A/N: Thank you heaps to Silent:Poet and Trixie (Uberkaiserin) for your
reviews. I really appreciate them. I'm not that happy with this chapter,
but I'll try and do better on the next one. :)
Disclaimer: I think I forgot this before. Oops. Anyway, the plot is taken from "Much Ado About Nothing", and the characters are different but based on Shakespeare's - not that anyone could outdo Beatrice and Benedick!
*****
Ophelia rested her chin on her hand, and transferred her gaze to the back of Peter Harrington's head. Narrowing her eyes, she watched him suspiciously. At least she hoped it was a suspicious look. Last time she'd tried it out on Jessica, she'd been asked if she was planning to sneeze.
She risked a glance at the clock, and stifled a groan. Exactly thirty seconds had passed since the last time she'd checked. There might possibly be something more boring in the world than silent study, but right at this moment, she couldn't imagine what. Technically, Ophelia pondered, flicking aimlessly through her biology homework, she could use this time to actually STUDY, but not only did that go against her personal morals, she could miss Peter's Evil Deed.
Not that he'd actually done anything yet to suggest that he was, in fact, plotting an Evil Deed, but Ophelia was convinced that he must be. There just didn't seem to be any point in having a confirmed Bad Boy return dramatically and vengefully, if he was just going to sit there and calmly do his...math assignment, by the looks of it. She huffed out an impatient breath, and ignored the quizzical looks sent her way by her more studious classmates. Didn't he KNOW that it was practically his duty to do something horribly villainous and vile? If this was a movie, or a play, or something, he would have carried out at least the first stage of his plan by now. And unless the first stage of his plan involved spending vast amounts of time catching up on missed work and eating quite staggering quantities of food in the cafeteria, she had a - if she was honest - slightly disappointing suspicion that he wasn't planning to do anything interesting at all.
Not that she wanted him to do something bad to Jack. She liked Jack. Other than his revolting taste in friends, she liked Jack a lot. They'd hit it off in their first years of school, often being paired together in class, and until she'd discovered what an immense fool his constant companion was, they'd hung out a lot.
But she had to admit that the week since Peter's arrival had been something of an anti-climax. There'd been an apprehensive buzz around the school for the first few days, and everyone had been waiting for a confrontation. The day before, it had seemed that they were going to get one when Peter had approached Jack in the common room.
Peter had immediately taken up with his old crony, Ralph "Mouse" Phillips, on the day that he'd come back – much to Ophelia's private satisfaction: what would a villain be without a less intelligent sidekick?
Shamefully, Ophelia had actually forgotten that Mouse existed since Peter's expulsion. The diminutive boy seemed to thrive off others' energy, and she didn't think he'd ever had an original thought in his life. She'd said hi to him once in their second year, and had eventually walked away in despair when he'd just stood there, looking at her in a vaguely puzzled manner. His extremely introverted, retiring personality could have been the reason for the nickname that had accompanied him to school.
It also, however, could be the fact that his little beady black eyes peered over a sharply pointed nose and chin, his ears appeared to be making a valiant attempt to escape to the top of his head and his front teeth were visible even when his mouth was closed. Jessica had once rather unkindly pointed out that he probably wasn't allowed to take biology in case he accidentally ended up on a dissecting board.
Five minutes after Peter's suitcases were back in his wardrobe Mouse was hanging onto the back of his shirt. Literally.
Mouse had tagged along on whatever horrible thing Peter had done to Jack last time. She wasn't sure how involved he'd been, but, while Peter alone spelled trouble anyway, Peter and Mouse together was usually an indicator that something was going to happen sooner or later. And it probably wouldn't be pretty.
Therefore, Ophelia had immediately jumped to the conclusion, as she'd watched with wide eyes as Peter advanced on his brother, that his purpose in getting within five feet of Jack went something along the lines of massive blood spilling and broken bones. She wasn't sure who was more shocked when Peter had extended a passive hand – presumably to be shaken – her, Jack or Will: the latter's eyes had just about leapt off his face.
