I'm really sorry about the wait. I had to finish school, then I graduated, had a death in the family, and then got sick. Hope this is worth it for you guys. Thanks for all the support!
/
Benny was worried.
Maybe he was being stupid, but for the past two months he'd been at the end of Dot's driveway first thing every morning, and he'd never waited longer than ten or fifteen minutes before she'd appear around the corner from the back yard.
It had been almost half an hour by his watch, and there was no sign of her.
He chewed his lip for a moment before deciding to risk the gate; the pool filter was humming quietly, but still no Dot.
Maybe she was tired. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she didn't want to come to the sandlot anymore. The thought bothered him – even Yeah-Yeah was warming up to her now. Smalls would be devastated. And Benny…well, he liked having her around. She was fun, could shut Ham up better than anybody, and knew baseball almost as well as than Benny did.
Finally, seeing no alternative, he went back around front and rang the doorbell.
The same lady he remembered from bringing them lunch while they played in the pool answered the door. She looked much more severe than anyone who could possibly be related to Dot, but he tugged his cap off his head anyway.
"Um…hi? I'm Benny Rodriguez, and I was wondering…d'you know if Dot is sick or something?"
"Sick?" The severe frown grew sharper.
Benny swallowed. "Uh…y-yes ma'am. She usually comes and plays baseball with us in town, but she's never been this late coming."
"Dorothy is out with her mother," the woman finally announced, apparently realizing he wasn't going away until he got an answer. "The cotillion is the day after tomorrow and Dorothy didn't have a dress."
The cotillion? But somehow he knew vocalizing his disdain wouldn't end well. He nodded and tried for a polite smile. "Oh. Okay, then. Thank you."
By the time he made it back to the sandlot, the boys were anxious. And he himself was no closer to understanding the whole mess.
"Where ya been, Benny?"
"Hey, where's Malone?"
"Yeah, yeah I wanted to show her – I worked on that back-handed catch she showed me yesterday. She coming?"
"No." Benny parked his bike, and faced the team. "She's out shopping with her mom."
"Shopping?" Bertram seemed surprised that Dot would participate in such a girly activity. "What for?"
Somehow Benny knew there was a reason Dot hadn't mentioned anything about a cotillion till now, but he also knew lying to the boys for her would be disastrous. He grimaced. "The housekeeper lady said something about a cotillion."
"What's a cotillion?" Ham asked, already curling his lip in preparation for anything that would take Dot away from baseball.
"My mom's talked about hers," Smalls piped up. "They get all dressed up and I think there's dancing."
Squints looked horrified. "She ditched us to go to that?"
"I don't think she wanted to," Benny said. "If she was planning on this she woulda told us. Let's…let's just play. We can ask her about it whenever she shows up."
Grumbling, they started warming up. They went through their drills, took their normal positions and played just like they did every other day – only it didn't feel right. There were no shouts from the dugout or along the baselines to hustle or plant their feet just so when they threw to home plate. Everyone's game was off, even Benny's, and by the time the sun hit midpoint in the sky they were all more than a little cantankerous.
Mr. Mertle was nowhere to be seen, so they all trudged to their homes for lunch, but were in no better spirits when they reconvened.
"This sucks," Ham suddenly declared. "How come we can't play right when she ain't here?"
"Gee, Ham, I didn't realize you even listened to me in the first place."
Benny whirled; Dot was approaching from the fence and looked nervous. He eyed her usual attire of overall cutoffs and sneakers, her frayed Yankees cap sticking out of a pocket.
"Where ya been?"
She looked a little ashamed. "My mom woke me up early this morning and said we had to go shopping. I didn't even have a chance to tell you guys. I'm sorry."
Benny felt himself relaxing as he took in the worried frown and the way she wouldn't meet any of their eyes. If she couldn't come every day that was fine, they all had family stuff every now and then. But as long as she wanted to be here….
"Benny said you had to go shopping for…for the…what was it called? The – "
"Cotillion," Dot finished, sighing. "Look, I don't wanna go. I'm not gonna have any friends there, it's all a bunch of snobby rich people."
