.

Whoa, slow down. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. For all you know, it could be Phoebe bloody Fairfax under there. Wouldn't that be a right kick in the balls?

Still, he found himself leading her off the dance floor. They wove through the milling crowd until they reached quiet of the courtyard.

Oscar leaned against the weathered stone of the shed, one foot propped up rakishly. "So. Alone at last." He reached up, fingers toying with the edge of his mask. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He whipped off the mask, tousling his hair with a practiced hand. "Oscar Pendleton, your not-so-humble servant. And you are...?"

The mask was lowered to reveal...

"You?" Oscar sputtered, jaw practically scraping the ground. "You... but... what?"

Well, fuck me with cakes. What the hell is this? He blinked rapidly, trying to reconcile the haughty lacrosse captain with the sweet girl he'd just been waltzing with. The girl he'd been, God help him, flirting with.

No. Stop it. She's probably just setting you up for some epic humiliation. Wouldn't be the first time.

He forced his features into a smirk, determined not to let her see how rattled he was. "Well, well, well. If it isn't herself, deigning to dance with a lowly peasant. I'd say 'let them eat cake', but I'm fresh out of guillotines.

He paused, tapping a finger against his lips in mock contemplation. "Though I must say, the thought of putting your pretty neck on the chopping block is rather tempting. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I'm a pacifist, after all."