Disclaimer: If I owned WSS, oodles of Ice/Velma fluff would be required in every single production. In fact, the whole thing would be about them. Like this fic!

Note: Fun trivia: chapters three through five used to be one long chapter. Aren't you glad I split them up? :)

—viennacantabile

fell the angels

five : up to the moon

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Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

—Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress"

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Of course, this being a respectable dance, in a respectable settlement house, with respectable chaperones—if not attendees—the standoff doesn't last.

"All right, boys and girls, all right!"

Velma and Graziella turn to see that same dope in the polka-dot bowtie and suit standing between Riff and Bernardo. Ice is already moving back to her, annoyed. Velma, though, is secretly glad for the interruption, because as much as she is a Jet's girl, through and through, she really doesn't see the point of wasting time with these Sharks. Especially, she thinks as Ice holds his hand out to her, when there are so many better things to do on a night like this.

Smiling, Velma crosses to Ice and and lets him guide her behind Riff as the suit keeps talking. "Who's the bowtie, anyway?" she asks, putting her arms around him and feeling very comfortable. Not for the first time, Velma wonders at how perfectly she fits into him, every curve meeting the hollows of his body like they were made for each other, and she is happy.

Ice, pale eyes still focused on the adults in the middle of the room, shrugs. "Some square called Glad Hand. Social worker," he adds with a grimace. "One-a them do-gooders out to reform us juvenile delinquents."

"What's he sayin'?" she laughs. Now that there isn't any danger of a fight right here on the dance floor, Velma is thinking that she'd like very much to pick up where they left off before the Sharks so rudely interrupted. She raises one hand and slowly ghosts it down the length of his tie. "I can't hear a thing."

Ice glances at her, and it's clear by his expression that he's finally figured out what's on her mind. "No damn clue," he says, sliding an arm around her waist.

Velma looks up at him with one eyebrow arched. "Somethin' about gettin' closer to old friends, I think."

"I could do that," he says, holding her tighter. "What're ya doin' later?"

She smirks as the bowtie gabbles about something that sounds like "get-together dance." She wouldn't mind that, actually, Velma thinks, gaze lingering on her boyfriend's, but somehow she doubts Glad Hand has the same kind of "get-together dance" in mind as she does. "You, I'm hopin'."

Ice settles his other arm around her waist and grins. "I could do that, too."

"Y'know," breathes Velma as Glad Hand stammers something about circles and boys and girls and who knows what else, "that mouth-a his keeps flappin'. Whaddaya think he's tryin' to say?"

Ice laughs quietly. "Who cares? Ya look great tonight, did I tell ya that?"

Velma dimples. "I think ya mighta."

A-Rab's sudden, gleeful voice, however, is more than audible as first Ice, then Velma, turns to take a look: "Hey, where're you?"

Glad Hand chortles uneasily, but forges on, rocking back and forth on his heels. "All right. Now, uh, when—when—when the music stops, each boy dances with whichever girl is opposite. Okay?"

The gym erupts in amusement from both sides, but Glad Hand seems to take it as a sign of encouragement. "Two circles, kids!"

Ice turns back to Velma. "Hey," he says, a half-smile lurking around his mouth, "I can think of a lotta better things to say than he can. Wanna hear?"

Velma arches an intrigued eyebrow and leans in. "Do tell." She is so busy concentrating on her very appealing boyfriend and the very appealing things he is murmuring that the next time she can tear herself away to see what is happening, Snowboy is dancing out, clutching his stomach, moaning and groaning: "Ooh! It hoits, it hoits, ooh, it hoits, ooh!"

"Snowboy," says an unamused Riff, and suddenly it gets very, very quiet as the Jets and Sharks seem to consider this proposition seriously for the first time. No one wants to make the first move.

And then Riff moves out onto the floor and jerks his head at his girlfriend. After a pause, Graziella joins him.

"Vee," says Ice under the catcalls that follow the redhead and continue in Spanish as the Shark leader takes his place out on the floor. "I gotta back him up. Ya cool with it?"

She gazes up at him, smiles. "If I get the right guy for my trouble."

