To 707: Aw, Fern's not gone yet. In fact, she has a very important decision to make. Congrats on your dog!

Chapter 31

Dance Dance Revelations

"Shut up!" Muffy said again.

"You're the only one talking," said Alan with a laugh.

"Are you even real?"

Alan predicted Muffy's trademark move a millisecond too late. In her disbelief, she tried to swat his chest, and he caught her hand as it connected.

"Who can say for certain?" he said with a grunt. "But my sore muscles definitely feel real."

Whereas his hands were still cool from the walk, hers were almost soothingly warm, leaving residual heat in his fingertips after he let her go. If the temperature dropped much lower, he would need to call for a ride home.

Depending on how long you stay, Muffy might offer you a lift.

Perhaps he should wait until last minute to call his father.

"Sorry," said Muffy, "but I thought you said you weren't coming."

"If you'll recall, what I actually said was I wasn't sure if I was coming. I never ruled it out." Muffy looked intrigued as he continued. "So…I promised myself I wouldn't commit until last minute, the day of the ball. Only then would I ask myself how I really felt about attending. Whether I chose to go or stay home, either choice would be perfectly fine."

"Really?"

"Honestly, until about an hour ago, I was leaning more toward staying home."

"What changed your mind?"

"I don't know…." It was the truth. Alan only knew he had felt overwhelmingly compelled to attend upon opening his closet this afternoon and telling himself that it was time for a definitive decision. He added, "But here I am."

"Well, Zen Master, I sure am glad to see you. I just hope you're not having buyer's remorse." Muffy gave a half-hearted gesture over her shoulder to the crowd inside the gym as if she were presenting a lackluster prize. "As you can see, the party is hardly crunk."

Although she looked genuinely glad to see him, her tone betrayed her disappointment.

"Prunella warned me this was a possible outcome." Alan nodded as he surveyed the dance attendees. "She said the Autumn Ball last year also suffered from stagnation and a severe lack of enthusiasm."

He declined to tell her that Prunella also foretold Muffy's early departure from the dance. He had to give his new yoga instructor credit. A psychic she was not, but she knew her friends. Upon entering, it had certainly seemed as if Muffy were on her way out. Had he been only a few seconds late, he might have missed her.

"Are you leaving?" said Alan.

"What? No, silly. I was just trying to back up far enough to take a picture of everyone. So I can send it to Mom and Daddy and Chip."

"A picture? Of the boring, crunkless party?"

"I promised them I would," she insisted.

"Out here in the vestibule? Muffy…are you okay?"

At this, the corner of Muffy's mouth twitched, and she looked conflicted. Something was weighing on her, and Alan suspected she was at least lending consideration to opening up about it. To his dismay, however, she had chosen not to give in but to don her armor instead. This kind of smile was not convincing—not that it had been for a while now—but she had turned it on with the ease of toggling a light switch.

"Why don't we take a picture together, then," she said, "since you're so down on my choice of subject?"

Muffy reached between the pleats of her dress and magically produced her Portolex Infinity. "Hidden pockets," she said at what must have been his bewildered expression. "How cool is that?" Alan was thinking about how such a thing must be very cool as well as convenient when she took him by the elbow. He allowed her to lead him beyond the doorway and into the gym whereupon she whirled him around so that he was at her side and their backs were to the rest of the Autumn Ball. She held her phone at arm's length, twisting and tilting the front-facing camera in their direction while frowning with concentration. Alan could not help but notice she was cutting the rest of the students in frame off at their heads.

"I'm trying to get the grove in the background and the banner right above us," she said, "but my arms are too short. Maybe we should back up."

"I could try," said Alan. He offered his hand, waiting for her to give him the phone. "My arms are longer."

"Or you could let me take it," said a voice.

It took a moment for Alan to register who he was seeing. Francine was standing in front of them with her camera at the ready. She gave them a questioning and expectant look between a curtain of hair that was combed smooth and perfectly parted to one side. He had not seen Francine in a dress since her bat mitzvah, and as far as he could remember, she had not worn many before or any since. This new sleeveless and shimmery party look of hers was jarring, uncharacteristic, but not wholly unpleasant.

Francine looked Alan up and down, appearing amused. "Look at you," she said to him, "actually showing up to stuff these days. What made you want to come here, of all places?"