"And you have to dress up," Bertram added, almost sounding sympathetic.
Dot frowned, and shrugged. "I don't mind getting dressed up. My dress is actually really pretty."
Benny knew even he was staring, but he couldn't help it. Dot looked annoyed, but like she wanted to laugh too.
"I'm still a girl, y'know."
Benny flushed and nodded, but Ham wasn't finished.
"Why is your mom making you go, if you don't know anybody there?"
Her look darkened. "It's a tradition for the girls in my family to go to this stupid thing, apparently. I was supposed to go last summer, but I was still in New York." Dot crossed her arms.
Nobody knew what to say; eventually she huffed impatiently.
"I've waited this long to watch some baseball. Can we get started?"
They all jolted into action, suddenly eager to play their best to cheer her up. They were successful, anyway, and Benny grinned for fifteen minutes straight when he made her laugh by purposefully tripping over first base.
The day ended much, much better than it had started, and it felt like no time at all had passed before the sky was darkening. Dot looked around at them all happily.
"You guys are playing really good," she said. Benny felt something warm and squishy start spreading through his stomach, but somehow it wasn't such a bad feeling. He wheeled his bike over to her while she gave Ham some advice on his batting stance, and when the last of them had finally trotted home, she turned to Benny with a wide smile.
"They…did they miss me?"
Benny almost felt bad for how surprised she seemed, but in the twilight she looked content, not hurt. He shrugged. "Wasn't the same without you hollering at us. We were playin' awful till you showed up."
Dot looked even more pleased as she hopped onto his bike, chatting about different things the team had improved on.
For once, though, Benny wasn't thinking about baseball.
"Hey, Dot." He stopped at a crosswalk and peered over his shoulder at her. "Is the cotillion really gonna be so bad? Since you like dressing up and stuff."
She shrugged, but there was a tiny frown line on her forehead that kept her indifference from convincing him. "I guess that part will be okay. But I don't like shopping. She's making me go again tomorrow and this time I'll be gone all day. I'm supposed to have fancy fingernails and hair and everything."
"Oh." Benny gnawed on his lip, and made his way across the street. "Okay. I guess we'll see you Sunday?"
"Yeah." They pulled onto her street, and Dot said quietly, "Benny?"
"Yeah?"
"The boys think it's pretty dumb, don't they?"
"Think what's dumb?"
"The cotillion."
His automatic answer was yes, the boys thought it was extremely dumb – himself included. But for some reason, Dot sounded….hopeful.
"Well…it's not their idea of a good time. But they're not gonna make fun of you because you go. Or even because you like going."
"Okay." She didn't sound hurt, but more like she understood. It wouldn't have surprised him if she did understand. Dot wasn't the type to get her feelings hurt over every little thing.
He skidded to a stop in her driveway. The front stoop light was on, but Dot hopped off and headed towards the back of the house.
"See ya, Benny."
"Bye."
He was pedaling away when she shouted after him, "Tell Denunez if he adjusts his grip the way I showed him his fastball oughta strike every time!"
"I will!" he called back. As he rode back through town his mind whirled faster than his bike wheels; an idea was forming, one that absolutely nobody on the team would like or support without major cajoling from him. But…Dot was their friend. There was no denying that now. Her absence earlier that day had been like missing a tooth.
As he put his bike away in the garage, he set his jaw.
One or another, the baseball team was going to the cotillion.
/
Scotty had somehow found the inner strength to eat all of his brussel sprouts and was chugging down a big glass of water to wash down the taste when the doorbell rang. His dad, who had been amused and unsympathetic towards the monstrosities of steamed vegetables during dinner, rose to answer it. His mother got up too, and began gathering dishes.
"Did you boys have fun today?"
He nodded, trying to ignore the lingering bitterness on his tongue. "Yeah. I hit a double and caught one of Benny's hits."
"Good for you, dear." His mother didn't know any more about baseball than Scotty did a year ago, but she was happy that he'd made some friends. He was fixing to tell her about Dot's praise on how his throwing had improved when his dad reappeared, with Benny in tow.
