Virals(61)

I stared at the ensemble. Appalled.

Whitney was dressing me like a doll. One with questionable taste.

Pink? I glanced in the mirror, noted my red hair, green eyes, and pale complexion. Had she never met me?

Blarg.

This was not a blend into the background getup. This combo said, "Look at me," loud and clear. Exactly what I didn't want.

Dual dilemma. I owned nothing else. Ignoring the dress would hurt Whitney's feelings.

I had no choice.

Double blarg.





The car ride from Morris Island was torture. Whitney's endless pointers. Kit's awkward compliments. I was anxious to get to the dance just to escape them.

"The jewelry's mine of course. I borrowed the dress from a friend who owns a boutique on King Street." Whitney was in her element. "We'll return it to her next week. Daisy said she'd loan us as many outfits as your sweet little debutante heart desires. Isn't that just the most generous thing ever?"

I tuned out her babbling excitement. The whole thing was a nightmare. A big pink one.

Fenworth House is classic Charleston, all shutters and piazzas and twisty wrought iron. The grand old dame sits on Queen Street near the Powder Magazine and the Gibbes Museum of Art. At my insistence, Kit dropped me at the curb. No way I'd walk in on his arm.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I entered through the carved oak doors. I felt like a giant strawberry cupcake, wobbling in heels, clanking with Whitney's high-priced jewelry.

Panic thought. What if everyone else wears jeans?

I needn't have worried. The debs were decked out as if Brad Pitt might drop by looking for a date to the Oscars.

But no one else wore pink.

Oh joy.

The ballroom was straight out of Gone with the Wind. Brocade drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows, and enormous crystal chandeliers hung over acres of gleaming oak. Small linen-clad tables surrounded the dance floor.

Musicians tuned their instruments on a stage at one end of the room. Saxophones. Trumpets. Trombones. Cymbals clanged and horns tooted as the acoustics were perfected.

A long table hugged the room's right-hand wall, spread with vases of lilies, china, punch bowls, and appetizers mounded on elegant silver trays. Crab cakes. Mini beef Wellingtons. Bacon-wrapped scallops. Not a bad spread.

"Tory?"

Jason stood beside the buffet. In his black tux and cummerbund, he looked like James Bond. The Daniel Craig version.

"Hi." I kept it short.

"Wow. You look ridiculous."

My cheeks burned.

Stupid cupcake dress! Stupid Whitney!

Jason whistled. "Fantastic! Please dress up more often. I'm stunned." He called across the room. "Chance, look who's here."

"Tory, my God!" Chance wore a white tuxedo with tails. On anyone else? Dopey. On him? Yes, please.

Chance snagged a crab cake, all the while appraising me like an art collector evaluating a painting.

"You're a brave woman," he said. "It takes great courage to walk in here like that."

"Like what?"

"Hands down the prettiest girl in the room. All the other ladies will be furious."

Wait for it ... There! The wink.

"Don't let Hannah hear that," I said without thinking. "You're spoken for."

My stomach performed a back flip. Flirting with Chance? Was I insane? Why not grab the mike and sing "Macarena." Complete the lunacy.

Chance's brows floated an inch up his forehead. Then his lips curled in amusement. "Lucky for me, my princess hasn't arrived. In fact, I'd better meet her coach outside. Excuse me."

With that he was gone.

"I didn't know you were a deb," Jason said.

"Junior deb," I corrected. "This is my first event. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"Then, Mademoiselle, I shall be your guide this evening." Jason bowed from the waist.

My face must have betrayed my confusion.

"Tonight we practice our dance steps for the big ball. You need a partner. Please allow me the pleasure of being your escort?" Formal.

"Oh! Then, kind sir, I accept."

Where was I getting this stuff? I'd never taken a dance lesson in my life. This could be a disaster.

Whispered voices intruded.

"Maddy, look! It's the boat girl."

Ugh. Courtney Holt. Where one skank lurked, two others couldn't be far.

"What's she doing with Jason?" Ashley whispered.

I didn't turn, didn't let on that I heard. Jason was grazing the appetizers, completely unaware.

"Poor thing. We should rescue him." Madison's giggle was pure malice. "What's she doing here anyway?"

"She's a junior deb now, can you believe it?" Ashley whispered. "My mother's on the committee. She told me that Dubois woman got her in. I have no idea how."

"She looks ... good." Courtney sounded surprised. "Very good, actually. I never noticed she was pretty."

"So the child has a dress," Madison said. "Big deal."

"Pretty gutsy wearing pink," Ashley said.

"And she's pulling it off," Courtney added. "Nice bracelet, too."

I was astonished. The unholy trinity thought I looked good? The world was officially upside down.