After a few tense seconds of immobility and silence, the ever gracious Jack had slowly grasped his sibling's hand. And so, following this scene of filial reconciliation, word had quickly spread through Harrigon that all was sunshine and flowers between the Harrington brothers.
It seemed that the two people least convinced by this heartwarming familial scene were Ophelia and Will. Will had been stonily keeping a close watch on Peter's movements ever since, and, after a few moments of confusion, Ophelia had immediately – and with typical melodramatic flair – decided that this was part of a wider dastardly plot.
And it seemed that Peter was determined to prove her wrong. So far, the vilest act he'd committed was actually eating some of the mystery meat in the cafeteria. Otherwise he'd been sitting there chewing the sole of his shoe; it was impossible to tell which. She decided that this was definite evidence of a diseased mind anyway.
She'd tried to follow him discreetly, determined to catch him doing something immoral, suspicious, or at least embarrassing. However, after she'd tripped over a first year, screeched aloud when she found chewed gum on the heels of her new shoes and accidentally walked into his back when he'd stopped without warning – totally inconsiderate – she was pretty sure that he was onto her. She was also pretty sure that he thought she had a crush on him. He'd given her a few sly, lecherous winks since. Hurl.
All of this non-activity was leading towards two worrying conclusions: either Peter was biding his time before he did something really, heinously awful; or he was a changed man.
Maybe she ought to just forget about him for awhile, and concentrate on other irritating matters. Like her bio homework. Or, far more perplexingly, the fact that Will kept LOOKING at her. She was almost certain that he was writing something – probably something pricky – about her in his diary. What a dork. It was probably supposed to intrigue her. Please. She wondered if she could somehow walk casually past and try to snatch a peek over his shoulder...
*****
"He's just so fucking smug!" Peter snapped, hissing cigarette smoke through his front teeth.
Mouse jumped nervously out of the way as his friend flicked ash in a distinctly peeved manner.
"Who?" he asked.
"Who do you think? My darling brother, of course."
Mouse paused, confused. "But...aren't we friends with him now?" he asked plaintively.
Peter spun slowly around to look at him.
"WHAT?"
"Well...I mean...you...sh-sh-shook his hand and everything. Doesn't that usually m-m-mean that..." Mouse's stammering voice trailed off, and he flinched instinctively. Usually when Peter looked like that, Mouse got smacked around the head.
This time was no exception.
"That was just to make them THINK that I've decided to fall under Jack's thumb like the rest of these drones," Peter said impatiently, dusting off his hand, "Lulling them into a false sense of security? A smokescreen? A charade? Honestly."
"Oh," said Mouse dubiously.
Then: "Cunning," he said, sounding as if he wasn't sure whether it was or not.
"Yes," agreed Peter.
"I don't think it worked," Mouse said, with flat innocence.
Peter paused.
"No. Well, I expected that they'd still be suspicious. But it'll just mess with their minds more, wondering when I'm going to strike."
Mouse nodded with such convincing comprehension that it was clear he didn't have a clue what was going on. Peter sighed. Oh well. It was probably better if your friends' brains were about a fifth the size of yours. Made it clear who was in charge. Poor Mouse. So easily manipulated.
"Can you believe those wankers actually made him Head Boy of this shitty school?" Peter mused bitingly, sneering.
"Er," said Mouse, pausing to consider what to say in reply. Stumped, he gave up and just shrugged instead.
Looking at him impatiently, Peter stamped the butt into the ground, and kicked viciously at a stone.
They were leaning – Peter with a lazy grace, Mouse with almost painful awkwardness – against the back wall of one of the bicycle sheds in the parking lot. It was completely deserted – no one had ridden a bike at Harrigon since sometime in the early years of the previous century.