"I suppose I could ask the same of you," he said, secretly amazed by his quick wit and joking tone, "especially since you told me over the summer that you wouldn't be caught dead at this dumb dance."

One of the things Alan dreaded about getting his life back was the inevitable barrage of comments such as the one Francine had just made. He had hated trying to justify his absence during social events. Given that his friends had consistently advocated for him to join in or teased him when he did not, the idea that he would now have to justify his presence at them seemed unconscionable as well as daunting. To his surprise, instead of behaving defensively, he had handled Francine with ease and a sense of humor. Now she was on the defense, as evidenced by the frown she had let slip.

"Yeah, well," she said, trying to act unfazed by his ribbing, "things change…. I'm here for The Frensky Star."

Muffy squealed with uninhibited joy at her best friend before gushing over her appearance. "Is it hot in here, or is it just you?" she said to Francine. "Love the dress! Where did you get it?"

"Save your 'I told you so' for later," Francine said, cocking her head to one side impatiently. "I've got stuff to do. You want me to take your picture or not?"

"Please," Muffy said sweetly, slipping her phone back into the pocket of her dress. "Where do you want us?"

Francine threw a thumb toward the gym entrance. "How about over there? Come on."

Her sky-blue skirt swayed about her knees as she hurried a few steps over to one of the giant floating balloon clusters flanking the doorway, a variety of iridescent fall colors tethered to a golden balloon weight with shiny black ribbons. Francine knelt and tugged on the ribbons, lowering the balloons until they created a colorful, shoulder-level backdrop, then she repositioned the weight to hold them in place. She motioned for Alan and Muffy to stand in front of them.

"Okay. You guys are right here…face each other but not directly…angle your back shoulders in toward each other and open your chests toward me. Chins up but look natural, happy. Hold it…."

There was a blinding flash, and Alan felt as if he could breathe again. Nothing had felt natural about that pose. Francine looked pleased with what she saw on her camera's screen.

"This looks great. What would you guys have done without me?" She stooped to release the balloons back to their full height. Muffy caught Francine by the arm before she could leave them.

"I want a full-sized preview before you post this online," she said seriously.

"I know," said Francine. "You always do. Hey—when did Compson get back?"

Alan and Muffy followed her gaze to Buster and Ladonna, who were mere feet away, smiling fondly at each other and seemingly unaware of the world around them. A dull pang developed in his chest at the sight, catching him unaware, and he tried his best to ignore it. He still remembered what it was like to feel that way.

"Holy balls," said Francine, staring at the couple. "Are they going to…? Later!"

Francine rushed in front of Buster and Ladonna in time to snap a picture of them sharing a kiss. The situation was indeed bizarre, but Alan's morbid curiosity was overridden by his immediate need to look away. Around him, several of his schoolmates cheered or whooped in a mock-scandalized fashion, with Muffy joining in. "Aww…good for them," she said as she clapped softly, sighing. "Disaster averted."

"Huh?" said Alan. "Disaster?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, pausing. She gave him an appraising look, apparently having detected his unease. "Are you okay?"

Alan's instinct had been to brush off Muffy's concern, to tell her he was fine, just as she had done so frequently lately. It had been his modus operandi for so long. But instead of answering automatically, he, too, took a moment, listening to the small voice that spoke up in his mind.

You're free to converse with her. Don't forget that. And if you want her to confide in you, perhaps it would be prudent to lead by example.

Alan stole a brief glance at the happy couple before shrugging at Muffy. "It's…strange. But I can't hide from that sort of thing forever, can I? From now on, it's going to be ubiquitous. I suppose I should start somewhere if I want to learn to accept it."

Muffy considered his words before giving his sore shoulder a comforting squeeze. "It's pretty drafty over here. Walk with me?"

Alan fell into step with Muffy as she strolled toward the refreshment stations. They were halfway there when the bright and phasing colors of the DJ booth caught his attention. He turned to get a look at it then halted in his tracks as he read the sign. Muffy stopped as well, and she backed up a couple of paces so she could stand by his side.

"So this is DJ Phat Stacks?" he said.

"The one, the only," she said, a smile in her voice.

"Impressive…. He spells his name with a dollar sign and a Z."

