The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant (21 page)

“Annie, please,” he begs, frozen, as others pair off to dance and groups form on the floor. A smile creeps across my face. “No, really. I’m the worst.” Still, I say nothing but dance up to him. He cringes. “I love the music. Hate the dancing.”

When he sees I’m not about to give in, he reluctantly pushes my still-empty chair back in. I grin and tug at his hand, hauling him smack into the middle of the dance floor.

Brilliant that everyone’s masked! Anyone with reservations about dancing publicly
must
go to a masque. Overcome by a sense of liberation like nothing I’ve felt in years, I let loose. Fully. And completely.

“I love this song!” I shout over the music to him.

He laughs nervously, but, the more I move, the more he opens up to the idea of dancing. Soon, his side-to-side step gets a bit freer, looser—cooler. Laughing, I pull out my California street-dancing swagger, which is insanely tough in this dress and heels, but I can’t help myself. This song is begging for some
boom-pop,
and I am
all over
that.

“Man, you’ve got soul! You’re awesome!” Pilot shouts. “You even make me look good.” Then, with a laugh, he throws down some Running Man, and I try to follow, but my dress is so tight around my thighs that I just end up laughing and falling into a side swipe—which, shockingly, Pilot mirrors.

“I thought you hated dancing!” I holler at him.

He shrugs. “I used to have a massive crush on Julia Stiles! Watched
Save the Last Dance,
like, ninety times.” Then he throws his head back and hoots. “Did I just admit that?”

As I pull out some pretty simple b-boy breaking, I can’t help but notice that the floor is clearing out around us—but the others aren’t leaving; they’re backing into a circle. To watch us and cheer us on. Kudos to Pilot for not freaking out, for working out a valiant attempt at popping and locking that inspires me to do the same. A few kids clap, and Pilot and I exchange wide grins.

Until.

Until I see that Harper, Tallulah, and Agniezska are watching from the sidelines, staring from behind their flashy masks. Inch by inch, Harper pulls her longhorns down from her eyes, revealing a glare that is like no other I’ve
ever
received. Enough to stop me in my tracks—if I wasn’t having such an awesome time.

Unfortunately, the song finally comes to an end and switches to something slow. Jack strides our way, clapping along with a few other people; at the same time, Harper, fuming, storms right at us.

“Nice moves, Merchant!” Jack laughs as Pilot and I grin and pretend not to notice a seething Harper. “Bod. Brains. Bustin’ it. Thank God they’re grading you, but too bad for your competition.”

“Pilot,” Harper interrupts angrily, “dance with me. Now.”

She whirls in a huff—a gorgeous, shimmery, irritated huff that gets more frantic the more Jack laughs at her. Pilot has been holding my hand, but, to my surprise, he drops it and follows Harper.

“You’re going?” I mouth after him. But he just looks sorry. I guess I can’t blame him. Harper’s crazy-looking enough right now that if she told
anyone
to dance with her, they would—anything to wash that freaky look off her face. She probably bullied Pilot into telling her my PT, too.

“Classic! Well, then,” Jack says, smirking as he saunters to my side, “if your date’s dumb enough to leave you all by yourself, dance with me?”

Hearing that, Harper stops in her tracks. She and Pilot turn back.

“No way,” she says. “That’s not how it works, Jack.”

But I’m already taking Jack’s hand. “You don’t make the rules,” I remind her. “It’s a
dance
.”

“It’s a dance at Cania Christy, Fat Fanny,” Harper hisses. “I’m sure back in public school, you’d dance with anyone, spike your punch, and have threesomes in the bathroom.” Says the girl who screws teachers in the woods! “But this is the Cupid and Death Dance.”

“So what?”

“You shouldn’t even have danced with Pilot! You can only dance with people who can’t stand you—like the story for the old masque goes.”

I remember Molly’s comment about Cupid and Death exchanging arrows, but nothing about this.

“That leaves you free to dance with pretty much anyone. Except Pilot. And, I guess, Jack, since he seems to have a thing for you.”

“Hold up. If those are the rules, and if you two hate each other,” Jack begins, looking slyly from me to Harper, “can we watch you dance together? Maybe with a little less clothing.”

Harper snorts at him. “Why don’t you find a corner and dance with your right hand, Jack?”