"Same old Jack. The perfect firstborn son," Peter said flatly, before perking up slightly. "Doesn't have a girlfriend though. Not that I'm surprised. Even the little slags at this school shouldn't have to look at that naked," he snickered.
"You don't have a girlfriend either," Mouse piped up, with blind enthusiasm.
The pathetic excuse for a smile on Peter's face disappeared completely, and he directed a look at his oblivious companion that could cut diamonds.
"Yes, but that's by choice, you moron," he spat, "If I WANTED one of them, I could take my pick. Some of them might be acceptable for a casual shag anyway. That hot girl with the curly hair and the freaking weird name has been following me around for days. Desdemona, or something."
"You couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse said blithely, not elaborating on this dangerous comment.
Pause.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Mouse shrugged.
"Well, when you asked me to spy on people for you - "
"It was necessary observations, not spying," Peter cut in harshly, "Good thing you're such a forgettable little squirt too. No one even notices you. I can't go a step without the rabble in this hole gawping. That ass-kissing twerp Brent and fucking Carlyle have been keeping tabs on me since I arrived."
"Yeah, them!"
"What about them?"
"I heard Robert Brent talking to Jack. He said he's in love with that quiet girl. The one who's in a band. Hannah. She's nice. She let me sit with her for lunch once. She..."
"Would you shut the fuck up about lunch? So, Brent's in love with the band chick. Ya – freaking – hoo. And?"
"And Robert's too nervous to ask her out - "
Peter interrupted again with a derisive snort. "Figures."
"So Jack's going to ask her to dance at the ball tonight, and then ask her out for Robert. And when I was spying – uh – OBSERVING them, I also overheard Hannah talking to that girl, Jessica. And she loves him too. So, you see, she wouldn't want to go out with you then. And you couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse finished logically.
"Really." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yup," Mouse nodded his head so vigorously that his small eyes crossed.
"Interesting."
"Yup...Is it?"
"Sounds like the perfect place to make some mildly evil mischief," Peter said, smiling unpleasantly. "It'll lessen the boredom of this cesspool mildly anyway."
"Are you sure you should do anything, Peter?" Mouse worried, his hands fluttering fussily, "I mean, honest, the mean guy hardly ever wins, and these things always go wrong, and you'll probably just get into a lot of trouble, and no one will care, really, because no one actually likes you that much, and..."
Peter hadn't been listening. He was too busy looking bitter and malevolent.
"A masked ball," he muttered. "How...quaint."
He then proceeded to laugh in a distinctly unsettling way, until Mouse backed nervously into him, and made him choke.
*****
"Do my hips look big in these pants?"
Brief silence.
Barely muffled snorts.
"Gee, I don't know, Robert, but do you think this shade of lipstick looks good on me? Or does it make my toes look fat?" Jack asked, in a high falsetto voice.
Will snickered.
Robert turned from his firmly planted position by the mirror, and glared.
"Shut up! I'm bloody nervous here!"
"Nervous. But still a GUY, Robert," Will pointed out, eyebrows raised. He shook his head. This was what happened to guys in love. They turned into twittering girls. Oh, the shame of it. What happened to the age-old dignities of confirmed bachelorhood? Robert was physically twitching with apprehension about this evening. Meanwhile, Will thought with smug breeziness, HE could look forward to a night of high-flying singledom. He only hoped the girls didn't get hurt when they threw themselves at him. Riots could be so dangerous.
And Ophelia could jump as many Celtic swains as she liked. He didn't care. Not one measly little bit.
"Right," Will announced, briskly snapping his black mask down over his face, "Ready to go get rejected?"
Robert visibly paled, and Jack gave Will a hard shove.
"Will!"
Will sniffed, and picked himself off the floor in as dignified a manner as possible.
"Fine," he said in a monotone voice, "Ready to go fall into domestic happily ever after with the girl of your dreams?"
Robert beamed.
Jack tried not to look amused.
Will tried not to gag.
*****
"So, we're agreed then. You're going to ask Robert to dance tonight."
