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"Who are you going to the dance with, Miss Blackbell?" Martha asked as she drove her charge home after school.
Becky sniffed with feigned indifference. "How am I supposed to choose? Too many boys have asked me."
Martha smiled gently, which Becky could see reflected in the rear view mirror even though Martha probably imagined she was being subtle. "I suppose you could choose the one you like the best."
"They're all stupid anyway," Becky said, slumping down quite inelegantly in her seat. "It's just a dance."
"It's your final dance at Eden Academy," Martha replied. "It may not mean much to you right now, but you might look back on it when you're older and see it as a turning point in your life. The end of one era, and the beginning of something new."
Becky sighed, staring out the window in silence for a time. Eventually she said, "What if the person I want to go with hasn't asked me?"
"Ah," Martha said, her voice suffused with kindness and the wisdom that ought to come with age. "Then perhaps you should ask that person yourself."
"I can't!" Becky exclaimed, her face growing warm. "That is, I don't know if it would be a good idea. What if they say no?"
Rarely in Becky's comfortable life had anyone said no to her. The prospect was scary to consider.
"All you can do is take a chance," Martha counseled. "Don't hold your breath waiting for them to make the first move - you could be waiting a very long time. If you ask and they say no, at least you can move on with your head held high, knowing that you were brave enough to take a risk."
Becky wasn't entirely convinced, and her head was certainly not held high. "I'll think about it." There were only three days until the dance, so she didn't have long to mull it over, but Martha kindly refrained from pointing that out.
"Are you and Miss Forger still going shopping for dresses this evening?"
"Yes..."
"Very good, miss. Then we will pick her up after dinner."
As planned, after dinner Martha drove Becky to the Forgers' residence, and waited with her while she approached the door. Before she could ring the bell, though, the door flew open and Anya stood there beaming. Lying in the hall behind her, Bond looked up briefly, long enough to wag his tail when he saw it was Becky, but the elderly dog couldn't quite muster the energy to bother getting up, let alone bark at the newcomers.
"I'm ready to go!" Anya said brightly, and had almost stepped out the door when her father's voice interrupted.
"Anya, be back by 8, all right? You have homework to do," Loid said, appearing behind her. Anya didn't bother to stifle a groan, rolling her eyes (out of sight of her father, it had to be said).
Becky had long since outgrown her childish crush on Anya's father, along with her jealousy of Mrs. Forger, but she still stood up a little straighter and smiled a little more brightly at seeing him. "Don't worry, sir, we'll bring her back in plenty of time!"
Loid nodded, smiling at them with creases alongside his eyes that hadn't been there a few years before. "All right, have a good time, you two."
Once they arrived at the high-end boutique in the most exclusive section of the Berlint shopping district, the girls wasted no time in beginning to examine the elegant gowns and party dresses. Trying on fancy clothes they had no intention of buying was half the fun of going shopping, after all, and even though they would each only pick one dress for the dance, it was always a lengthy process of elimination to weed through the possible candidates. Anya and Becky had been shopping together hundreds of times, and by now they knew one another's preferred styles inside and out. Becky gravitated towards more classy, grown-up styles, while Anya liked fun and often quirky dresses. They could each pull a dress off the rack and know at once whether it would better suit the other one, working together until their arms were overflowing with silk and sequins, then giggling as they made their way to the fitting rooms to try them on.
"Becky, can you help me?" Anya called from inside her stall, after a while. Adjusting the straps on a regal blue ball gown with its full skirt, Becky pushed her way past the curtain to find her friend half-in and half-out of a slinky lavender dress. Anya turned towards her and Becky felt her face grow warm at the sight of her friend, rather more exposed than she had expected. "I can't do up the back," she explained sheepishly, and turned around, lifting her thick mane of pink hair so that the dress's zipper was revealed.
"Oh! Yes, of course," Becky said, and hurried to tug the zipper up with trembling hands. It had to be said that the dress fit Anya like it had been custom-made for her, with a rather daring slit up the thigh and a low-cut bodice.