"Oh, hello Benny. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Garrett. Is it okay if I talk to Smalls for a second?"
"Certainly. When you're done we've got brownies and ice cream."
"Okay," Benny grinned, and followed Scotty to his room. Scotty moved the box for his Erector Set off of his desk chair. Benny shut the door and turned to him, looking uncharacteristically solemn.
"We gotta go to the cotillion. For Dot."
Scotty was sure he'd heard wrong. "What?"
"You heard her today. She's dreading it because she doesn't have any friends that are gonna be there. We're the only friends she's got. We have to go."
Scotty stared, but Benny wasn't even smiling, so he couldn't have been kidding. "Benny, I….I've never been to a cotillion."
"Me neither." For the first time, Benny looked unsure of his plan. "But I thought maybe we could ask your mom what we should do. Do you think she'll help?"
"I dunno. Maybe." Scotty chewed his lip in thought, but in the end the only thing to do was ask. So they trotted back to the dining room, where his parents were waiting with melting ice cream and cooling brownies. His mother looked up expectantly.
"All right, Benny. Now, do you like your brownie on the bottom with your ice cream on top? Or the other way around?"
"We wanna go to the cotillion this Saturday," Scotty blurted.
There was a long, awkward pause, and his mother carefully set down the ice cream scoop.
"What was that, dear?"
"See, Mrs. Garrett," Benny seemed unusually nervous, e and kept twisting the hem of his baseball jersey in his hands. "Dot's mom is making her go to a cotillion this Saturday. And she told us today that she doesn't want to go, because she doesn't have any friends who're gonna be there. And…well, we're her friends, so…"
Scotty jumped in. "So we think it'd help her have some fun if we went, too."
His mother studied them both, a pleased look on her face. "I see. Well, boys, I think that's very kind of you. I suppose you want to know what a cotillion is like?"
"Yes, please." Benny sounded desperately relieved; Scotty's mom smiled gently.
"All right then. You bring the rest of the boys here tomorrow morning, and I'll help get you ready. And ask your mother if there's an old tie of your father's you can borrow, Benny. Baseball jerseys aren't quite up to dress code."
Benny grinned. "Thanks, Mrs. Garrett."
"You're most welcome." She picked up the ice cream scoop again. "Now, how do you like your ice cream, Benny?"
/
The next day, Friday, passed in a hazy blur. Benny hadn't realized when he came up with this idea that there were so many rules involved in a cotillion. You had to chew your food a certain way, walk a certain way, smile and wave a certain way – he could see within five minutes of Mrs. Garrett's lesson why Dot was dreading it.
But he stuck by his decision, even when Squints kept huffing every time his posture was corrected, even when Bertram was informed – gently, as Mrs. Garrett did pretty much everything – that popping his gum was not considered proper behavior, and even when Ham belched loudly at the lunch table and refused to even excuse himself.
This is for Dot, and you owe her, Benny reminded himself as he grit his teeth, and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Like this?"
"Almost." Mr. Garrett, who had been roped into helping with the tie lessons, gave him a wry grin. "You tied it right, it's just crooked. Here." He stepped forward and adjusted it, and Benny tried not to think about how much it felt like a noose.
Mr. Garrett chuckled. "Must be some girl, for you bunch to put yourselves through this."
Benny didn't like the gleam in the man's eye; it reminded him of the way Mr. Mertle had said who's your friend that first day so long ago.
"She's our friend," was his short reply. Mr. Garrett smiled a little, but patted his shoulder.
"There. All set. Go see if you pass inspection."
He did, and miraculously Mrs. Garrett deemed them all cotillion-worthy by dinner time. They celebrated with pizza that Mr. Garrett had delivered, and by the time they all went home that night Benny was only mildly nervous about the whole thing. The boys, while certainly not having fun, seemed to be willing to tough it out for Dot, and Benny knew that meant more than anything. So on Saturday afternoon, he tied his tie, huffed and stood for his mother to take his picture, and walked across the street to meet the others so Smalls' parents could drive them to the country club.
When they pulled in the drive, every single ounce of Benny's confidence went out the window.