Riff snaps his fingers then, and the Jets and their girls begin moving out to form a circle with the Sharks. Velma follows Ice to the circle, exchanging skeptical glances with Graziella around a Shark girl in a lavender dress who can only be Bernardo's girl. She has to admit that the girl's dress is nice, if a touch homemade-looking. But what matters is the boy standing across from her—tall, dark, and—she has to admit this, too—handsome. Velma eyes him, wondering what it must be like, leading the gang on the losing side. That is all the Jets' enemies are, because the Jets are the best, and the best always win. At the very least, thinks Velma, turning back to her boyfriend with a small smile, he is nothing compared to Ice.

She doesn't let go of his hand 'til she absolutely has to. That little bit of warm, skin-on-skin contact sends shivers up her arm, down her spine, and into the bottom of her stomach. If he can do that without even trying tonight, she thinks, inhaling slowly, later, well…

And then the whistle blows and the promenade starts and Velma, still looking at Ice, walks the same way he does—apparently she'd missed the part about different directions—and almost collides with a Shark girl wearing a bright red dress and brassy hair. Velma stares for a second, unimpressed. That's out of a bottle, she judges, thinking about her own white-blonde hair with something like cool satisfaction, then turns around and goes the right way. Velma is pleased to note that all eyes are on the circle, as they should be, and straightens up a little. She's got a gang to help live up to its reputation, after all.

When she gets around to the other side and passes Ice, he doesn't look at her, but brushes her fingertips with his. The contact is electric; Velma smiles to herself and speeds up, wanting to hurry up and dance with him. This is all such a waste of time, she thinks, glancing back behind her. Sure, Velma will dance with whichever Jet she lands in front of, but only for so long. She's just passed him again when the music stops.

For a moment no one moves. And then Velma looks to her right. The closest boy, she realizes with a jolt, is Bernardo.

Her eyes narrow and she steps back, hands on her hips. She doesn't know him, doesn't need to, and handsome as he is, she still doesn't want him touching her. Even if she wanted to, Ice wouldn't exactly be happy about his girl dancing with a PR. But the Shark reaches behind Riff for his girl, Riff goes for Graziella, and, smiling, Velma turns to Ice and holds out her hand. He takes it and doesn't hesitate in pulling her over to the Jets, glaring at Bernardo. She doesn't say it, but gazing happily up at him, Velma loves the possessive look in his eyes, revels in the fact that she's his. No one else's, not even to borrow. As he is her own.

The energy in the room is sparking, sizzling, waiting for them to claim it, use it. And even though Riff hasn't gotten to deliver the message to the Sharks yet, there's another kind of challenge happening right here, right now. This music—the Latin mambo—pushes them on, and with the blare of the trumpets the tension in the room spills over and they are dancing, bodies twisting and legs kicking and feet flying. Sure, thinks Velma determinedly as she and Ice work the floor, this dance might not be from America. But they are in America right now, and there is no way the Jets are letting anyone else win tonight.

She is still moving with the music when Riff, to her left, raises a shout. "Tony!"

Velma glances over, eyes widening. She hasn't seen Tony in forever, and from what Ice has said, neither have the Jets. But still, he is here tonight and Riff, scrambling over to greet him with Graziella in tow, seems to be expecting him. Oh well, she supposes, refocusing on Ice, it shouldn't make a difference. There will still be a challenge, and a war-council, and Velma will still have to wait for Ice to come back to her at the end of the night. Whether Tony is here or not doesn't really matter.

But just as she's thinking this, it becomes clear that the Shark couples have something up their sleeve as they advance in a line toward the center of the room. Velma spins to a stop and glances over, a little off-balance. By the time she looks at Ice again, he has halted, too, and is frowning as a furious Anybodys sprints over to alert them, practically spitting in her outrage.

Velma can't really hear what she is saying over the music, but for once, she is in full agreement with the tomboy as the smug Sharks spread out over the dance floor. This, she thinks, eyeing Bernardo's girl with disdain as she twirls her purple skirts, is not acceptable at all.

As the Jets and their girls retreat to figure out how to counterattack, Velma smirks at Ice and squeezes his arm. "We lettin' them PRs take over like that, Mr. Jet?"

Ice grins back. "Hell, no."

