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Something about Anthony’s handsome face brought to Mal’s mind another handsome boy—the prince from her dream. He’d said he was her friend. His smile was kind and his voice gentle. Mal shuddered.
“Do you want something?” Mal asked Anthony coolly.
“Yes. To dance.” Anthony looked at her expectantly.
She looked at him, confused. “Wait—with me?” Nobody had ever asked her before. But she’d never really been to a party before either.
“Well, I didn’t mean him,” Anthony said, looking awkwardly at Jay. “No offense, man.”
“None taken.” Jay grinned broadly, knowing how uncomfortable this made Mal. He found it hilarious. “You two kids go have fun out there. Anthony, make sure you pick a slow song,” he said, as he slid away. “I have a step-granddaughter waiting for me.”
Mal could feel her cheeks turning pink, which was embarrassing, because she wasn’t afraid of anything, least of all dancing with snotty Anthony Tremaine.
So why are you blushing? she thought.
“I’m not really a dancer,” she said lamely.
“I can show you,” he said with a smooth smile.
Mal bristled. “I mean, I don’t dance with anyone. Ever.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed?
Mal thought about it. Her mind flashed back to earlier that evening. She’d been getting ready for the party, trying to choose between violet-hued holey or mauve patchwork jeans, when her mother had made a rare appearance at her door.
“Where on this dreadful island could you possibly be going?” Maleficent asked.
“To a party,” Mal said.
Maleficent let out an exasperated sigh. “Mal, what have I told you about parties?”
“I’m not going to have fun, Mother. I’m going so I can make someone miserable.” She almost wanted to share Operation Evie Scheme right then, but thought better of it. She would tell her mother once she had completed it successfully, lest she disappoint her once more. Maleficent never failed to remind Mal that sometimes it just didn’t seem like Mal was evil enough to be her daughter. At your age I cursing entire kingdoms was a familiar phrase Mal had grown up hearing.
“So you’re off to make someone miserable?” her mother cooed.
“Wretched, really!” enthused Mal.
A slow smile formed on Maleficent’s thin red lips. She crossed the room and stood in front of Mal, reaching out to trace a long nail along Mal’s cheek. “That’s a nasty little girl,” she said. Mal swore she saw a glimmer of pride flicker in her mother’s cold, emerald-green eyes.
Mal snapped back to reality as the band finished a punk rock number with clashing cymbals and a drum roll. Anthony Tremaine was still staring at her.
“So why don’t you dance, again?”
Because I don’t have time to dance when I have evil schemes to hatch, Mal wanted to say. One that will make my mother proud of me, finally.
She turned up her nose. “I don’t have to have a reason.”
“You don’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”
He caught her by surprise, because he was right.
Because she did have a reason, a very good reason to stay clear of any kind of activity that might hint at or lead to romance. Her missing father. Otherwise known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-in-Maleficent’s-Presence.
So Anthony had her there. Mal had
to give him that. But instead, she glared at him. Then she glared at him again, for good measure. “Maybe I just like to be alone.” Because maybe I’m so tired of my mother looking at me like I’m weak, just because I came from her own moment of weakness.