Ophelia finished lining her lips in a shade of deep mauve, and tossed the lipstick aside with a flourish. She turned away from her mirror to look at her cousin.
"You're not going to faint, are you?" Jessica asked in alarm. Rifling amongst the scattered items of clothing, makeup and perfume on Ophelia's bed, she found a package of poppy seed crackers (one of Ophelia's many food- related addictions) and shoved them at Hannah. "Here! Eat!"
The dead-white girl waved them away and pressed a hand to her stomach.
"No thanks. I couldn't eat a thing. I feel sick. I'm so scared!" she finished in a wail.
"Hannah," Ophelia said patiently, plopping into a chair and meeting her cousin's gaze. "He's not going to say no. Ok? It's not like you're asking him to shag you on the buffet table, for goodness sake! And I'm pretty sure that even if you asked him to do that, he wouldn't say no!"
"Ophelia!"
"Well, he wouldn't!"
"You just ask him to dance," Jessica said calmly, "And then you dance with him, try not to break any of his toes - "
Strangled moan from Hannah.
"Which you wouldn't anyway, because you're so darn graceful, it's enough to make a person want to be sick! And that's it. One little baby step. And then you'll come to us, the wallflowers in the corner - "
Outraged squawk from Ophelia.
"And you'll tell us all about it, and then we'll devise the next step of our cunning plan to make Robert Brent the future Mr. Hannah Jones."
"I'm going to be sick."
"Well, the smell of Ophelia's perfume is enough to make anyone feel that way. As long as you don't throw up ON Robert, you'll be fine."
"Hey!"
"He's probably secretly lusting after you from afar anyway," Jessica continued.
"Oh, sure."
"I bet he is."
"I bet he isn't."
"I'm telling you he is."
"And I'm assuring you that he is not."
Ophelia coughed.
"Ah, guys? Ball?"
"Oh, right."
All three girls pulled their masks over their eyes, and looked at one another.
"Don't worry, Hannah," Jessica said confidently, "Who knows what'll happen tonight?"
Disclaimer: I think I forgot this before. Oops. Anyway, the plot is taken from "Much Ado About Nothing", and the characters are different but based on Shakespeare's - not that anyone could outdo Beatrice and Benedick!
*****
Ophelia rested her chin on her hand, and transferred her gaze to the back of Peter Harrington's head. Narrowing her eyes, she watched him suspiciously. At least she hoped it was a suspicious look. Last time she'd tried it out on Jessica, she'd been asked if she was planning to sneeze.
She risked a glance at the clock, and stifled a groan. Exactly thirty seconds had passed since the last time she'd checked. There might possibly be something more boring in the world than silent study, but right at this moment, she couldn't imagine what. Technically, Ophelia pondered, flicking aimlessly through her biology homework, she could use this time to actually STUDY, but not only did that go against her personal morals, she could miss Peter's Evil Deed.
Not that he'd actually done anything yet to suggest that he was, in fact, plotting an Evil Deed, but Ophelia was convinced that he must be. There just didn't seem to be any point in having a confirmed Bad Boy return dramatically and vengefully, if he was just going to sit there and calmly do his...math assignment, by the looks of it. She huffed out an impatient breath, and ignored the quizzical looks sent her way by her more studious classmates. Didn't he KNOW that it was practically his duty to do something horribly villainous and vile? If this was a movie, or a play, or something, he would have carried out at least the first stage of his plan by now. And unless the first stage of his plan involved spending vast amounts of time catching up on missed work and eating quite staggering quantities of food in the cafeteria, she had a - if she was honest - slightly disappointing suspicion that he wasn't planning to do anything interesting at all.
Not that she wanted him to do something bad to Jack. She liked Jack. Other than his revolting taste in friends, she liked Jack a lot. They'd hit it off in their first years of school, often being paired together in class, and until she'd discovered what an immense fool his constant companion was, they'd hung out a lot.
