…justlet her outlike that…
“They didn’t have anymore Sauv Blanc,” Morgan says, “so I got Pinot Grigio. Hope that’s…”
She trails off, seeing where I’m staring. Just Claire darts a glance at me. Smirks.
Morgan grimaces. “Ignore them,” she murmurs, patting the top of my hand.
But I pull it away.
“No,” I say, a little louder than necessary for Morgan to hear. “No, you know what? Hey, Elena. Hey, Claire.” I swear to God the whole ballroom turns and looks at me.Well, let them look,I think.I don’t care.
And I don’t, I realize. It’s shocking, actually, howlittleI care, my habitual, instinctual need to shrink away from humanobservation just…gone. I guess after having someone literally watch you on the toilet, a few catty side-eyes just don’t register the same.
“You’re right,” I go on, taking another step toward their table. “I came back. Here I am. Hello.”
“How…” Elena stammers.
“Chewed through my straitjacket,” I deadpan. Claire gasps a little. Elena huffs.
“I’m just kidding,” I add. “They kicked me out. Cut me loose because I kept…biting the orderlies.”
Behind me, Morgan snorts with laughter.
“I’m, um, glad you’re feeling better,” Elena says, sweet as pie. “Hopefully you’re…catching up with your schoolwork quickly.”
“What, like it’s hard? I’m doing this wacky little thing calledpaying attention in class.”
I hear Morgan sucking a breath behind me, like maybe I’ve gone a little too far. This is the girl who burned our dorm room to a crisp, I want to tell her, I don’t think we’re even approaching that universe.
“Yeah, well…” Elena falters, clearly struggling to maintain her facade. “At least I’m not being babysat by?—”
“Gwenna.” A deep voice interrupts us.
It’s Kingston. “I’m sorry, Elena,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, you…” she stammers. “It’s…”
“Gwenna,” Kingston repeats. “Would you like to dance?”
“I…” Before I even fully answer, he’s taken me by the hand and started to guide me toward the dance floor. I follow like an automaton, stunned, knowing I can’t just pull away and cause even more of a scene for Elena to delight in.
We get to the dance floor, and he turns me gently to face him, puts his hand on my waist. Then, after a moment’s pause, guides my hand to his shoulder and takes my right in his left. The musicswells, and he starts across the floor, his grip on my waist firm but flexible, warm and steady, tiny movements guiding me this way or that.
I’m still too stunned to say anything, to look him in the eye, but something’s bubbling up inside me. Not tears, not gratitude, not even fear. Anger.
I turn to glare at him. “What are you doing?” I say.
His face looks blank, puzzled. “Rescuing you?” he says, like a question.
“From what?” I say. “A vicious gang of coeds?”
Kingston’s mouth falls open and he shuts it.
“What were they going to do, Kingston?” I mutter. “Throw a drink on me? Light something on fire? They’re out of options.
“I suppose I didn’t…” He trails off, never missing a step, even as he is visibly cogitating through what I’ve said. “I just know they’ve given you a hard time in the past, and?—”
“A hard time?” I give a short laugh. “I’m sorry, that is putting it incredibly lightly. The only person who’s been crueler to me than them is currently trying to dance with me.”