And it's their turn now to form a line and go, take back what is theirs—the spotlight and the dance floor and this whole night. Take that, thinks Velma, unable to hold back a grin as they show the Sharks and their girls exactly what the Jets think of them. But then her eyes widen as she turns and sees not Ice, but Mouthpiece in front of her.

"It's later!" he trumpets happily, and Velma, not seeing a way to get out of this, gives a weak smile. Beside her, Clarice has ended up with Gee-Tar, and Velma sends her a quick, curious glance, but keeps going, because the important thing right now is not who they dance with, as long as it's a Jet—it's proving to the Sharks that no matter how good they are—and they are good, she grudgingly admits—the Jets and their girls are better, and always will be.

But the Sharks aren't giving up so easily. The Puerto Ricans answer by crowding the Jets out with a circle around Bernardo and his girl. Graziella darts in for a look and emerges with her lips pursed. "C'mon!" she hisses angrily, and Velma, taking the opportunity to leave a happily gyrating Mouthpiece behind, grabs Ice's hand. They and all the other Jets follow Graziella to break the cluster of Sharks and let the Jet leader and his girl demonstrate their talents. And this, more than anything, thinks Velma excitedly as Graziella executes a jaw-dropping slide over the floor, is living. Forget fighting, forget the rumble: this is a high all on its own, whirling and spinning and claiming the mambo as their own as a riot of color, energy, passion, bursting and rocketing and soaring around the gym. Nothing, she thinks, giving herself over to the pulsing beat of the dance, can beat this.

Velma doesn't know how long it lasts, watching Riff and Graziella give the Sharks what-for, but as the music finally begins to slow, Big Deal hurries up, jaw set and eyes distracted. Both Velma and Ice nod, surprised. "Hey."

Big Deal jerks his head in response. "Look, can I ask a favor?" he says in a rush, glancing back and forth between them and another couple deeper in the crowd whom Velma suspects is her friend and another Jet. "Clarice got mad at me for somethin' before, an' now she won't quit dancin' with Gee-Tar, an' I just want her back. Damn," he mutters to himself with a scowl, "ya get blindsided by Pauline one time, an' you're toast…"

Ice gives him a sympathetic grimace. "Jesus, I'm sorry, buddy. But what can we do?"

Velma meets Big Deal's pleading gaze and puts her free hand on Ice's arm. "I'll go cut in."

Ice is not happy about this, and his grip on her hand tightens. "But—"

"It'll just be for one dance," Velma promises. "I'll be back soon."

Ice sighs. His cool eyes are like fire right now, and Velma shivers. She doesn't want to leave him right now, not when he's like this, but she hates it when Big Deal and Clarice fight, and this, at the very least, will get them talking. "Ya really have to?"

"She'd do the same for me," Velma reminds him, "an' he'd do the same for you." Ice, seeing the sense of this, reluctantly lets go of her hand. "See ya in a bit," she whispers, before heading over to Gee-Tar and tapping him on the shoulder.

"Dance?" she asks, forcing a smile.

Gee-Tar glances over at Clarice, who's giving Velma a shrewd look that says she knows exactly what her friend is doing. "Well, sure, Velma…"

"Great," Velma says, taking his hand and mentally shuddering at its clamminess. Clarice raises an eyebrow as if to protest, and Velma shakes her head at her friend because this is what Jet girls do, help each other out for their own good. Scat, she mouths, and as the brunette shrugs and scurries off, Velma focuses her attention on Gee-Tar, already counting the minutes until she can return to Ice.

The dance, it appears, is a cha-cha, and Velma frowns. Not only is it slow enough to allow conversation—not a plus right now—it's more romantic than any other dance so far, and she is not happy doing it with Gee-Tar, of all people. True, it's better than Mouthpiece, but anyone who isn't Ice, well—just isn't who she wants.

Gee-Tar doesn't look like he's any happier than she is. "So, uh, ya havin' fun?" he asks, a feeble smile on his square face.

In this case, Velma decides, honesty is not always the best policy. "Sure," she manages. And she is. Just not with him. "You?"

Gee-Tar mutters an affirmative that is about as convincing as hers before clearing his throat. "Say, uh—how long was it 'fore Ice asked ya to be his girl?"