"What do you think?" Anya asked, examining herself skeptically in the mirror from various angles. "Is it too much?"
Becky felt like her mouth had gone as dry as the desert. "It looks good," she somehow managed to croak out, while her brain was spinning in helpless circles.
Anya grinned. "Then if you like it, I'll get this one. Besides, it will scandalize the teachers!"
Becky could only stand there in a daze. Anya looked so grown-up and glamorous, it was hard to mesh this vision of loveliness with her best friend since they were six years old: the girl who had helped her throw tomatoes at Hamilton Hall's gym class (Tonitrus bolt number four for Anya, but the first for Becky), the girl who had held her while Becky sobbed messily after breaking up with her first boyfriend, the girl who had once eaten seventeen jelly donuts on a dare and then been miserably sick while Becky held her hair back, the girl who had scoured the neighbourhood when Becky's dog had gone missing, and refused to rest until they found him again...
The girl she was... Oh no, she couldn't be. The girl she was secretly in love with.
Anya's hands flew up to her face and she spun around to face Becky, her eyes sparkling and cheeks nearly as rosy as her hair. "I, uh, I like your dress too!" she blurted, but in a way that seemed like she had meant to say something else.
"This thing?" Becky plucked distractedly at the heavy velvet skirt. "I'm not sure - maybe it's too old fashioned. I don't want to look like I'm thirty, after all."
With a giggle, Anya said, "No, no, you don't! It looks very... elegant."
Becky couldn't help but laugh at that. "Oh no! If Professor Henderson would like it, then I definitely need to choose something else. I have a few more to try on, why don't you come look and tell me what you think?"
"Okay," Anya agreed brightly. "Let me just get changed back into my own clothes and then I'll help you decide."
In the end, Becky chose a ballgown with a wide sash and a tulle skirt that floated gracefully when she moved. The fabric was a dark purple that gradually lightened to a pale pink by the time it reached the floor. The shade reminded her of Anya's hair, although she couldn't say that - she could barely even think about it without getting flustered. She had to take a deep breath and compose herself so that she could act normal for the rest of their shopping trip. "Now we need shoes, and jewelry, and accessories!" she announced, trying her best to keep up the facade of someone who was definitely not in love with her best friend.
As they browsed for the remainder of their ensembles, Anya seemed antsy and distracted. She kept fidgeting with her hair and couldn't seem to stay still. "What's wrong?" Becky asked her. "You aren't worried about your homework, are you?" They had both achieved the coveted rank of Imperial Scholar, although it had to be said that Anya had also racked up an alarming seven Tonitrus Bolts in the course of her checkered educational career. But this close to graduation, there was surely no risk of expulsion, even if her homework wasn't completed in time.
"No, it's nothing like that," Anya said. "It's just... Damian hasn't asked me to the dance - he keeps sort of acting like he's going to, and then chickening out. And it's so late at this point, I don't know if I even want him to ask or not. What do you think I should do?"
Becky couldn't help rolling her eyes at that. "If he's too embarrassed to ask you, he doesn't deserve to go with you." Of course she felt protective of her best friend, which was a totally normal way to feel. She wasn't jealous in the least.
"I think if nobody else had to know about it, he would ask me," Anya continued with a heavy sigh. "He's just worried about what other people will think, and whether they'll be mean about it."
"Well, that's just stupid!" Becky folded her arms. "Damian's an idiot if he can't see how amazing you are!"
Anya put on a brave smile. "Yeah, you're right. I am great!"
"And if he won't ask you, then maybe we should just go together," Becky blurted, and then hastily added, "...as friends!"
"Can you do that?" Anya asked, puzzled. "I thought a girl had to go with a boy."
"That's such an old-fashioned way of thinking about it," Becky said, waving her hand dismissively. Her heart was racing, but somehow she kept talking despite her nerves. "And it's not really a rule, it's just etiquette - there's nothing saying you have to have a date at all. So if we want to go as two girl friends - friends who are girls - I mean - well, there's no reason that we can't!"
