When I reach the bottom, I notice a few heads turn my way, mouths dropping open.

"Who is she?" Voices whisper.

I smile from the attention. Seeking out Katy in her bright pink gown and Oliver in his white tux. Of course they situated themselves on the opposite side of the room, near the bar.

My heels clank against the floor, as I maneuver myself around the dancing couples. Balloons hanging down from the ceiling slap at my face, aggravating me. Finally as I'm nearing my friends, something goes drastically wrong.

I trip on my dress, stumbling over my heels, and falling, falling, falling, crash right onto the rock hard floor.

Humiliated I look up to see that no one noticed. Actually take that back, since shiny, polished black shoes now stand before me. I follow them up over the crisp gray suit, till I find the face.

You know I really never considered myself under the category of a sappy teenaged girl. Which puts me under the category of a teenaged girl who doesn't believe in love at first sight.

But here and now, all that has just changed.

My eyes meet his amber ones and I feel a halt in my breathing. Though he's wearing a silver mask over his face, I can still tell that he's model material. His jaw looks like someone actually used a chisel to chisel it, his light hair neatly brushed to the side, and those lips, so full.

Then those full lips are curving up on the sides into a charming smile. "Need a hand?" His voice is deep and masculine. Making me wonder if you can be attracted to a voice.

I release the breath. "Yes, thank you."

Taking his outstretched hand, which engulfs my small one, I allow him to help me back onto my clumsy feet. Now we're face to face.

"Hi." He smiles, his eyes raking over me, causing me to feel extremely self-conscious.

Heat rising to my cheeks, I say softly, "Hi back to you."

That's when the band raises the music and I cover my ears.

To my surprise the guy takes hold of my arm, electricity flowing through my veins. He leads me away from the dance, all the way outside and across the street to the park. We walk side by side down the lit winding path, until we reach the gazebo.

Smiling he lets go of my arm and my racing heart returns to its slow, steady pace. He then gracefully walks up the few steps onto the wooden platform. Turning around he faces me, his amber eyes shining. Bowing low, he says, "Would you have this dance?"

I stare at him, trying to figure out who he is behind that mask. He wiggles his light eyebrows and I laugh.

Raising my skirts, I climb into the gazebo, pausing right before him. "It would be my pleasure."

Before I can change my mind, not that I really plan to, I find his hand on the small of my back, and the other grasping my hand. His touch sets my body on fire. The pull so strong. It's like there's this thread between us, that just snapped and now we're connected to one another.

Then we dance, under the stars, like tiny pearls, and the moon, a big white sphere, lighting up the whole world.

I can't help, but gaze into those beautiful eyes of his. "Do I know you?"

He grins sheepishly. "I wouldn't think so. I'm an exchange student, I just arrived in town a few days ago."

"Oh, cool."

"Yes," he says, twirling me, my skirts fanning around my legs. He then pulls me close, so close that I can feel his breath caressing my cheek. "I'm glad that I did. Has anyone told you that you're beautiful?"

Now my face is beat red, I look away uncomfortable. "Not many."

His hand lets go of mine and is now cupping my chin, tilting my head back. My eyes lock on his, my heart fluttering. "Well those who don't are blind."

I can't seem to look away. "Tell me more about yourself," I whisper.

"Ok." His hand drops away from my face and I watch him stagger over to the bench and sit down. "I'm originally from here that's why I have an American accent, though I've been living in London for the past ten years."

"Cool." I slide onto the bench beside him. "British accents are hot!"

He chuckles, a sound that I wouldn't mind hearing again. "Well in London the American accent is hot."

"What, no? Nothing beats the Brits."

"Hmm living among them for so long, kind of makes me dig the American accent." He cocks his head to the side, eyeing me. "You're voice is nice and sweet. And you're accent is adorable."

I blush. "Thanks."

My leg begins to bounce, as it always does when I'm nervous. His hand rests on my knee and he smiles. "Now you tell me something about yourself."

I freeze my eyes glued to his hand. "Um, um." I blink, before focusing my eyes on his face. "What do you want to know?"

"Age?"

"Sixteen, you?"

"Seventeen."

"Nice!"

"Favorite color?" His hand slides off of my knee and I instantly miss his touch.

"Are we playing twenty-twenty questions?"

He smirks, "Maybe."

"Orange." I bite my lower lip. "What do you look like under that mask?"

He leans in close, his lips tickling my ear. "It's a secret."

That's when there is a ping and he removes his cellphone from his pocket. He curses. "I'm sorry, I have to go." And then he's beginning to run off.

"Hold on," I cry. "You didn't give me your number or your name!"

But he's already gone.