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“What’s wrong, Emma?” he asks.
I sigh.
He knows something is up.
He knows I’ve been crying hysterically over something.
What can I hide from him? Nothing, apparently.
“My old ballet shoes broke,” I whimper.
“So what? Shoes break all the time. That’s normal.”
“You don’t understand,” I reply. “These wereoldballet shoes. And it happened in class in front of everyone and their shiny new ballet shoes. Mine are –were– just second-second-second-hand ones. And now I’ve totally embarrassed myself in front of everyone. They all know I’m some dirt-poor talentless stooge. They’re all judging me. I’m so different to them. I can never be a dancer.”
“Come on,” August says. “That’s not all bad. And I don’t think you’re talentless, or a stooge. In fact, I think quite the opposite.”
But the tears recommence, and I can’t stop them.
“To make things worse,” I mutter, “it’s my birthday today.”
And there we have it.
“It’s your birthday?” August asks, an eyebrow raised.
I nod silently. The tears are still coming.
“Well, happy birthday,” he says in his deep baritone.
“Thanks.”
I’m not being very thankful.
“Your ballet shoes breaking on your birthday is not a very nice thing to happen, isn’t it?”
I properly look at August in the eyes, then.Reallylook at those deep blue pools that dangerously try to pull me in.
“It was wrong that you kissed me the other day,” I whisper to the boy. “It’s made me go mad. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Slightly taken aback.
“You didn’t like it?” he asks, his deep voice now soft.
I shake my head again.
“No... Ilovedit,” I reply.
A smile crosses August’s face. “That’s all that matters, then.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.”
Now it’s August’s turn to sigh. He drops his hands from my face and glances up at the imposing mansion rising behind me.
“Mother has spoken to me,” he says quietly. “She told me we shouldn’t mix.”
“You and me?” I ask in a panic. “She knows about what we did?”
“Don’t worry,” August replies, “she has no idea of what happened the other day, but she did tell me I shouldn’t even speak to the maids. My parents have big expectations on me and my future, and they think I’m jeopardizing things by talking to anyone outside of a select few people.”