"You don't have to do that, just because you feel sorry for me," Anya said, looking down, whether out of embarrassment or sympathy with her friend. "I know you could have your pick of which boy to go with. Haven't about ten of them asked you already?"
"Don't be silly," Becky said stubbornly. "It's not because I feel sorry for you!" She tried to avoid thinking about what she did feel for Anya, even though her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest when she so much as looked in her direction. "None of those boys are very interesting, after all. It will be fun!" she said with a forced smile. "And maybe Damian will feel bad about missing his chance with you, too. It would serve him right!"
"Well, okay - we can go together. As friends," Anya said. There still seemed to be something a little off about her response, but Becky couldn't be certain what it was - disappointment, or resignation perhaps? But Anya being Anya, she tried to put a good front up, smiling as she leaned over and squeezed Becky's hand. "Thanks, Becky. I'm lucky to have a friend like you."
"Anytime," Becky replied, covering her conflicted feelings with heroic effort.
On the night of the dance, Martha drove Becky in the family's limo to pick Anya up. "Good luck, miss," she said, refraining from giving any additional advice, but merely waiting next to the door for her charge to return. Nervously, Becky rang the doorbell.
This time, Mrs. Forger answered. She looked as pretty as usual, but Becky only had eyes for Anya, who appeared behind her in the daring lavender gown. Her hair was swept up in a sophisticated knot, and her amethyst earrings and necklace glittered prettily. "Hi Becky, does my hair look all right? Mama helped me with it!"
Yor smiled fondly, adjusting a single strand of her daughter's hair. "You look just lovely, both of you. We should take some pictures before you go. Loid, darling, bring the camera!"
In the photographs, Becky and Anya posed next to one another, elegant and grown-up in one shot, childish and playful in the next, caught on the cusp of adulthood, in the last moments of their school days. When they were finally finished, Yor dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, and even Loid seemed choked up. "Go on now, you two," Yor told them, nudging them towards the door. "And don't worry about staying out late. After all, it's not every night you have your last dance!"
"That's right," Loid agreed. "Have fun, stay out until midnight if you like - it's the end of an era!"
"Borf," Bond agreed, even managing to clamber up from his comfortable bed so that he could see them safely out the door, wagging his tail wearily.
As the senior students arrived for their last dance, they found the grounds of Eden Academy transformed for the momentous occasion. The grand hall glittered with twinkling lights that looked almost like tiny stars, and graceful music drifted languidly through the air, provided by a live orchestra. Anya's gaze darted this way and that, bright and lively as she took it all in, seeming awestruck by the magnificent decorations and the crowds of dancers, but Becky couldn't stop looking at Anya. The light caught in the gems that dangled from her ears, and sparkled off her pale skin, casting reflections in every direction. She was beautiful.
"What should we do first?" Anya asked, snapping Becky out of her reverie for a moment.
"Oh, um," she stammered, trying to pretend like she hadn't been staring. "We could get some refreshments?"
"Sure!" The two of them made their way together toward the banquet table that was laid out with a vast number of finger sandwiches, tiny cookies and cakes adorned with spun sugar flowers, and a punch bowl the size of a child's wading pool. Becky took a glass of punch and a little cookie decorated with pink icing, but Anya's eyes widened at the variety, and she seemed overwhelmed by indecision.
A polite cough came from behind them, and they both turned around. Damian stood there, flanked as ever by Ewen and Emile. He looked quite dashing in his black suit, frowning seriously in the way that he did when he was nervous. "Excuse me, Miss Forger, but may I have the next dance?"
Anya glanced over at Becky, who felt her heart sink. Of course, they were just here as friends. It was only to be expected that other people would ask Anya to dance. "Is it all right with you?" she asked quietly, and Becky couldn't exactly say no, not without looking like a weirdo in front of everyone.