"Dude." Ham's eyes were like dinner plates. "I knew she had money, but…"
Benny had to agree with him. The country club looked like something out of those magazines his mom always read in the checkout at the supermarket. Fancy cars – limousines, even – lined the circular drive that was lit with little paper lanterns. Men in tuxedos opened the doors under a large overhang, revealing boys their own age also in tuxes, and girls in frilly dresses of every color imaginable.
"What is this, the cotillion or the opera?" Mr. Garrett muttered under his breath. Benny tried not to squirm in the front seat; Squints, Yeah-Yeah and Denunez were squished into the back. Behind them, Mrs. Garrett had the rest of the team crammed into her station wagon.
They pulled up to the entrance far too soon, but the stuffy man in the penguin suit opened Benny's door and said, "good evening, sir" like he was Alfred off of Batman and Robin. Benny tripped a little getting out of the car and Yeah-Yeah sniggered, but Benny was too busy trying not to stare at everything to mind.
Mrs. Garrett called out the window, "Ham, please try not to swear."
He glared at his shoes, but she added, "For Dot. She might get into trouble if you cause too much ruckus."
He huffed, but nodded. "Yes ma'am."
She smiled, like she was awfully proud of all of them for learning how to tie a necktie and hold in their burps, and drove away. Smalls fidgeted in his too-big sports jacket, and Benny tried to ignore the way Alfred was looking at them out of the corner of his eye.
"Now what?" Squints asked. He sounded as nervous as Benny felt.
He took a deep breath. "Now, we go find Dot, and make sure she has fun. C'mon."
Inside was even fancier than outside, with crystal chandeliers and thick red carpet and more Alfreds everywhere they looked. The room right inside the front door seemed to be some kind of big hallway, and right across from them was a set of double doors, standing wide open into a big room crowded with lots of small, round tables around the edges. The center of the room was left open, and Benny felt his stomach drop like lead when he realized why.
"I don't see her," Smalls piped up. Benny shook himself – c'mon Rodriguez, you know better'n to be scared of some white tablecloths – and peered around at the different tables. He frowned.
"I don't see any girls at all, now you mention it."
Denunez startled. "What – is there a separate cotillion for the girls? Are we gonna be just stuck in here?"
"Yeah, Benny, how come there's only guys in here?"
"What about the dancin'?"
Benny just stood there, mouth gaping like a goldfish, when another voice cut in.
"Excuse me."
They whirled around to see a tall, red-headed woman in a purple dress and a kind smile.
"You boys seem a little lost."
"We ain't lost, lady," Ham either ignored or forgot every one of the manners lessons from yesterday, and Benny was too far away to stomp on his foot. "We just can't find somebody."
To Benny's relief, the woman smiled. "Well, maybe I can help you then. Who is it you're looking for?"
The boys all turned to him. "Dot – I mean, Dorothy. Dorothy Malone."
The woman's eyebrows shot upwards, but her smile only got bigger. "Oh, that's wonderful. Dorothy will be down in just a bit with the other ladies. You boys can have a seat here, and I'll make sure she knows to look for you."
Benny nodded, even remembered to thank her before they sat down at the table in the back of the room. Every place had three glasses, three forks, two spoons, two knives, four plates, and the napkins were folded all weird with a giant ring around the middle. He was half convinced that even breathing the wrong way would break something.
"This is weird." Squints frowned at the upside-down coffee cup. "Why's there a tiny plate with the coffee cup? How much food could you fit on that thing, anyway?"
"They're called saucers," Bertram responded sagely, popping his gum as discreetly as one could pop bright pink Double-Bubble at a high society cotillion.
Benny tuned out the rest of the conversation in favor of observing the room; the team's hand-me-down suits and sport jackets looked shabby compared to the crisp white shirts of nearly every boy in the room. Half of them were wearing tuxes like Alfred outside, and all of them had flowers on the lapels.
"We ain't got flowers," he muttered, half to himself, but Ham heard him.
"What? Flowers? We gotta wear flowers for this shin dig?"