“Happily. Just know I won’t be thinking of
you
when I do it,” he replies. Then he turns his grin on me, bounces his eyebrows, and strolls away.

“And me?” I ask. “I should just stand here?”

“Why do you even care about dancing? You suck.”

“You’re wasting the whole song!” I cry, rolling my eyes. “Assign me my detestable partner already, Harper.”

“You are so useless!” She grabs Augusto by the arm as he wanders by. “Dance with Augusto. Go clump around those Amazon feet over there with him.”

With a small smile, Augusto drags me into that
boring
high-school box step: forward-side-together, backward-side-together. What a joy. Minutes pass in silence. From time to time, I think I spy Ben—but it’s never him. I won’t see him tonight. Here I’m all dressed up, and there’s no one to impress. And now that Jack’s gone and taken his compliments with him, a part of me just wants to go home. Quit while I’m ahead.

“You enjoyed sketching the naked teacher in our workshop?” Augusto finally asks, breaking the silence. I nod. “You fainted, though. I cannot blame you. There is much pressure in this place, but I did not think you were feeling it yet.”

“I didn’t faint because of any pressure. I was just feeling…off.”

Truth is, I don’t know why I fainted or why, every morning, I have to fight to keep from passing out.

He nods. “Then it’s because of what happened to Lotus. I felt off about that, too.”

“Lotus?” I repeat. “What are you talking about?”

“But, no, I’m wrong. She was not yet expelled that morning. So that could not be it.”

“Lotus was expelled?” I lean away from Augusto and look into his eyes. “You mean Lotus, that nice girl?”

“Yes, Lotus Featherly. She was expelled Tuesday after our workshop.” Augusto shrugs as the song finally ends. I realize I haven’t seen Lotus in class since Tuesday morning. “You are not paying much attention, are you?”

With that odd insult, Augusto bows and leaves me standing in the middle of the dance floor as
Touch Myself
begins. Confused, I’m about to return to the table to ask Pilot about Lotus—what such an angelic girl could possibly have done to be expelled—when Harper marches up to me and tries to stare me down. But she’s about three inches shorter than I am, even in heels, so it doesn’t quite work.

“You ready to take this on?” she asks. Not asks.
Demands.

“Take what on?”

“This!” She runs her hands up and down her body. “Right here. Right now.”

“Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She wants to battle. She wants a dance-off. For a moment, I’m stunned. But as everyone begins to take notice, as I spy Teddy scribbling frantically on his board and Villicus watching from above, as I feel a new wave of frustration with this place where even dances are graded and nice people like Lotus get expelled, my shock disappears. It’s replaced by something I much prefer: the will to win.

“If your PT really is to use your bod to get ahead,” she says, “dance like you mean it.”

With a short slide, I close the distance between us and peer down into the little slots in her crystal mask. Ever so coolly, channeling an inner seductress Teddy and Jack have convinced me I possess, I whisper to her, “That’s not my PT. But I’ll do it anyway. Just to destroy you.”

That’s how I find myself in the first real dance-off of my life. I start it off, beginning by sliding into and out of an exaggerated S-shape formed by sitting deep in my right hip, rolling up to my left, arching my back, and smoothly busting out my chest. To warm things up. I pause for good measure, making deep eye contact with guys in the crowd, who clap when I do. I’m not sure where this is coming from—these are not moves my mom ever taught me. It just feels natural.

When it’s Harper’s turn, she breaks quickly into bumping and grinding an unseen pole. Although she’s got almost no butt, she bounces it like she does. She dances like a cheerleader. Which is good. If you like cheerleaders. Her walk is perfectly timed—1,2,3,4—and her hip rolls are orchestrated. I respond with a smooth belly dancing–inspired gyration. She comes back with a drop to the floor and some strange chest-bouncing move that hurts my eyes.

I’m unimpressed, and it shows. Both she and the crowd notice my attitude—but while it gets under Harper’s skin, the crowd laps it up, begging me for more.

Growing irritated, Harper tries to get in my face, but she’s got no game. Finally, I wave my hand like
you stink
—steeped in swagger—and, as I step it up with a final sequence that my mom actually did choreograph way back when, the crowd erupts.

Tearing off her mask, Harper casts a fiery glare in my direction and storms off, followed closely behind by her gang.

