'That's all right,' he said. 'Thanks.' He let go of me and hurried back to his companions.
'What happened?' Abby asked when I returned to her side.
'I trust have twisted my ankle out there before. It started to ache, so I asked to stop dancing.' I didn't tell her about the boy's refusal to ask her to dance.
'The music's very good,' she said, swinging to the rhythm.
Why weren't any of these boys coming over to her? So many of them stood on the other side of the gymnasium looking anxious to ask a girl to dance. I glanced at Gisselle, who threw her head bad to laugh at something one of the boys had told her. She took his hand and pulled him down so she could whisper something in his ear that lit his eyes like Christmas lights. His face turned crimson, and then he grinned nervously at his friends. Gisselle looked over at us and flashed a smile full of self-satisfaction.
At the start of the third number, I felt confident someone would ask Abby to dance, especially when two boys headed directly for us. But one veered off to ask Jacki to dance and the other approached me instead.
'No, thank you,' I said. 'I have to rest a sprained ankle. But my friend's free,' I added, tilting my head toward Abby. He gazed at her and, without a word, turned and hurried down the line to ask someone else.
'Did I put on the wrong perfume or something?' Abby wondered.
My heart began to flutter as a small panic began in the base of my stomach and climbed its way into my breast. Something was going on here, something very strange, I thought, and I looked toward my sister again. She looked smug and content. Dance after dance, boys would approach me, and if I refused and suggested they ask Abby, they flew off muttering excuses and approached someone else. It not only amazed me but annoyed me how the girl who was beyond a doubt one of the prettiest, if not
'Something's going on here, Gisselle,' I told her. 'Not one boy has asked Abby to dance and none will if I suggest he ask.'
'Really? How remarkable,' she said.
'You have a way of keeping your ear to the wall, Gisselle. What's going on? Is this some sort of practical joke, because if it is . . . ?
'I don't know anything about any practical jokes. No one's asked me to dance either, you'll notice, but I don't see you being so concerned about my feelings,' she snapped back.
'But you look like you're having a good time. All those boys . . . ?
'I'm just teasing them for my own amusement. You think I enjoy being trapped in this chair while everyone else gets to dance and move about the ballroom? Poor Abby . . . poor, poor Abby,' she said, turning down the corners of her mouth. 'You've made her into your sister because she's a whole person with no handicap.'
'That's unfair. You know that's not true. You're the one who wanted to change roommates and—'
The music stopped and Mrs. Ironwood announced the serving of refreshments. A great cheer went up and everyone began moving toward the tables.
'I'm hungry and I've promised those boys I'd sit with them and let them feed me,' she said slyly. 'You can go and sit with poor Abby.' She whirled away and into the awaiting clump of Rosewood boys she had somehow turned into flypaper. They argued over which one of them would assume Samantha's assignment and wheel Gisselle across the floor. She turned back to flash a look of deep pleasure at me and then laughed shrilly and reached up to take another boy's hand while his companions hovered around her.
'My sister is being her infuriating self,' I told Abby. Many of the boys were being perfect gentlemen and getting food for a Greenwood girl before they got any for themselves, but no one offered to get anything for Abby and me. Boys cleared a space for me at the food tables but they didn't for Abby. After we had gotten what we wanted, we found a table off to the side. No one joined us, not even the other girls from our dorm. We were left alone.
Mrs. Ironwood walked around the tables with Miss Weller, greeting some of the Rosewood boys, talking to some of the girls. When they came around toward our table, Mrs. Ironwood paused, glared our way, and then turned down another aisle.
'I don't have the measles broken out over my face or anything, do I?' Abby asked.
'No. You look . . . beautiful.'
She smiled weakly. Neither of us had a great appetite, but we ate just to fill the empty time. Way off to our right, Gisselle sat at a table with only boys. Whatever she was telling them had them in stitches. They couldn't do enough for her. She merely had to glance at something, and two or three of them would nearly fall over each other to get it.
'Was your sister always this popular with boys?' Abby asked enviously.
'As long as I've known her, yes. She has a way of appealing to a side of them that titillates. Who knows what sort of promises she's been making,' I added angrily.
The social committee fanned out and handed the girls their ballots for queen of the dance. Two girls followed afterward with boxes into which we were to throw our choices.
'I bet Gisselle has everyone voting for her,' I muttered.
'I'm voting for you,' Abby said.
'And me, you.'
We laughed, then filled out our ballots and deposited them.
After we had had some dessert, Abby and I went to the girls' room to freshen up. It was jammed with everyone gossiping and laughing, but the moment we walked in a great deal of the talk ended. It was as if we were pariahs, lepers who had the others terrified we might touch or infect them. We gazed thoughtfully at each other, wondering.