"I dunno," Benny all but snapped. "Everyone else is."
"I ain't wearin' no roses," Squints frowned.
"Well, I don't wanna either, but I don't wanna get Dot in trouble, do you?"
The whole table fell silent, until finally Denunez groaned. "Well, where are we gonna get flowers for all of us anyhow? My brother had to buy one for his prom last year and it was expensive, and he had to order it weeks ahead of time."
That was a question Benny didn't have an answer to, but he was in the middle of figuring it out when the nice red-headed lady from before approached their table.
"Boys." She smiled kindly, pretending not to notice the enormous pink bubble protruding out of Bertram's mouth. "Come with me, please."
Dumbly, they got up and followed her back into the foyer, down the hall and up a back staircase. The second floor was a long, empty hallway, but he could hear giggles and voices, high-pitched with nerves and excitement, from behind almost every closed door. The woman led them halfway down the hall before knocking on one.
It cracked open, and Bertram choked on his gum.
The woman was…well, curvy, and blonde, and looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. Golden curls fell past her shoulders, big blue eyes were framed in dark, dramatic makeup, all over a full, bright red mouth. Her long, deep green evening gown had a long slit on one side to show off one tan leg; Benny was dully aware of Ham swatting his arm but he was too busy gawking at how much this woman resembled Dot to hit him back.
"Sarah," she greeted their tour guide, and Benny almost choked on air.
Even the voice was the same.
"Hello, Susan. I've got some visitors for Dorothy."
Mrs. Malone's – at least, that's what he was assuming her name was – eyes flitted to the team, before she opened the door further to reveal what looked like a posh hotel room. "You can come in. She'll be out in a moment to meet her escort." The last sentence was said in a raised voice, and directed towards a closed door, presumably the bathroom. She followed Ms. Sarah back out into the hallway and shut the door behind her.
Ham swore in a loud whisper, earning him a hard elbow to the ribs from Smalls. "You see her?"
"What a dame," Bertram said, not seeming to mind that he'd had to swallow his gum to keep from inhaling it.
"Stop it," Smalls said, his voice more angry than they'd ever heard it. "You'll upset Dot, talkin' – "
He was interrupted by the bathroom door jerking open.
"I don't care how nice of a boy he is, Susan, I'm not – oh." Dot's voice and feet both stopped awkwardly, leaving them all staring at each other without any idea of what to do next.
Benny felt like the floor had dropped out from under him; Dot was wearing a navy blue dress with a poofy skirt and sparkly trim and lace trim and it was one of those magic dresses he'd seen Wendy Peffercorn and her friends wearing to winter formal, the ones that didn't have any sleeves or straps but seemed to stay up by magic. She was wearing white gloves up to her elbows and sparkly shoes and her hair was curled, and to make matters worse, she was wearing red lipstick like her mother.
She was pretty. Really pretty. But she wasn't Dot, and Benny was trying to figure out why that upset him so much when Ham spoke for them all.
"Kinda hard to field a grounder in those gloves, ain't it?"
Dot looked down at her hands, then smirked. "I think I could manage." She cleared her throat. "What….what're you guys doin' here?"
"Benny's idea," Ham said nonchalantly, as if he hadn't fought the whole plan like a sabre tooth tiger.
Dot looked at him, eyes wide, and he had clear his own throat several times.
"W-well…you said….you said you weren't gonna have any friends here, so…" he shrugged.
Her mouth opened and closed several times before any sound came out. "You…you came just so I wouldn't be lonely?"
"Well gosh, don't make it sound all sissy like that," Ham frowned. "We came so you wouldn't have to put up with all those losers downstairs by yourself."
Dot seemed to still be trying to piece everything together. "So…all of you came?"
" 'Course we did," Denunez responded. "You're on the team."
Dot's responding smile made all of them relax a little bit, and when she reached and affectionately slugged Squints on the arm Benny felt like things were back to normal. This was still Dot, with her friendly punches and teasing, her easy comebacks for all things baseball, just wrapped up in a fancy dress instead of overall cutoffs.
There was a knock on the door, and both of the women came back inside.