"Go ahead!" she said, putting on a fake cheerful smile. She was not going to let some silly jealousy ruin Anya's evening, after all. "I've got my hands full anyway." She made a show of sipping her punch and taking a bite of her cookie. It wasn't as if she wanted Emile or Ewen to ask her to dance, especially not if it was because they felt like they had to, so it seemed sensible to deter them before they could even think about it.
"All right," Anya said, and took Damian's hand as he led her onto the dance floor. It seemed like it was going much better than their first attempt at dancing, back when they'd all been in their first year. They weren't squabbling or stepping on one another's feet, at least. Instead, Damian held her in his arms, a bit stiff but not awkwardly, as they swayed to the lilting music. Overhead, twinkling lights shone down on them like distant satellites.
Becky watched from the sidelines, even though she didn't want to. It was like she couldn't look away. She had always known Damian liked Anya, even if he had often been stupid about it, and maybe now that they were finally about to graduate, he was going to admit his feelings to her. Anya would say she loved him too, they'd kiss, maybe they would even run away together and elope if their parents refused to let them marry each other... it would be incredibly romantic if it happened on one of her soap operas. Seeing it begin to play out before her in real life, though, Becky just felt a sad, inevitable emptiness.
She stepped outside, descending the stairs to the school garden, needing a breath of fresh air and a moment to clear her head. It was dark outside, and there were a few couples walking hand in hand along the paths that wound through the flowers, no doubt looking for a private corner where they could be alone. Becky also wanted to be alone, but for very different reasons. She sat down on the bottom step with a heavy sigh. Maybe she was going to be alone forever and never find someone who returned her feelings. Maybe it was silly to imagine that a girl like her would ever be swept off her feet.
As she sat there on the stairs, despondent, a faint click sounded near her ear. "Don't scream," a man's voice said, and then added, "Stand up slowly and come with me, Miss Blackbell."
Becky was the daughter of an incredibly wealthy family - she knew kidnapping attempts were a possibility, and had it drilled into her head from a young age that she could be a target. Eden Academy's end of term dance should have been fairly low-risk, but she supposed there could be criminals anywhere. She did as she was told - standing up slowly, not turning around to face him. She was strangely calm, but her heart was racing.
"That's good," the man said, keeping his voice low. His hand, enclosed in a leather glove, gripped her upper arm, pointing her in the direction he wished for her to go. "Now, walk towards the stone gate, and don't even think about trying to run away."
Slowly, Becky began to move towards the gate, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead. She considered for a moment whether she could try to fight back, to make a break for it, but the man had a gun and she wasn't sure that she could get away. It was safer to go along with what he told her to do for now, and wait for a better opportunity to escape. All of her self-defense training fled from her mind in the presence of an actual threat, and she wished Martha was here, or someone else who could rescue her...
"Let her go!" A wild yell came from the direction of the ballroom, and the grasp on her arm loosened as the kidnapper turned with a cry of surprise. Becky heard her dress tear as she whirled around as well, just in time to see Anya kick the masked man in the knee, causing him to stumble. His gun went off, the bullet flying harmlessly into the night, and Anya kicked him again, knocking it out of his hand. It slid across the stones of the courtyard, out of reach. "Don't you dare hurt Becky!" Anya hollered, as the school's security guards came running at the sound of the gunshot.
There was a scuffle as the man shoved Becky away and tried to escape, running for the wall and trying to scale it with a jump, being pursued by the security guards. Becky stumbled, hitting her arm against one of the stone columns, and would have fallen, except that Anya was there to catch her. "Are you okay?" Anya asked, and Becky reached up, clinging to her, dazzled by the way the lights shimmered in her eyes.
"I... I'm okay," Becky managed to stammer, after a long pause. She felt shaky and her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear the sounds of the kidnapper being captured and dragged away. She realized that Anya was still holding on to her, and she wondered if she should try to move, or if she could get away with lying here for a few more seconds.
"I was so worried," Anya said, tears welling up in her eyes. "If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do!"
"How did you know something was wrong?" Becky managed to ask.
Anya bit her lip, her eyes looking vaguely shifty. "I heard you calling for help."