Muffy nudged him with her elbow. "I knew you'd hate it!"

What's happening now?

Bo stared down at Bitzi's text, not sure how he should answer. Their son had literally just kissed and made up with his girlfriend in front of half the school, and he did not think he should tell her that right now. She could get emotional, and that might make her feel inclined to text some more. It was not that he did not want to keep texting her. Now that everything seemed to be okay between Buster and Ladonna, giving her a play-by-play of the rest of the afternoon could be a lot of fun. He was not here to do that, however. He was here to keep an eye on all MCM students, not just Buster, and if he kept allowing himself to get distracted, he might catch the attention of the school's no-nonsense principal or her vice. It would not be the best first impression to leave them with if he ever wanted to volunteer for another school event. It was probably wise to tell Bitzi later, when they were alone and free, when he did not have a budding headache in his temples. For now, he decided to be honest but succinct.

The boy's got nine lives. They worked it out. Everything is fine.

You're sure?

Positive.

Good. How are you holding up?

Head hurts. But I'll survive.

Poor thing. I'm rooting for you.

Despite the pain, Bo could not help but smile at this.

I thought this was supposed to be the primo event of the freaking school year, thought Francine as she wandered the gym, desperate for a new subject. So why does everyone look like they want to leave?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a wall wearing a dapper deep-blue suit barred her path. She looked up to see the glowering face of Binky Barnes.

"Oh no you don't, Francine!" he said, flinging his arms out to either side and creating an even wider blockade. "You're not smearing the Autumn Ball on your blog. I won't allow it!"

His voice was menacing, but his eyes were terrified. Francine was unconcerned.

"Hate to break it to you, Binky, but before I even bothered walking in here, I had Coach Sorrell find Principal Brooks. And guess what? She gave me full permission. So unless you want me to take your picture, kindly eff out the way."

For emphasis, Francine shooed him away with a few flicks of her fingers. Binky growled before he stomped off, muttering something she could not hear. Contrary to what he thought, she was not looking to smear the ball. She had arrived without a clear plan as to what her story would be, hoping she would find it as she mingled with the other students, but as she looked upon the crowd, it seemed less and less likely that she would be able to paint the dance in a favorable light. She glanced around for something, anything. George stood near the bathroom entrance. Fern was nowhere to be seen, and he looked anxious. Maria, Jenna, and Alex huddled together near the grove, talking closely while staring after the fuming Binky, who was now headed toward the front of the gym, fists clenched at his side. Most everyone else looked as if being here made them feel awkward. Maybe it should have been comforting that she was not the only one who felt that way, but searching her classmates' unsure faces, it only made her feel sorry for them.

This is just sad. Why isn't anyone doing anything?

She continued the hunt for anyone besides Luster who seemed to be having a good time. That ended up being a big mistake. She locked eyes with Arthur, standing at the refreshment table, spying her over Sue Ellen's shoulder. She looked away when Sue Ellen turned to follow his gaze. Francine wanted to turn on her heel and walk in the other direction, but she stopped.

Why? There's nothing wrong.

And she would prove it.

"So, what's going on, you guys?"

She had walked right over to Arthur and Sue Ellen and struck up a conversation. What better way to prove that this situation was completely fine and perfectly normal than to be friendly with them? Sue Ellen recovered from her shock rather quickly and had no trouble being her amiable self. It was she who acknowledge Francine first; Arthur, on the other hand, decided to take interest in the potato chip pinned between his fingers.

"Hi, Francine," said Sue Ellen. "You changed your mind about coming?"

"Kind of. I was working hard on my musical serial today when I had an epiphany. See, it dawned on me that, even if I don't care about the Autumn Ball, there's a buttload of people at MCM who love this sort of crap and will eat it up like ice cream. And if they want to attend the Autumn Ball, then naturally, they might also want to read about it and see if their photo made the cut. I'd be an idiot to turn down that many hits."

"That's a pretty clever strategy." Sue Ellen sounded impressed. "You can give the people what they want to maintain or even grow readership, but you can also write the stories you're passionate about in the meantime."

"Exactly, only I wasn't expecting such a suckfest. What's with everyone? Besides Luster, I think I've seen happier people at funerals."