"Dorothy, dear," the blonde said. "I've not met your friends."
Dot's smile had vanished immediately, but she nodded and pointed to each of them by name, and finished collectively: "This is my baseball team."
Ms. Sarah's smile was as kind as ever, but Susan looked like a hawk analyzing her prey.
"Dear, I'm not sure a baseball team is – "
Dot's chin came up, and Ms. Sarah cut in smoothly.
"Now, Susan, look at it this way – Dorothy won't be by herself all evening." That seemed to pacify Dot's mother, and Ms. Sarah nodded. "Dorothy, do you think any of these nice gentlemen would be willing to be your escort for the evening?"
Dot blinked. "Uh…"
"What's that?" Ham demanded. This time Benny was close enough to stomp his foot, and the glare he got in return was more than a little sheepish. Ham grumbled under his breath and tried again. "I mean…excuse me, but what's that?"
"It means like you'd be my pretend date," Dot explained. "You walk me down the stairs, sit by me during dinner, and we have to dance at least three times."
All of them – Benny included – visibly recoiled. Susan's nostrils flared, but Ms. Sarah seemed to be hiding a smile.
"I'm sure since there's so many of you, you could take turns. That way none of you have to dance three times in a row. Just once."
That…was not much better, to be honest, but Dot was looking determinedly at the ground and biting the inside of her cheek, just like she always did during practice when she'd make a suggestion that nobody wanted to follow. Benny sighed.
"Okay. Dot, which of us do you want?"
Startled, her head jerked up. "Um – well, you guys can draw straws for it. I know it's not gonna be fun for any of you."
That seemed fair, but they didn't have straws and so Ms. Sarah picked a number between one and fifty and the three closest guesses were the lucky winners – Benny, Smalls, and Denunez.
"Perhaps we should – " Susan started to say, but Dot cut her off.
"They're my friends." A hard glare followed, and after an uncertain look in Denunez's direction, Susan wisely didn't say any more.
"All right, you all come out now so Dorothy can finish getting ready, and you three – you stay here in the hall. Susan, if you're ready to go downstairs could you show the rest of them back to their table? I've put them on the table closest to the punch."
In short order the three escorts were enduring a crash-course on the waltz, and Benny – since the number he'd guessed was the closest – waited at the top of the stairs in line with a bunch of men who had all the girls on their arms. Dot suddenly appeared, her curls slightly askew and her smile more than a little nervous.
"All right, Dorothy," he said with a grimace. "What do I do now?"
She rolled her eyes. "Stand up straight. Put your right hand on your stomach – no, higher, yeah – quit squirming, this isn't gonna be painful." She checked his posture one more time, nodded, slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and tilted her nose up in the air. "And don't call me Dorothy."
Benny grinned. Definitely still Dot.
/
They were here. All of them – even Bertram and Ham – came for her.
Dot was still numb with shock, like she was dreaming that Benny was waiting beside her at the top of the big, double staircase. He kept wiping his other hand on his pants, and she could feel the effort he was putting into not fidgeting through his coat sleeve.
He looked nice. They all did, despite the fact that no one's jacket fit correctly because they had all bummed one off their dads, despite the fact that the top button on Ham's shirt was undone, despite the fact that Squints' glasses were still smudged, and even despite the fact that they all looked about as comfortable as a balloon animal in a cactus patch.
"If you trip in those shoes, am I allowed to laugh?"
Dot stared, but laughed once her shock faded. "No. You're never supposed to laugh at a lady."
"Well, you ain't a lady."
She frowned, stung, but Benny seemed to know why that statement bothered her. "I mean – you look nice. And you were right the other day – you're still a girl and you like girly things sometimes. But if all this," he gestured to the crystal chandeliers, the string quartet playing downstairs, the lush evening gowns, "is what it means to be a lady then…well, Dot, it ain't you."
She was staring again, but she couldn't help it. No one, other than her dad, had ever summed her up so well.
Just then the announcer called her name, and Dot gave herself a mental shake, gave Benny's arm a quick pinch and whispered, "Smile."
