When the door opens, I’m relieved only for a moment. Because the alternative isn’t much better.
Eliza strides through the door, and George immediately stands straighter at the sight of her. She’s in the pleated skirt and starched, crisp white blouse of the school uniform. Next to the masses of our lumpy gray gym outfits, she practically glows. Following her is Chase Peterson.
“Mr. Peterson, Miss Patton, why don’t you give the class a demonstration of what their end goal looks like?” Mrs. Percy says. She sashays over to the stereo and sets a record spinning until the notes curl out from it in ribbons. Chase extends his hand to Eliza, and they begin to glide across the floor in three-step counts.
“One, two, three; one, two, three,” Mrs. Percy dictates. “Gentlemen, look at how Chase leads. Excellent form, Eliza. Ladies, see the posture of her back?”
“What do you know about her?” I whisper to George.
“Eliza? The ‘Face of Sterling’?” George cracks his knuckles again. “She’s a Patton. Rich as anyone—?even the Clifftons. She and Will have been friends since they were little. Everyone’s always thought it was inevitable they’d end up together.”
I try to pretend that this doesn’t make my heart suddenly plummet like a stone.
I’m paired to practice with Chase, and it sinks even lower.
“Hello, Will’s little houseguest.” Chase’s hand finds my waist. A mole lurks under the dark stubble on his shaved head. His teeth are white and straight, but his smile is more like a smirk.
When I don’t respond, he guides us through the strand of dancing students to where Eliza has been paired with George. I’m not sure how he can talk and dance at the same time. I’m using all my concentration to count steps in my head and avoid landing on him. “I saw your mother last weekend,” Chase says to Eliza when we approach. “She’s gracing you with her presence this week?”
Eliza shrugs. “Not to worry,” she says, sounding bored. “She’s off again tomorrow.”
“Is she coming back before Disappearance Day? Or staying clear of all the . . . unpleasantness?” His eyes glitter at her, and she narrows hers back at him, as if she’s trying to unearth another layer of meaning behind his words.
“Aren’t we curious today?” she says, moving George’s arm to a different angle, her voice becoming icy and prim. “She might be back. She might not. She’s attending an auction. And my sister has a performance.”
She sniffs. I’m trying not to look at her skin. It is dewy and creamy and looks as if it has never seen a blemish. Meanwhile, I can feel a pimple preparing to make yet another appearance on the left side of my chin.
“Ouch!” Eliza cries, jumping back. George’s latest step has landed on her foot. “Oh, good.” She yanks George’s arm back into the proper dancing position. “It’s not as though I needed those toes anyway.”
Chase’s sudden laugh sounds like glass breaking. Freckles burn across George’s face.
And then Chase turns his attention to me.
“So, new girl. What’s Cliffton like at home?” he asks. “Do you stay up late drinking Shirley Temples and painting each other’s nails?”
George’s embarrassment still lingers, heating the air around us. It infuriates me that we’re both being batted back and forth between Eliza and Chase like pathetic little mice.
“Actually, Will prefers to pour cocktails while I teach him how to French . . .” I say. Chase’s mouth drops open. “Braid,” I add sweetly. I send Eliza a look that I hope says You do not scare me.
Chase lets out a short whistle. “This one’s got some moxie, doesn’t she?”
Eliza narrows her eyes and looks me up and down. As if she’s miscalculated and is now reevaluating me.
Chase’s hand drops a degree lower on my back.
“So, Aila,” Eliza says eventually, cocking her head, “there was no one else willing to take you in but the Clifftons?” Her voice takes on an exaggerated incredulity. She tuts. “Isn’t it sad how history repeats itself.”
My breath comes a bit faster, and I stop myself just in time from tripping over Chase’s feet. I’m not quite sure what Eliza is getting at. Which gives me a growing sense of dread.
“Whatever do you mean?” Chase plays along.
“Hey Eliza—” George says, valiantly trying to change the subject.
Eliza ignores him. “Don’t you know?” she says to Chase. It’s as if George and I aren’t even there. “Her mother was an orphan. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, either, so Eleanor Cummings took her in.”
Eliza’s words land like stingers, throbbing on their marks.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I answer sharply. I falter on the dance steps again and push Chase’s hand away. “My mother wasn’t an orphan.”