"Your guess is as good as ours. It would be nice to just let loose and dance…. I think everyone is nervous to make the first move. No one really brought a date aside from…from us and Luster—well, it was Muffy and Buster before that, I guess, if you want to get technical."

Francine was unable to prevent her mouth from falling open. "Muffy and Buster…?" She turned to look at her best friend. Muffy now stood near the punch station, chatting animatedly with Alan, looking happier than Francine had seen her in the past several days. She assumed that Muffy and Alan had come to the dance together, that maybe Muffy had gotten off her high horse, gone back on her word and somehow persuaded Alan to join her, just as she had convinced him to come to her Halloween party. Why in the hell would she bring Buster, the only eighth-grade boy who had a girlfriend? She smelled an effed-up, hairbrained scheme, and she would definitely grill Muffy about it as soon as she got the chance.

"Oh, I am going to give her such crap about that," Francine uttered devilishly, "but later. I need to try to find a story while I'm here. Thanks for that, Sue Ellen!"

Francine left them to take pictures of the grove. If she could not find a unique human-interest angle here, maybe she could at least take pictures of the decorations and report on the great job done by the Autumn Ball committee. It really was a shame all their hard work was going to waste, but it might cheer Binky up to read that she had given him and the rest of his crew such high praise. She was lost in thought, mentally producing a list of possible captions, when she felt a new presence at her side and caught a figure in her periphery.

"Epiphany, huh?"

The voice was unmistakably Arthur's. Francine lowered her camera and turned to him.

"So you were listening."

"You expect me to believe you just woke up and decided to come to the Autumn Ball and cover it for The Frensky Star?"

"I don't give a flying eff what anyone believes," she said curtly. While that was not exactly true, she did not have to admit that to him. "Besides, what other reason would I have for showing up?"

"Are you mad I asked Sue Ellen?"

Wow, points for boldness.

She had not expected him to just spit it out like that, but she brushed him off with a snicker.

"Why would I be mad about it? It was my idea. Are you mad about it?"

That would probably shut him up. Coming to the ball with Sue Ellen was the natural choice, but Arthur had done it to spite her that day, and they both knew it. Arthur faltered only for a couple of seconds, however, before he composed himself.

"At least I didn't invent a reason to be here because I'm too scared to go to a school dance," he said, leaning in. With that, he left her dumbfounded.

How had Arthur done it, just looked into her like that? She should have found it comforting, knowing she had a friend who could read her, who could sense her distress, just as he had done the day he tried to calm her over her understudy woes. But he had not tried to calm her just now. He had used his intuition to dig at her. What was more, he had been correct in his insinuation, one hundred percent. And Francine could not let him have the last word.

She marched back to the refreshment table. Arthur had only just rejoined Sue Ellen when Francine spoke up, in perfect control of the fury blazing in her chest. "Yo!"

Sue Ellen regarded her with curiosity. Arthur scowled. Francine gave them both a huge grin.

"How dumb can I be? I can't do an Autumn Ball piece without getting a picture of you guys. What do you say?"

"Em…sure," Sue Ellen said, sidling closer to Arthur. "Is this good enough?"

"Why don't you raise your punch cups and pretend you're toasting? There you go," she added when Sue Ellen and Arthur, who was trying to hide how reluctant he must have felt by smiling broadly, followed her instructions. "Hold it…. Gotcha."

Francine reviewed the photo. Sue Ellen looked pleasant as always. Arthur could have looked a little less constipated, but he passed for not-entirely-miserable. "You guys look perfect together," she said to them before walking away.

She spent the next few minutes snapping shots of the DJ booth, determining which color combination made for the best picture, wondering if DJ Phat Stacks would be up for an impromptu interview if all else failed. She had found a way to occupy herself, but she was distracted despite her best efforts. Although she had one-upped Arthur, his comment about her being scared still stung. DJ Phat Stacks noticed her staring, and he flashed her a thumbs up as a new song began.

"I got a feeling

That tonight's gonna be a good night…."

Hang it up, my dude, she thought, shaking her head at him. No, it isn't.