He grimaced, but managed to look content enough as they descended the stairs to polite applause and camera flashes. They were one of the last to be announced, and less than five minutes later the debutantes and their escorts made their way to the dance floor. Benny was wound so tight it felt like his arm was the coiled spring in a catapult.
"Calm down," she muttered.
He glared at her. "Sure thing, boss." He clapped his hand onto her waist, with the air of someone who desperately wanted to rip off the proverbial band-aid. His other palm was a little sweaty, but her fancy gloves were the only reason he didn't know her own hand was worse.
"Back with my right foot?" He asked, his eyes betraying how nervous he actually was. But his voice and the almost perfect posture hid all of it from anybody who didn't know him.
She grinned up at him, and forgot about how her shoes pinched and how much Susan had pestered her to ask a nice boy from the dance lessons to be her escort instead. "Yep. Don't look at your feet, though. Looks amateur."
"I am an amateur," he retorted. "Where am I supposed to look, then?"
Dot suddenly realized what the answer was, and immediately wished she'd told him to stare at his shoes all night. "Um…well. Me, actually."
"Okay." He didn't sound as awkward about it as Dot felt, so she tried to ignore the squirming in her guts and waited for the music to start.
Benny suddenly mumbled a swear word, glaring blackly over her shoulder.
"What?"
Instantly his gaze came back to hers. "Nothin'."
She started to look behind her, but his hand squeezed hers and the other's fingers tightened on her waist. In surprise she gawked at him.
"Don't worry about it, Dottie. You gotta help me with this dance, because if I break your toes I'll have to give you a piggy-back ride to the sandlot every day."
"Okay," she agreed, still in shock from his hands – which hadn't relaxed their hold – and the way Dottie had fallen so easily from his mouth.
The music started, and his eyes widened comically in panic before he moved.
Benny wasn't…terrible at dancing, she discovered. He looked so uncomfortable doing it that she almost felt guilty, but it wasn't like she'd asked them to come. But he'd picked up the steps pretty quickly and now they were moving around the floor, fitting in just fine with all of the others.
"See? This isn't so bad."
He rolled his eyes and grumbled, "If you say so."
The dance didn't last long, and they both released each other before the last note faded away. Dot clapped politely, and turned to the boys's table.
"All right, your torture is over. Go sit down and send whoever's next."
Benny looked like he had just been pardoned a death sentence. "Okay."
Dot rolled her eyes, but grinned. "Thanks, Benny. You guys didn't have to do this, y'know."
He paused, all traces of teasing gone, and looked at her. "No, we didn't have to. But we needed to. And," he hesitated again, his neck and ears turning a dull red, "y-you look really, um. P-pretty."
She didn't say anything – couldn't say anything – and so she just stared. His blush deepened but he huffed defensively.
"What? You said you liked gettin' dolled up so I thought I'd let you know you don't suck at it."
Surprised, she laughed. "Thanks, Benny. You don't like gettin' dressed up, but you don't suck at it either."
He grinned, and looked down at himself smugly. She rolled her eyes.
"Would you scram already? Denunez is waiting to come over here and dance the next one with me."
/
Scotty had stumbled around for his turn on the dance floor, and tried not to make a face when Ham stuff half of his steak into his mouth, but overall the cotillion was a lot more fun than he'd expected. The mashed potatoes were better than even his mom's, though Bertram had warned him not to tell his mother that when he got back home.
Dot had even been allowed to sit at their table, and it was almost like they were back on Mr. Mertle's back porch, eating sandwiches and keeping their popsicles away from Hercules.
"So, Malone." Ham took a healthy gulp of his lemonade, hand fisted around the glass' stem in a way that Dot's mother probably found barbaric. "How's that dress stay up?"
"What?" Dot only sounded surprised, not upset, but the entire table froze. Benny looked like he dearly wished he was close enough to kick Ham under the table. Scotty wished he could kick hard enough for Ham to feel it.
"The dress," Ham explained, waving his fork haphazardly at her neckline. "It ain't got any straps or sleeves, how's it not fallin' down?"
"Oh." Dot looked down at herself, and shrugged. "Boobs."