"I didn't say anything," Becky told her. "Not out loud, anyway."
"Well, um, I guess I just had a feeling," Anya replied. It was something Becky had heard many times from her over the years, and had learned to trust it, however foolish it seemed - Anya's 'feelings' were more often than not correct. "I just knew somehow that I had to come and find you."
Becky's heart was caught in her throat, and she realized that half the students had come out of the ballroom to see what the commotion was all about, and were standing on the steps staring down at them. Damian stood near the front of the crowd, but Anya wasn't paying attention to him right now - her entire focus was on Becky, as though there was no one else that mattered. She was very close, and Becky could almost imagine their lips coming together in a romantic kiss...
Instead, Anya helped her back to her feet, and Becky stood there in her torn dress, feeling awkward, wishing everyone else would just go away. "I need to go get cleaned up," she blurted abruptly, pulling away and hurrying off in the direction of the girls' washroom. She managed not to cry until she was almost inside.
In the privacy of the bathroom, Becky tried to fix her dress, but it was hopelessly torn, the skirt trodden on and dirty from where she'd fallen. She stared at herself in the mirror, her cheeks blotchy and red, her eyes puffy from crying, her elbow scraped and bruised where she'd hit it. She was a mess. If this was meant to be some kind of great culmination of her school days and the beginning of the rest of her adult life, it wasn't off to a very promising start. Dismally, she ran some water so that she could splash some on her face.
When she looked up again, Anya was standing behind her, looking worried. "Becky, I'm sorry," she said.
"What for?" Becky snapped in reply. "It wasn't your fault." She wasn't sure why she was upset, couldn't put into words what was bothering her so badly.
"It is, though," Anya replied unhappily. "If I hadn't been dancing with stupid Damian, I would have been there to protect you, and none of this would have happened." She reached out and clumsily took Becky's hand, gazing into her eyes. "I should have been with you."
Becky could barely believe what she was hearing, to the point where it seemed like surely she must be mistaken. This was almost like a scene from one of her romance novels, except that it was her best friend standing there, pink-haired and blushing, instead of a tall, dark, and handsome man. "Anya," she managed to say, her voice coming out as barely more than a squeak, before Anya leaned in and kissed her.
When they could both breathe again, they sat down on the chaise, still clutching one another's hands. "I guess I've always suspected, in a way," Anya said, in response to a question Becky had only thought but hadn't asked out loud. "But I only knew for sure a couple of days ago, when we were shopping, when I realized, oh, she loves me." She glanced nervously at Becky, sidelong. "I just know things sometimes. I can read people's minds."
"Really?" It would make a strange amount of sense - there were so many bizarre incidents over the years that could be explained if she was telling the truth. Becky flushed, imagining all of the petty, foolish, or scandalous things she'd daydreamed about over the years when Anya had been nearby. "That must be difficult to deal with."
"Really," Anya said. "I, um, I try not to pry most of the time, but sometimes it's just impossible to ignore. The other day, it was kind of like a big flashing sign over your head. And when I thought about it a little longer, I realized... I felt the same. I just didn't know how to tell you."
It felt as if a weight had lifted off Becky's shoulders, like she could fly, she was so giddy. "You did? You do? Feel the same, I mean?" What had seemed impossible only a few minutes before was suddenly transformed into a wide-open vista of unexpected possibilities.
"I do," Anya confessed shyly. "I don't know what happens next, but I do know how I feel about you."
"You can't read the future, can you?" Becky asked with a giggle. "I suppose that would be too easy."
"No, but Bond can, sometimes," Anya replied with total conviction. "I can ask him."
Becky nodded as she squeezed Anya's hand and turned towards her for another kiss - sure, ask the dog, it made about as much sense as anything else in her life right now.
"Do you want to go back to the dance?" Anya asked a little while later.
"Shouldn't you be able to tell what I want?" Becky teased.
"Oh," Anya replied, blushing all the way to the tips of her toes. "Yes. Yes, I can."