Velma stares. "A couple dates. But he didn't really ask, I just knew. Why?"

"I was wonderin' when I should ask Clarice again," the tall Jet mumbles. "I know she said she don't like me as more'n a friend, but I been thinkin' she's changed her mind, maybe." He brightens just a bit. "She danced with me a coupla times tonight, y'know."

"Um," says Velma, quite articulately, because even if Clarice is leading him on a little, Gee-Tar really is dense. "But—even if she's bein' friendly an' dancin' with ya, ain't there still Big Deal to think about? They're pretty cozy, y'know."

Gee-Tar's shoulders sag. "Right."

"Well," says Velma tactfully, "maybe just wait. I bet it'll sort itself out eventually."

Gee-Tar looks slightly happier. "Gee, thanks, Velma."

"Don't mention it," she says before lapsing back into silence. What do you say to someone like this? Velma wonders. Someone so completely clueless? She is very relieved when Glad Hand waves his arms around, evidently directing them into another attempt at the get-together dance. "Anyway, thanks."

Gee-Tar, dropping his hands from her waist, shrugs, green eyes already darting around the room in search of Clarice. "Anytime, Velma."

As she moves into the circle, Velma sighs. He is so utterly oblivious that she would feel sorry for him if Clarice hadn't told her all about Gee-Tar and his habits of singing under the fire escape and skulking around her dates with Big Deal. Some people, Velma supposes, eyes widening as Mouthpiece waves excitedly across the circle at her, just don't get it.

But then the whistle blows, and this time, Velma is right where she should be, in the most comfortable place in the world—directly across from Ice. A slow smile spreads across his face as he reaches for her.

"Missed ya," he says as he takes her hand and whirls her around.

Velma can't help the smile that mirrors his as she looks up at him. "Me, too." She's just about to elaborate on this when Ice, spinning her again, stops still, his gaze caught by something else just behind her. Velma turns, heart already sinking.

She can't quite tell what's going on; it looks like Riff and Tony are facing off with Bernardo, but this time, there's a dark-haired girl in a white dress in the middle of it. Ice, seeing probably more than she does from his height, withdraws his hand from hers and immediately hurries over to back his best friends up. He doesn't even look back.

It's as easy as that. Suddenly, they are disconnected and Ice is somewhere else where she can't follow. Velma swallows her disappointment and watches him go, wishing he wouldn't, even though she knows he has to. He's been gone for only a few seconds, but still—she misses him already.

Velma takes a deep, deep breath, holds it for a moment, then releases it and heads over to Graziella, whose tapping foot indicates that she is none too happy with the situation, either. "I hate it when they do this," she murmurs to her best friend. "Spoilin' everyone's good time."

Graziella rolls her eyes. "Yeah, me too." She shrugs. "But ya get used to it."

Before Velma can tell her best friend that no, she doesn't think she ever will, Glad Hand rushes over. "Please, boys!" he pleads. "Everything was going so well—now come on, we're all here to have a good time!"

Speak for yourself, thinks Velma with a sigh. Some of us are here to watch their boyfriends throw down over a few blocks and some girl no one knows at all.

And then a whistle pierces the air, and Velma, turning around, sees Officer Krupke approaching, thwacking his nightstick against his palm. Both Jets and the Sharks understand this as their cue to scatter—A-Rab and Baby John taking it upon themselves to distract Glad Hand and Krupke—and Velma moves back with Graziella, eyes fixed on Riff and Ice's tense, unhappy faces as they discuss this new development.

"What's the hell's goin' on, anyway?" Graziella wonders, lips drooping in a petulant frown. All around them, couples are dancing, but the mood has changed. No one is carefree and happy anymore, and no one is letting the gang leaders out of sight.

Velma shakes her head. "I wish I knew. I guess it's somethin' to do with Tony an' that girl he was dancin' with, maybe? She's kinda pretty, for a PR," she adds critically, as a babyfaced Shark leads the girl in the white dress away. And not like the other Shark girls, she leaves unsaid. But it's true. This girl's brown eyes are wide and open and so trusting that Velma feels almost guilty. Innocence like that won't last long around here.

Graziella sniffs. "I don't know about that. Anyway, they better hurry up. I wanna dance."