Benny, who had taken a badly timed sip of water, choked violently.
Ham didn't appear concerned for Benny's lack of oxygen. "Boobs? Boobs keep it up?"
"Yes." Dot looked amused.
"Huh." Ham chewed on a dinner roll, squinting across the table at the area of Dot's body in question. "I didn't know you had any."
He immediately flinched, scowling at both Scotty, and at Denunez on his other side. "Jeez! It was just an observation."
Scotty's toes were hurting a lot more than Ham's leg probably was, but he didn't care. "You don't say things like that to girls," he said, for once unfazed at Ham's dark look.
"It's okay, guys." Dot shrugged again. "Up until six months ago I didn't have any."
Benny, who had just recovered, choked again, but this time on what seemed to be nothing. Dot looked at him, concerned.
"Benny, you okay?"
"Fine," he rasped.
Dot frowned, like she didn't believe him, but she didn't get a chance to reply.
"I can't believe this." Scotty froze, knowing that snooty voice anywhere. Ham swore, though he at least tried to do it quietly. Scotty still frowned before he looked over his shoulder to see Phillips and two of his cronies, wearing tuxedoes and looking down their noses.
"Hi, Phillips." Dot took a dainty bite of her steak, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"You invited these clowns? Here?"
"Yes." Dot was either unaware of or ignoring the hostile vibe between the two groups, and wiped her mouth with the same careful, ladylike motions. "They're my baseball team."
"Well, looks like I was wrong. You weren't lying about keeping stats for somebody." Phillips sneered.
"So you've finally figured out what I told you three months ago when you first invited me to come watch you and your imps at your fancy field." Dot's tone was the model of gentility, but her eyes shot sparks across the table.
Phillips' eyes narrowed. "You –"
"Get lost," she hissed. All traces of sweet, lady-like Dot were gone, replaced by the wildcat version Scotty was much more familiar with.
Phillips scowled, and cast one more contemptuous look around their table. "Y'know, Dorothy, I guess I expected better than you. Why'd you pick them, anyway?"
"Same reason why I told you off at school for pickin' on Ham – they're my friends." Dot cut another piece of steak, and her movements made Bertram eye the knife in her hand with no small amount of trepidation. "Now are you gonna go away or am I gonna have to show everyone here how easy it is to make you cry?"
Mumbling darkly, Phillips stomped away.
Scotty stared, as did the rest of them, awestruck. Finally Ham spoke for them all.
"Y'know Malone, right now you look like a real priss, but you're pretty cool."
Dot beamed. "Thanks, Ham."
"Dorothy?"
The smile melted off of Dot's face like butter; she turned to look over her shoulder at her mother.
"What, Susan?"
"I just saw young Mr. Phillips over here, did he not ask you for a dance?"
Dot turned back around and snorted inelegantly into her potatoes. "No, he's not that stupid."
"Dorothy," Susan frowned. "He's a very nice boy, I'd like for you to be friends."
"Well, too bad. He's a brat. I don't want to be his friend."
"Dorothy – "
"Dad would have told me to stay away from him." Dot turned to face her mother again, and her words coupled with the steel in her voice seemed to do the trick. Susan jaw tightened, but she sighed and walked away.
For several moments, they were all once again struck speechless.
Benny cleared his throat. "Dottie – "
"I hate her for the same reasons," she suddenly blurted. Her eyes were riveted on the basket of rolls. "She's a rich, self-centered snob who can't stand for everything not to look like it came out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine."
None of them knew what to say, though it was obvious everyone was trying to think of something – they were all awkwardly glancing at her, pretending not to notice the way her eyes were shimmering a little too much in the candlelight.
Scotty suddenly had an idea.
"Have you ever seen Guns of Navarone?"
Dot blinked. "No."
"My dad just bought it on tape. You all wanna come over and watch it? My mom can make popcorn."
They all stared at him, but Dot's grin was back. "Does it have explosions?"
"Yeah, lots of 'em."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" She shoved back her chair and dropped her fancy linen napkin onto her nearly full plate. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."
/