Dressing up was always the hardest part of the afternoon.

The invitation to the Valentino Mansion said semi-formal attire, but the problem was the "semi-". It offered as many possibilities as a partyless night. It was a big hassle for the boys, because it could mean a jacket with a tie (or without a tie for certain types of shirt collars

) or a white shirt and trousers without a jacket (but only on summer nights) or all kinds of trench coats, vests, tailcoats, Scottish skirts, or very chic sweaters. For the girls, however, the definition allowed endless interpretations, as usually happens with definitions here in the New Beautiful Neighborhood. Tally almost preferred the clear-cut "formal attire

". The clothes were more uncomfortable and the parties totally boring until everyone got drunk, but at least you didn’t have to rack your brain about what to wear. "Semi-formal, semi-formal," she murmured as her gaze wandered over the contents of her open wardrobe, where the rotating clothes rack braked and jerked back and forth sharply, trying to synchronize with the erratic clicking of her optical mouse, making the clothes flutter on the hangers. Yes, the "semi-" was definitely an annoying word. "Is it even a real word?" Tally wondered aloud. "Semi-?" She felt it strange in her mouth, which was dry

like cotton from last night's party. "It's just the first part of compound words," her room replied, pretending to be clever. "Nice to meet you," Tally murmured. She threw herself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling that soon the room would start spinning.

It was unfair to trouble her mind over half a word. "Get rid of it," she said. The room didn’t understand and closed the sliding door of her wardrobe. Tally didn’t have the energy to explain that she meant the headache from last night’s all-nighter, which had settled inside her head like an overweight cat, limp

and angry and unwilling to tidy up.