But she had to admit that the week since Peter's arrival had been something of an anti-climax. There'd been an apprehensive buzz around the school for the first few days, and everyone had been waiting for a confrontation. The day before, it had seemed that they were going to get one when Peter had approached Jack in the common room.
Peter had immediately taken up with his old crony, Ralph "Mouse" Phillips, on the day that he'd come back – much to Ophelia's private satisfaction: what would a villain be without a less intelligent sidekick?
Shamefully, Ophelia had actually forgotten that Mouse existed since Peter's expulsion. The diminutive boy seemed to thrive off others' energy, and she didn't think he'd ever had an original thought in his life. She'd said hi to him once in their second year, and had eventually walked away in despair when he'd just stood there, looking at her in a vaguely puzzled manner. His extremely introverted, retiring personality could have been the reason for the nickname that had accompanied him to school.
It also, however, could be the fact that his little beady black eyes peered over a sharply pointed nose and chin, his ears appeared to be making a valiant attempt to escape to the top of his head and his front teeth were visible even when his mouth was closed. Jessica had once rather unkindly pointed out that he probably wasn't allowed to take biology in case he accidentally ended up on a dissecting board.
Five minutes after Peter's suitcases were back in his wardrobe Mouse was hanging onto the back of his shirt. Literally.
Mouse had tagged along on whatever horrible thing Peter had done to Jack last time. She wasn't sure how involved he'd been, but, while Peter alone spelled trouble anyway, Peter and Mouse together was usually an indicator that something was going to happen sooner or later. And it probably wouldn't be pretty.
Therefore, Ophelia had immediately jumped to the conclusion, as she'd watched with wide eyes as Peter advanced on his brother, that his purpose in getting within five feet of Jack went something along the lines of massive blood spilling and broken bones. She wasn't sure who was more shocked when Peter had extended a passive hand – presumably to be shaken – her, Jack or Will: the latter's eyes had just about leapt off his face.
After a few tense seconds of immobility and silence, the ever gracious Jack had slowly grasped his sibling's hand. And so, following this scene of filial reconciliation, word had quickly spread through Harrigon that all was sunshine and flowers between the Harrington brothers.
It seemed that the two people least convinced by this heartwarming familial scene were Ophelia and Will. Will had been stonily keeping a close watch on Peter's movements ever since, and, after a few moments of confusion, Ophelia had immediately – and with typical melodramatic flair – decided that this was part of a wider dastardly plot.
And it seemed that Peter was determined to prove her wrong. So far, the vilest act he'd committed was actually eating some of the mystery meat in the cafeteria. Otherwise he'd been sitting there chewing the sole of his shoe; it was impossible to tell which. She decided that this was definite evidence of a diseased mind anyway.
She'd tried to follow him discreetly, determined to catch him doing something immoral, suspicious, or at least embarrassing. However, after she'd tripped over a first year, screeched aloud when she found chewed gum on the heels of her new shoes and accidentally walked into his back when he'd stopped without warning – totally inconsiderate – she was pretty sure that he was onto her. She was also pretty sure that he thought she had a crush on him. He'd given her a few sly, lecherous winks since. Hurl.
All of this non-activity was leading towards two worrying conclusions: either Peter was biding his time before he did something really, heinously awful; or he was a changed man.
Maybe she ought to just forget about him for awhile, and concentrate on other irritating matters. Like her bio homework. Or, far more perplexingly, the fact that Will kept LOOKING at her. She was almost certain that he was writing something – probably something pricky – about her in his diary. What a dork. It was probably supposed to intrigue her. Please. She wondered if she could somehow walk casually past and try to snatch a peek over his shoulder...
*****
"He's just so fucking smug!" Peter snapped, hissing cigarette smoke through his front teeth.
Mouse jumped nervously out of the way as his friend flicked ash in a distinctly peeved manner.
"Who?" he asked.
"Who do you think? My darling brother, of course."