Velma barely hears this as she catches sight of a familiar figure exiting the gym. "Wait, where's Tony goin'?"

Graziella's mouth drops open. "He's—damn, he's leavin'? He just got here!"

Velma, a little surprised to hear the deeply offended note in her best friend's voice, glances at her, and Graziella reddens.

"It ain't that I care," she says by way of explanation. "But if somethin's goin' down, Riff's gonna want him. They're best buddies."

Velma, though not entirely convinced, nods, and turns back to look at Riff and Ice, who have now paired up with the Shark leader and his lieutenant to talk under Officer Krupke's watchful gaze. If she didn't know better, Velma thinks, narrowing her eyes, she would think they were all buddy-buddy. Friendly. They certainly don't look like rivals on the opposite sides of a gang war.

"What're they talkin' about, d'ya think?" she asks Graziella, eyes on Ice.

The redhead gives Velma a blank look. "Well, he's challengin' the PRs, ain't he?"

Velma rolls her eyes. "No, Graz, I mean Ice and the other one."

Graziella glances at them, arching one eyebrow. "Got me. Don't seem like they'd have much to say."

"Yeah," says Velma, still watching Ice with the Shark lieutenant. His back is toward her, but she can glimpse the faint lines of tension just underneath his jacket and in the stiffness of his stance. Signs that no one else would see. "That's why I wanna know."

"Ice," Riff calls abruptly as Bernardo moves away. Ice heads back over to Riff; Action joins them as they walk off just beyond the two girls. "Doc's at midnight. Spread the word."

Ice claps his shoulder. "Right, Daddy-O."

Velma and Graziella watch them go.

"War-council, huh," Velma grumbles, feeling the knot of tension in her stomach release. Now that she knows nothing is going to happen right away, she can afford to let herself be a little annoyed. "We got plans, but they gotta have their war-council."

"Boys," sighs Graziella, as they move off after the Jets. "Can't live with 'em."

"And ya can't live without 'em," finishes Velma, softening a bit as she follows Ice's tall form with her eyes. She smiles. "'Specially not mine."

Graziella smirks. "And mine, don'tcha forget." She sighs. "Riff's the most."

Velma glances over, amused. "The most what?"

Her best friend shrugs, the picture of unconcern. "Just the most."

Velma grins. "Yeah? Well, Ice's that, times ten."

Graziella wrinkles her nose. "That don't make any sense."

"Makes just as much sense as what you said," Velma teases.

The redhead rolls her eyes. "Oh, you. C'mon," she says, quickening her stride, "let's go find out what's up."

"Graz, wait," Velma protests, stopping short. She doesn't exactly think it's a good idea to go pester the boys right now, not when they're looking so wound-up. She glances around for a distraction and finds one about ten feet behind them. "Don't ya think we oughta go get Gee-Tar offa Clarice first?"

Graziella pouts. "But I—"

"Look how miserable she is," Velma hints. And Clarice, having presumably already made up with Big Deal before being paired up with Gee-Tar by Glad Hand's whistle, does, in fact, look utterly miserable, dancing as far away from Gee-Tar and his damp underarms as possible. Big Deal isn't too far behind them, dancing with a hanger-on Velma vaguely recognizes as Julie and giving Gee-Tar the evil eye as often as he can.

Graziella fidgets. "But Vel—"

"Remember that time Riff an' Tony sneaked outta the dance to TP the stationhouse an' ya got stuck dancin' with Tiger?" Velma reminds her. "An' Clarice made up that story about needin' you to fix her garters? Tiger let ya go real quick." When Graziella still doesn't look convinced, she adds, "'Sides, ain't it one-a those Jet girl things ya keep tellin' me about? Never lettin' one-a us get stuck with one-a the creeps?"

Silence.

Finally, after a minute, Graziella releases a gusty sigh and wrinkles her nose. "Oh, fine," she huffs. "But just 'cause she did it for me an' she's a Jet's girl, okay? I wouldn' do it for nobody else."

Velma smiles in relief. "Okay."

Once Graziella makes up her mind to do something, she is unstoppable, and now is no different. Velma trails along as the redhead turns on her heel and marches her way over to Clarice and Gee-Tar; the former smiles in relief, the latter frowns in confusion. "Graziella," he says. "What's up?"

