“My mother said I hadn’t washed properly,” she said, voice tight with shame. “But I do. I really do. My skin just—doesn’t look the way it should.” Her voice broke, and tears slipped freely now, glistening trails on her flushed skin.
“Oh, Helen,” Dragonfly murmured. “Me too. My sister even took me to see Doctor Fol once because she has perfect skin and I don’t. He told me it was just part of growing up. Maybe he could talk to your mother...”
Helen gave a small shake of her head. “I know it’s not my fault, but when she points it out like that, it makes me feel like I’m failing at something I can’t even control. I act like it doesn’t bother me, but it does. It really does.”
“I get self-conscious all the time,” Dragonfly admitted. “Even my sister—she’s so pretty—but sometimes she still picks at herself in the mirror.”
Helen sighed, her whole posture softening. “I guess that’s something we never grow out of.”
“Maybe when we’re ancient and wrinkly we’ll stop caring,” Dragonfly said with a small grin. “But until then, at least our joints still work.”
That earned a laugh, and just like that, the shadow passed. Helen lit up again—her laughter full and bright, like a lantern relit.
“Let me show you Nic’s gift! Hold out your hand.”
Dragonfly did, curious. Something about the size and weight of a small pear dropped into her palm—and she gasped.
A wooden seadog, perfectly carved.
“Nic made this?”
Helen’s pride bloomed so radiantly it was almost blinding. It poured through her like sunlight—adoration, wonder, joy. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Dragonfly turned it slowly in her hands, marveling. The wood had been left natural, sanded until it was satin-smooth. The fur was carved in soft, delicate lines. The eyes held expression. Even the tiny toes were exact.
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“He started it after our first date,” Helen said, her voice trembling. “After I told him how much I wanted a seadog.”
There was no denying it—Helen was utterly in love with him.
“He must’ve spent so much time on it,” Dragonfly said.
“You didn’t know he was carving this?” Helen asked.
Dragonfly shook her head, still staring at the dog. She’d never once heard a word about it. Not from Nic. Not from anyone.
Clearly, Helen wasn’t just a tryst.
Why had he hidden this? Why keep something so tender, so carefully made, a secret from his friends?
There was more to Nic than swagger and flirtation. A quiet depth. A thoughtfulness he rarely let show.
Dragonfly turned the carving once more in her hand, heart twisting strangely.
The girls walked into town side by side, baskets swinging gently against their hips. Dragonfly’s was warm against her palm, filled with freshly sealed jars of blackberry jam. Helen’s carried something entirely different—her flowing dancing dress, thebodice, the slippers—all tucked neatly beneath a folded shawl. Even packed away, the garments shimmered with the promise of performance.
As they reached the square, Dragonfly spotted Nic sprawled on a stone bench, head tilted back, eyes closed, the very picture of lazy indifference. Dolly, who had trotted faithfully behind them the whole way, gave a delighted bark and bounded forward. She ignored every passerby and bee-lined straight to him, rousing him with a cold nose to the chin and a gloriously wet tongue to the cheek.
Nic groaned and sat up, rubbing at his face with theatrical misery.
Dragonfly held back a grin. She paused near the meeting hall steps, waiting as a younger class finished up inside.
Helen turned to Nic, pressing her lips briefly to his cheek. “See you after,” she whispered, before dashing off toward the White Villa garden where Larissa was already waiting.
Nic watched her cross the square, his eyes soft in a way that didn’t match his usual sarcasm. He looked almost... wistful.
“It’s nice that you two are getting along,” he said, tossing the words out like breadcrumbs. “Maybe you’ll become best friends, and I won’t have to put up with Larissa anymore.”