Mouse paused, confused. "But...aren't we friends with him now?" he asked plaintively.
Peter spun slowly around to look at him.
"WHAT?"
"Well...I mean...you...sh-sh-shook his hand and everything. Doesn't that usually m-m-mean that..." Mouse's stammering voice trailed off, and he flinched instinctively. Usually when Peter looked like that, Mouse got smacked around the head.
This time was no exception.
"That was just to make them THINK that I've decided to fall under Jack's thumb like the rest of these drones," Peter said impatiently, dusting off his hand, "Lulling them into a false sense of security? A smokescreen? A charade? Honestly."
"Oh," said Mouse dubiously.
Then: "Cunning," he said, sounding as if he wasn't sure whether it was or not.
"Yes," agreed Peter.
"I don't think it worked," Mouse said, with flat innocence.
Peter paused.
"No. Well, I expected that they'd still be suspicious. But it'll just mess with their minds more, wondering when I'm going to strike."
Mouse nodded with such convincing comprehension that it was clear he didn't have a clue what was going on. Peter sighed. Oh well. It was probably better if your friends' brains were about a fifth the size of yours. Made it clear who was in charge. Poor Mouse. So easily manipulated.
"Can you believe those wankers actually made him Head Boy of this shitty school?" Peter mused bitingly, sneering.
"Er," said Mouse, pausing to consider what to say in reply. Stumped, he gave up and just shrugged instead.
Looking at him impatiently, Peter stamped the butt into the ground, and kicked viciously at a stone.
They were leaning – Peter with a lazy grace, Mouse with almost painful awkwardness – against the back wall of one of the bicycle sheds in the parking lot. It was completely deserted – no one had ridden a bike at Harrigon since sometime in the early years of the previous century.
"Same old Jack. The perfect firstborn son," Peter said flatly, before perking up slightly. "Doesn't have a girlfriend though. Not that I'm surprised. Even the little slags at this school shouldn't have to look at that naked," he snickered.
"You don't have a girlfriend either," Mouse piped up, with blind enthusiasm.
The pathetic excuse for a smile on Peter's face disappeared completely, and he directed a look at his oblivious companion that could cut diamonds.
"Yes, but that's by choice, you moron," he spat, "If I WANTED one of them, I could take my pick. Some of them might be acceptable for a casual shag anyway. That hot girl with the curly hair and the freaking weird name has been following me around for days. Desdemona, or something."
"You couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse said blithely, not elaborating on this dangerous comment.
Pause.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Mouse shrugged.
"Well, when you asked me to spy on people for you - "
"It was necessary observations, not spying," Peter cut in harshly, "Good thing you're such a forgettable little squirt too. No one even notices you. I can't go a step without the rabble in this hole gawping. That ass-kissing twerp Brent and fucking Carlyle have been keeping tabs on me since I arrived."
"Yeah, them!"
"What about them?"
"I heard Robert Brent talking to Jack. He said he's in love with that quiet girl. The one who's in a band. Hannah. She's nice. She let me sit with her for lunch once. She..."
"Would you shut the fuck up about lunch? So, Brent's in love with the band chick. Ya – freaking – hoo. And?"
"And Robert's too nervous to ask her out - "
Peter interrupted again with a derisive snort. "Figures."
"So Jack's going to ask her to dance at the ball tonight, and then ask her out for Robert. And when I was spying – uh – OBSERVING them, I also overheard Hannah talking to that girl, Jessica. And she loves him too. So, you see, she wouldn't want to go out with you then. And you couldn't have anyone you wanted," Mouse finished logically.
"Really." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yup," Mouse nodded his head so vigorously that his small eyes crossed.
"Interesting."
"Yup...Is it?"
"Sounds like the perfect place to make some mildly evil mischief," Peter said, smiling unpleasantly. "It'll lessen the boredom of this cesspool mildly anyway."
