“It was harmless,” Addie put in. “Flattering in a way. You could tell he didn’t really mean anything by it.”
“Oh.” It must be nice, to be able tell things like that.
“He wasn’t the best-looking guy in the world, but he made you think he was.” Van picked up a brush and began running it through her hair. “That’s the power of charisma.”
“Magnetism,” Addie agreed. “The sparkle in the eye that hints at inner life.”
I huffed in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Alex Ritter is extremely handsome.”
The twins exchanged a glance. Addie spoke first. “Are the two of you—”
“Dallying?” Van finished.
“No! Not at all.” I looked at my hands, twisting in front of me. “That would be stupid.”
“Why?” Van asked.
“Wouldn’t you guys warn me away from someone like that?”
“I would never tell you who to love,” Van said loftily. “I trust you to follow your heart. If it ends badly, so be it. You have to be open to new experiences. What’s the point of living otherwise?”
There wasn’t enough room in my brain to process what she was saying. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not really interested.”
Van waved a finger at me. “Don’t sell yourself short, Mare-Bear. I thought the same thing about Phoebe, but we Porter-Malcolms are not without attractions of our own.”
“Be true to yourself and other people will see your worth.Ifthey’re worth your time.” Addie’s words seemed directed to her twin as much as me.
While Van smiled, a thread of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. They made it sound so easy, like riding a bike—but I had come late to that skill, too.
Dear Diary,
Even a Victorianist like me is not immune to the spell of the Cinderella trope. Is it humanly possible to attend a dance without thinking you might magically turn out to be the belle of the ball?
M.P.M.
Chapter 24
My rational mind was awarethat Winter Formal wouldn’t be a ball in the traditional sense. Nevertheless, I’d envisioned a certain level of elegance. If not crystal chandeliers, silk gloves, and a full orchestra, then at least a style of dancing that didn’t involve the use of butt cheeks as hand grips.
As I stepped through the doors of the Millville High gymnasium, I was forced to scale my expectations down, and then down again, at which point I began to appreciate the effort thathadbeen made. The streamers and balloons gave off a metallic sheen that went some way toward disguising the battle-worn state of the gym, and the giant Eiffel Tower projected on the wall was certainly on point, thematically. My classmates had also taken on a surface gloss, sporting hair as stiff and glittering as their new clothes. Eventually I might even get used to the groin-rubbing.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Terry whisper-yelled at my side. “There’s your sister.”
She pointed to the dance floor, where Cam and Jeff were bringing a uniquely athletic flair to their spins and turns. Their moves had more in common with boomerang throwing than the minuet.
“Hey,” said Lydia, stepping in front of us. She wore a sleeveless pink dress with a sweetheart neckline and smattering of sparkles across the bodice. “What are you looking at?”
“Mary’s sister,” Terry replied. “Cam.”
Since the twins weren’t at Winter Formal, the clarification seemed unnecessary. I felt apingof curiosity as the music changed tempo. Lydia’s shoulders twitched in time with the beat.
“Have you guys seen Arden?” she asked.
As I shook my head, it occurred to me how odd that was.
“Let me text her.” Lydia slipped her phone from her beaded clutch. “Probably her dinner ran long.” The ding of a response was immediate. “In the bathroom. She’ll be here in a sec.”
My inclination would have been to seek out a dark corner from which to wait and watch, until I remembered that Lydia was here with a date.