The DJ's face fell at her disapproval. Francine left the booth in search of a friend who would lend her a phone but would not tease her for using it to call Bubby for a ride home. She had left her phone in her room, and Bubby was not due to pick her up until six. Francine knew a lost cause when she saw one, though. There was no story to be found here at the Autumn Ball, no fun to be had, and her time would be better spent in her room, where she could get back to work on her serial. She looked to Muffy, who sipped punch in front of the fountain as she watched Alan draw from his pocket what appeared to be his wallet. Muffy would never let her hear the end of it if she borrowed her phone. She would not even entertain the idea of asking Arthur. Buster strolled across the gym, talking with Ladonna while holding her hand. "Bingo," she muttered when her eyes fell on George, still standing near the restrooms.

"Hey, George," she said casually. "Could I borrow your phone for a sec?"

"What?" George had barely acknowledged Francine when he saw her approaching. Rather, he looked around her, toward the gym's entrance. "Oh, yeah…. Here you go."

He handed his phone over after fumbling in his pocket for it. Francine let her camera hang by its strap and thanked him as she tried to remember Bubby's number and failed. "Where's Fern?" she said absently as she began dialing the apartment landline. "Sick in the bathroom?"

"She said she was going home."

Francine paused at how listless his voice sounded. "Is she coming back?"

"She said she was. But…."

"Did she tell you why she was going home?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "She wouldn't tell me anything."

Oh my god. She ditched him.

Francine pieced it together, both from Fern's complaints and from what little gossip she had heard. Fern had not wanted to come to the Autumn Ball to begin with. She was also thrilled at the idea of her mother being out of town for a few days. Was it possible that, in an attempt to own her mother, Fern might leave the ball under the pretense of going home, only to spend her time away from the ball doing whatever she wanted? Even though the action did not fit the Fern Walters she used to know, Fern had been on a moody and defiant streak recently, and Francine definitely could not put it past her. The idea of such a rebellion was almost admirable, or it would have been had she not strung George along in the process. That was honestly pretty cold-hearted and kind of bitchy of her. There was only one question: Where would Fern run off to?

The library. Let's not get too crazy with our theories.

Seeing as it was Fern, there were probably harsh limits as to how far she was willing to take her rebellion.

"Do you think she's coming back?" George asked her, his eyes begging for reassurance she was not willing to give him. He looked downright pitiful, like a sad Labrador puppy. Francine suspected he would continue to wait by the door like one, too, even if Fern had done him dirty.

"I…don't know, George, but in the meantime, why don't you try to enjoy yourself?"

"How?"

"Maybe…do a little dancing. You know, that thing you kick ass at."

"Yeah, right. With who?"

Francine could not believe she was saying this. "With…your old dance partner?"

George gaped at her. "Y-You?"

"For old time's sake?"

"I don't know, Francine. No one's dancing."

"They're waiting to follow your lead, that's all. Look, maybe Fern will be back and maybe she won't. Personally, I think it's her freaking loss."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Who cares if the person you should have come with took off or brought someone else or whatever? Who gives a rat's ass? It's not fair to let them ruin your good time. I say 'screw 'em'. Now, do you want to wait around all day for Fern, or do you want to do something that makes you happy?"

George took a moment, looking down at his dress shoes as he gave her words careful consideration. "Fern who?" he said, looking up at Francine.

"That's what I'm talking about. Hang on…."

Francine handed George's phone back to him then hurried to the front entrance where Buster's dad stood, his arms crossed, a pinched expression on his face.

"Mr. Baxter?"

"Yeah, Francine?" he said.

Francine removed the neck strap and held her camera out to him. "Could you hold this for me while I dance?"

"Uh, sure." Whatever Mr. Baxter had been expecting her to say, it probably had not been that. He unfolded his arms and took her camera with gentle hands. "I'll take good care of it for you. Have fun."

"Thanks. Be sure to use the neck strap!" she called as she raced to the DJ booth.

"Yo, DJ? Gimme a beat."

DJ Phat Stacks had been sitting on his black stool when Francine approached, looking bored as he sipped punch and wiped something off his mixer with an orange paper napkin. His eyes lit up when Francine made her demand.

"Yes! Finally!" He looked up to the ceiling as if grateful for an answered prayer before addressing Francine. "Got a song in mind?"

"I don't really care, just something that matches this—"

With her hands, she drummed out the rhythm she needed on his booth. DJ Phat Stacks watched, nodding intently as if he were calculating it and searching his memory for something that fit.