"Are you sure you should do anything, Peter?" Mouse worried, his hands fluttering fussily, "I mean, honest, the mean guy hardly ever wins, and these things always go wrong, and you'll probably just get into a lot of trouble, and no one will care, really, because no one actually likes you that much, and..."
Peter hadn't been listening. He was too busy looking bitter and malevolent.
"A masked ball," he muttered. "How...quaint."
He then proceeded to laugh in a distinctly unsettling way, until Mouse backed nervously into him, and made him choke.
*****
"Do my hips look big in these pants?"
Brief silence.
Barely muffled snorts.
"Gee, I don't know, Robert, but do you think this shade of lipstick looks good on me? Or does it make my toes look fat?" Jack asked, in a high falsetto voice.
Will snickered.
Robert turned from his firmly planted position by the mirror, and glared.
"Shut up! I'm bloody nervous here!"
"Nervous. But still a GUY, Robert," Will pointed out, eyebrows raised. He shook his head. This was what happened to guys in love. They turned into twittering girls. Oh, the shame of it. What happened to the age-old dignities of confirmed bachelorhood? Robert was physically twitching with apprehension about this evening. Meanwhile, Will thought with smug breeziness, HE could look forward to a night of high-flying singledom. He only hoped the girls didn't get hurt when they threw themselves at him. Riots could be so dangerous.
And Ophelia could jump as many Celtic swains as she liked. He didn't care. Not one measly little bit.
"Right," Will announced, briskly snapping his black mask down over his face, "Ready to go get rejected?"
Robert visibly paled, and Jack gave Will a hard shove.
"Will!"
Will sniffed, and picked himself off the floor in as dignified a manner as possible.
"Fine," he said in a monotone voice, "Ready to go fall into domestic happily ever after with the girl of your dreams?"
Robert beamed.
Jack tried not to look amused.
Will tried not to gag.
*****
"So, we're agreed then. You're going to ask Robert to dance tonight."
Ophelia finished lining her lips in a shade of deep mauve, and tossed the lipstick aside with a flourish. She turned away from her mirror to look at her cousin.
"You're not going to faint, are you?" Jessica asked in alarm. Rifling amongst the scattered items of clothing, makeup and perfume on Ophelia's bed, she found a package of poppy seed crackers (one of Ophelia's many food- related addictions) and shoved them at Hannah. "Here! Eat!"
The dead-white girl waved them away and pressed a hand to her stomach.
"No thanks. I couldn't eat a thing. I feel sick. I'm so scared!" she finished in a wail.
"Hannah," Ophelia said patiently, plopping into a chair and meeting her cousin's gaze. "He's not going to say no. Ok? It's not like you're asking him to shag you on the buffet table, for goodness sake! And I'm pretty sure that even if you asked him to do that, he wouldn't say no!"
"Ophelia!"
"Well, he wouldn't!"
"You just ask him to dance," Jessica said calmly, "And then you dance with him, try not to break any of his toes - "
Strangled moan from Hannah.
"Which you wouldn't anyway, because you're so darn graceful, it's enough to make a person want to be sick! And that's it. One little baby step. And then you'll come to us, the wallflowers in the corner - "
Outraged squawk from Ophelia.
"And you'll tell us all about it, and then we'll devise the next step of our cunning plan to make Robert Brent the future Mr. Hannah Jones."
"I'm going to be sick."
"Well, the smell of Ophelia's perfume is enough to make anyone feel that way. As long as you don't throw up ON Robert, you'll be fine."
"Hey!"
"He's probably secretly lusting after you from afar anyway," Jessica continued.
"Oh, sure."
"I bet he is."
"I bet he isn't."
"I'm telling you he is."
"And I'm assuring you that he is not."
Ophelia coughed.
"Ah, guys? Ball?"
"Oh, right."
All three girls pulled their masks over their eyes, and looked at one another.
"Don't worry, Hannah," Jessica said confidently, "Who knows what'll happen tonight?"