I’m surrounded immediately by people patting my back. Teachers are nodding and scribbling on their clipboards. And, as I’m floating on euphoria, as everyone clears away, I see, across the room, just beyond the crowd, Ben. My heart stops the moment our eyes meet. Neither one of us moves; this moment is an almost identical replica of our brief encounter last night. But, unlike when we were separated by physical walls, there’s no reason now to keep our distance. There’s no reason for Ben not to approach me or, for that matter, me him. Still on a high, feeling as though I might be invincible, I decide to go for it. Smiling broadly, I take the first step toward him—but Pilot is suddenly at my side again. I glance away from Ben just long enough to know that, when I turn back, he’ll be gone. And, sure enough, he is. Sighing, I close my eyes and reluctantly open them to look at Pilot. My heart is pounding like mad.

“That was insane, Annie,” Pilot shouts into my ear, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “You can bet Teddy will use that display in his argument for the Big V for you.”

“I don’t think it’ll help much. If I had the PT Teddy wanted me to have, it would.”

Pilot escorts me back to the table, which is, thankfully, empty.

My head swoons as, taking a chair, I relive not only the image of Ben turning away from me—perhaps he thought my sexy dancing was cheap—but also Augusto’s comment about Lotus. Pilot’s beaming as I pull my mask down, let it hang around my neck, and get straight to the point.

“Lotus was expelled,” I state.

“Lotus, yeah.” He blinks. His smile awkwardly shrinks. “So? Let’s talk about those moves. You had me working up a sweat just watching you.”

“What do you mean, so?”

“So, one less junior to compete with,” he says dismissively. “I think half the guys in here were pitching tents watching you.”

“I’m serious. Why was she expelled? She was a
doll
.”

“You want a drink? I can go get us something.”

“Do you know what she did, Pilot? Why she was kicked out?”

“Anne!” he exclaims, erupting suddenly, standing, and shoving his chair. “I’m not going to explain this place to you. You act like you’re in some regular old high school. But you’re not. Are you that dense?”

“I knew it. I’m in a reform school.” That’s the only kind of school Lotus could possibly be dismissed from.

“No, you’re
not
,” he sneers. “You’re in an intense competition with kids who’ll do anything to get you expelled. That’s what you’re in. Got it? Now I’m getting a drink, and then you and me are gonna dance, even if Harper doesn’t like it.” He throws a glare over his shoulder, where Harper’s standing, watching us. “Then, we’re not going to talk about this crap anymore.”

“Pi—”

“No, you listen to me. If you’re going for the Big V, you don’t get to complain when it hurts people. Got it?”

With that, he disappears, leaving me dumbfounded. And leaving an empty seat next to me that Harper, watching me with the strangest doe-eyed gaze, takes.

“That didn’t look like fun,” she drawls, scooting the chair closer while I stare after Pilot. It’s hard to hear her over the music. “Nice work on the dance floor. I guess I’m having an off night.”

As if attached to Harper by invisible rope, Tallulah and Agniezska arrive at the table, flanking her and turning their sharp smiles on me.

“So, we’re dying to know,” Tallulah says. “Do you like him?”

“Pilot?” I ask. What a ridiculous thing to talk about when my mind is somewhere completely different. Sighing, I try to clear my thoughts and play along with them. “Sure. He’s nice. Whatever.”

“Well, let me give you a tip,” Harper adds, “because I’m sure you’re new at this.” She lowers her voice and checks that Pilot is out of earshot. “First, since he hates the Big V, you should think twice about it.”

Could she be more transparent?

“Two, let your hair down. Guys love when girls have their hair down.”

The thought of taking my hair out of my mom’s barrettes is laughable. My hair will fly in a billion directions. But Harper has already lifted her hands to my ears, holding them below my barrettes. She’s reaching out to me; that’s a good thing, right? Even though I slaughtered her on the dance floor, she’s trying to be friendly. Her little friends are genuinely smiling. Maybe they could be nice. It would be rude to deny her attempt to befriend me, wouldn’t it? I’m not exactly Little Miss Popular. Who am I to turn away an ally? Even if that ally is part of the vulture-esque Model UN from Hell.

“May I?” Harper asks.

It’s like being locked in the headlight of an oncoming train, looking into Harper’s eyes. Frozen, with all three beautiful girls, girls who would never consider befriending me in the past, smiling at me, I surrender and nod. Harper unclips the four silvery barrettes and sends my thick, curly hair tumbling over my shoulders.