"Yeah…yeah. Don' worry," he said, pointing double finger guns at her. "I gotchu, boo. Comin' right up!"

"Thanks," she said, suppressing a smirk as she turned to leave. No one had ever called her "boo" before. She was only halfway back to George when their song began.

"D-D-D-DJ PHAT STACKS! REEE-QUEEEST!"

The deep, pre-recorded voice boomed, layered over the music, and Francine broke into a jog as the familiar, thudding intro to Rihanna's "Pon de Replay" filled the gymnasium. She gained so much speed she had to stop in front of George with a small hop.

"Ready to try our old routine?" she panted.

"You still remember it?" said George.

"Are you kidding? We practiced so much I was dancing in my freaking dreams." She took George by the wrist as she backed up, pulling him toward the dance floor. "You can freestyle, too, if you want. I'll try to keep up. Just be patient—I'm rusty as hell…."

George had quick feet. Before Francine knew it, he had gained leverage and spun her out into the empty area before jumping into place beside her. He gave her a nod and they both silently counted toward their cue.

Five…six…seven…eight….

Francine prayed she was not making an ass of herself. It felt awkward and goofy to be out here doing this after so long. However, as soon as she saw the wide and uncontrollable brace-filled smile on George's face, she knew she had made the right call in trying to cheer him up. His smile was infectious, and it was not long before her cheeks were hurting. This was fun, and it did not matter that the rest of the students had gathered around, staring at them like they were from another planet. Arthur was among them, Sue Ellen at his side. Francine hoped he was getting an eyeful.

Tell me I'm scared now…. Bite me.

Francine was only half right. The rest of the class gathered round to watch her and George, the duo who dared to step out onto MCM's dance floor, but instead of regarding them with befuddlement, they were drawing inspiration from them. Many of the students began to clap in time with the beat while others, like Buster, Ladonna, and Muffy, cheered them on. Some overheard Jenna telling Maria how fun she thought it would be to start a line dance, and a small group around them buzzed with agreement. It started as a trickle that turned into a flood as teenagers rushed to DJ Phat Stacks so they could put in their requests.

"We want to do the Cha-Cha Slide," said one.

"How about 'Cupid Shuffle'?" said another.

"Do you have 'Thriller'?" asked Alex.

Binky stood in a daze as he watched the scene play out around him. Minutes ago, he had left the gym to track down Principal Brooks in the hall. He had begged her to reconsider letting Francine photograph this disaster of a dance, but Principal Brooks had denied and dismissed him. Returning to the gym in a worse mood than ever, he had frozen in place when he spied George twirling Francine on the dance floor. What was more, others were beginning to join them, and they actually looked happy to do it.

"I don't believe it…." he said before pumping his fist. "IT'S AN AUTUMN BALL MIRACLE!"

"Well, people are dancing now," Sue Ellen said to Arthur as "Pon de Replay" faded into "Fire Burning". "Would you like to—?"

"Yes, I would," Arthur said, taking her by the hand.

"So," Muffy said coyly after Alan handed her a cup of punch, "let's see it."

Alan downed the punch he had poured for himself in one huge gulp before pitching his cup into the trash bin next to the station. "See what?"

"You know what. The knowledge test? You got your permit today."

Muffy had remembered, and now she wanted to see his learner's permit. Alan thought quickly about how he was going to prevent that from happening.

"I did," he said slowly, trying to stall.

"Great. Show me."

"Well…it's just a temporary one, on paper."

"I don't care."

"And it's not even printed in color."

"I don't care," she sang.

Alan wished Muffy would not ask for this. She probably would not stop hounding him unless he were brutally honest.

"Ugh, Muffy…. My picture is really bad, okay?"

He was glad the test was over and that he finally had his permit, but he did not relish carrying this particular photo around with him. Despite having showered and groomed before leaving for the DMV, the camera had somehow made Alan appear puffy, disheveled, and confused. His father had told him all DMV photos were like that and he would get used to it after a few renewals.

"Nonsense. You're very photogenic," Muffy said with a wave of her hand. "Give it up. I'm dying to see it."

I am? Alan thought as he finally caved to her pleading look and sweet smile. He removed the temporary permit from his wallet and handed it to Muffy without meeting her eyes. He only looked at her when she squealed softly.

"Oh my god. Look at that," she cooed as she read aloud. "That's you…Alan Henry Powers."

Alan made another disgusted noise. How could she find anything on that paper endearing?

"Oh, right," Muffy said with a giggle. "You hate your full name."

"Only because it makes me sound like an elderly man."

"Well, you're kind of an old soul, so I think it fits."

Alan chuckled. "I don't believe in souls."

"And I don't believe you don't believe in souls."

He knew what she was implying. It was not a very convincing statement to make when one assumed one had been haunted and attempted to contact the deceased. Temporary abandonment of logic aside, he conceded Muffy's point.

"Fair enough."

Muffy handed his permit back and asked, "What did you score?"

"Um, one hundred percent," he said, grateful to put his permit back where it belonged.

"That was a dumb question. I don't even know why I asked," Muffy said, pretending to smack herself in the forehead. "What I really need to know is how you want to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"You don't have to," she assured him.

"No, it's not that…. It's only a permit. It's not a big deal."

"Hello, it's a huge deal. None of the rest of us have one. You don't have to decide right away. If you come up with something fun, let me know and I'll make it happen."

Alan found it odd that, instead of declining outright, he was actually trying to think of an activity that was worthy of being called a celebration. Perhaps it was because Muffy looked so eager to please. Or perhaps it was because this really was an achievement. Perhaps anything that required careful study to earn the right to this much responsibility was something to celebrate. He believed Muffy when she said he was not under any pressure, so maybe he should treat the idea as he had the Autumn Ball and not rush to dismiss it. After all, his decision to come this afternoon was working out so far, even if he did not know why he was here.

"Maybe I'll think about it," he said.

Muffy did not respond. She was not even looking at him anymore. Something had caught her eye, and she was now staring at the dance floor in pure amazement. When Alan saw what she was looking at, he, too, had a hard time believing it.

"Are you seeing this?" she asked him, tapping him on the arm, not averting her eyes.

"Yeah, I think so," Alan said slowly.

Francine and George were dancing up a proverbial storm, and they both looked as if they were enjoying themselves immensely. Students began to encircle them, obscuring their view. With a "Come on," Muffy latched onto his wrist, and he followed her to get a closer look. The circle was now clapping to the beat, Buster and Ladonna among them as he and Muffy stopped to stand next to the couple.

"What got into her?" Buster said to Muffy, referring to Francine.

"Who cares?" said Ladonna. "This is awesome!"

Buster and Ladonna began cheering for Francine and George respectively. Muffy chimed in with, "WHOO! FRANCINE! YOU GO, GIRL!" Her voice was boisterous, fierce and full of mirth. It made Alan's heart leap to see her in such good spirits, especially when he had feared she might leave the ball early, upset and alone. He remembered the day he had found the Noob's Guide and the fond feelings he had for her upon learning how much she cared about him. What he was feeling now was reminiscent of that. Perhaps everyone else was watching Francine and George, but Alan was unable to take his eyes off Muffy. Had she always been so pretty? He heard Buster ask Ladonna, "May I have this dance, my lady?" Somewhere in the distance, Ladonna responded with an ultra-formal, "Certainly, sir." They were a world away. His inner monologue spoke up again.

This is why you're here.

Alan could not deny it. His decision to come to the Autumn Ball had not solely been for himself. He had worried about Muffy for a while now. His concern had grown when Prunella predicted how Muffy's afternoon would end. Maybe a disappointing dance was a small thing for Muffy to be upset about, but given the tough time she had already been weathering and the newfound unhappiness she refused to confess to him, even a small upset like a disappointing dance could compound an existing bad situation and possibly push her over the edge. Alan knew that all too well. What he had wanted these past few days, perhaps more than the answer to why he was having mysterious dreams, was for Muffy to be okay. Alan and Muffy both jumped when someone right behind them screamed, "IT'S AN AUTUMN BALL MIRACLE!"

"Omigod, Binky, you scared me!" cried Muffy. She clasped one hand over her heart as she turned around, laughing at him.

"Sorry," Binky said jovially. "It's just—would you look at this?! This is a dance! Hey, Al."

"Hey, man," said Alan with a short wave.

"I guess it is sort of a miracle," Muffy said after looking around at the students who had splintered off from the circle to join in the fun. "The committee did a fabulous job, by the way. It looks great in here."

"No kidding?" said Binky, incredulous. "Thanks! You're the master party planner. If you like it, then I guess it must be good…. You wanna dance?"

"You?" Muffy sounded disbelieving yet hopeful. "You want to dance with me? Why?"

Binky shrugged. "Why not?"

"Wow. I'd love to, Binky, but…Alan and I were talking…."

Muffy looked at Alan, and it was clear she was searching his face for some sort of sign. The truth was Alan did not want Muffy to leave him. He had been enjoying her company. But what was he supposed to do—dance with her instead? He was not yet up for that, and he knew it. It would be selfish to keep her to himself. One dance could solidify a happy afternoon for Muffy, and he could not deny her that.

"Go on," Alan told her with a smile.

"You're sure?" said Muffy.

"Yeah. I'll take that—"

He motioned for the half-full punch cup Muffy was still holding. Muffy smiled back, handed it over and said, "Thanks, Alan!"

In a matter of seconds, Binky was spinning Muffy around and around as she shrieked with delight. Alan observed them for a long moment before walking back to the punch station. He should have felt happier for her, for he new he did not need to look after her today. The Autumn Ball had turned out to be a success and she was in her element, dancing, laughing, and receiving attention from her fellow classmates. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be okay, at least for the rest of the afternoon. The knowledge of this fact should have reassured him, so why did it make him feel cold, like a fire within him had somehow been snuffed out? Alan pondered this, unable to find an answer as he passed the punch station's waste bin, pausing just long enough to add Muffy's cup to the heap before exiting the gym with his hands in his pockets, bracing himself against the chilly breeze.

Bo checked his watch. It was half past five and he was thankful. The afternoon had gotten a lot louder since everyone started dancing, but it was harmless fun and the kids were more or less behaving. Still, he could not wait to escape to someplace quiet. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he knew who the text was from. He had not heard from Bitzi in a while, and he figured he was due for a check-in from her, making absolutely sure everything was okay with Buster.

How's your head?

She was asking about him? That was an odd opener.

Can't tell if I need headache meds or a stiff drink.

I have Excedrin and a bottle of Syrah.

He had expected more sympathetic teasing from her, not this. Or maybe this was sympathetic teasing. He played along.

Sounds like an invitation.

Maybe it is.

Hey, now, he thought.

Was she being serious? His plan for the evening post dropping Buster off at Arthur's for their sleepover was to go home and lie down in a darkened room while applying a cool compress to his forehead. But if Bitzi was inviting him over, that would certainly change things, headache or not. He was about to ask her if she was joking when another message popped up.

I also ordered too much Thai food.

Bo smiled. The cool compress could wait.

Inside the Baxter residence, Bitzi rose from the sofa, smoothed out her skirt and got to work setting the kitchen table for Bo's arrival. They had a lot to discuss this evening, and the least she could do was serve him takeout on proper dinner plates.

Yesterday had been her lunch date with Joel, and she had been unable to stop thinking about its outcome. Before entering Café con Leche, she had taken a deep breath, not knowing where the next hour would take her. Joel had been on his phone when she approached their table, talking to an acquaintance about off roading in California. He promptly ended his call when he saw her and had even pulled a chair out for her like a gentleman. They began with small talk about how the Claiborne Manufacturing Group was a nightmare account and how Bitzi sometimes felt more like a den mother to the Times staff than she did an editor. It did not take long after that, after their conversation drifted into more personal territory, for Bitzi to realize exactly what she wanted from Joel. She had needed time to warm up to the idea of joining him on a date, and now she was glad she finally had because taking the leap had answered so many burning questions she had asked herself as well as answered questions she had not known were in her subconscious. Enlightened, she left the café feeling hopeful, buoyant, and perhaps a little nervous. Make that very nervous.

After folding napkins for their place settings, Bitzi searched her medicine cabinet for Excedrin and left the bottle next to Bo's water glass. His headache was an unforeseen hiccup, so she would give the medicine time to work before she delved into the nitty-gritty. One thing she knew for sure was that there was no backing out of what she had to say. Without a doubt, she knew what she wanted, and she had to tell Bo tonight. She only hoped he would handle the news well.

To be continued…