"Hi," Graziella says in a tone of utter boredom. "I got an earring stuck in my bra an' I need Clarice to get it out for me. Mind takin' your mitts offa her?"

Velma claps a hand over her mouth; both she and Clarice are hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. Gee-Tar's face has just about turned purple.

"Uh—sure," he manages, green eyes darting rapidly from barely-composed Clarice to a smug Graziella, who just smirks. "I—yeah, go ahead, take your time."

Clarice, lips twitching, wastes no time in detaching herself from the Jet. "Graziella!" she practically shrieks as soon as they are out of earshot. "How'd ya—I mean, not that I mind, but—your bra—"

Graziella cackles, and fingers one of the two earrings that are still very much attached to her ears. "Ya just gotta know how to talk to 'em, is all."

"Well, thanks," Clarice says fervently. Twisting around, she indicates a dark patch on the back of her dress. "That's from his hand."

Velma winces. "That's disgustin'." In a quieter voice she adds, "You an' Big Deal work things out?"

Clarice smirks, and Velma notices with a start that she barely has any lipstick left on her mouth. "Oh, we worked things out, all right."

"That's good," Graziella says, clearly not paying any attention as she cranes her head for one last look around the gym before they reach the hall. "Anyway, whaddaya think that was that all about?"

Once in the safety of the restroom, the three girls linger, trying to figure out just what is going on with the Jets and the Sharks. Graziella tosses out anything from a kidnapping plot to a secret plan Riff and Tony might be working on, while Clarice interjects occasionally with more sensible explanations. Velma, listening, is reminded of how much she likes Clarice: in fact, if Velma hadn't met Graziella first, she and the brunette might have become best friends. Clarice is smart, and confident, and even if she does have a little too much fun making Big Deal jealous, Velma knows her friend loves him more than anything.

In any case, supposes Velma, they're good friends, which is nice. Besides, Graziella is a great best friend—fun, loyal, always up for anything. And, thinks Velma with a smile, remembering the early days of their friendship, not a bad matchmaker, either.

After about ten minutes, Clarice judges it safe enough to venture out again. As soon as they reenter the gym, Velma's eyes are drawn to a tall figure, ranging restlessly over on the far side of the gym near a few other Jets. Graziella gives her best friend a knowing smirk.

"C'mon," she says, "let's go."

Velma doesn't need any encouragement. She feels like it's been ages since she's seen Ice, and her feet automatically follow Graziella and Clarice as they make their way to the cluster of Jets. Graziella immediately latches on to Riff, but Clarice hangs back for a minute and glances at Velma as Ice spots them and approaches.

"Thanks for before, Vel."

Velma returns the brunette's smile. "You'da done the same for me." And it's true. The Jets go on and on about the gang being like family, but what they always forget is that the same goes for their girls, too. They look out for each other, no matter what.

Clarice grins. "Catch on quick, don't ya? See ya later," she whispers, and darts off, presumably to find Big Deal, just as Ice reaches them.

Ice, sliding his arm around Velma, doesn't even seem to notice the exchange. "There ya are," he says, directing a glare to the Shark side of the room. "I was wonderin' if somethin'd happened."

"Nah, was just savin' Clarice," Velma explains. She is eager to ask about the Riff and Tony and the Sharks, but she keeps her mouth shut—she has a feeling now is probably not the best time. Instead, following his glance, she half-grins. "Y'know, that worked out real well, before, with those PRs."

"What, that get-together dance crap?" Ice asks with a snort. He shrugs, still glowering at the Shark side of the room. "Blame Glad Hand."

Velma looks sideways at her boyfriend. Ice, she thinks, reaching up to give him a long and lingering kiss, needs some cheering up. And Velma knows just the girl to do it. "Thanks for savin' me from the Spic, Daddy-O," she breathes. "It was real swell of ya."

Ice shakes his head. Velma, lips still brushing his, feels him smile at last and settle his hands on her waist. "Anytime ya need it, Vee."

Velma giggles. "Thanks. Dance?"

Ice shifts his weight. "Actually…" He glances at the clock that is just visible from the hall. "We got some time before I gotta get over to Doc's for that war-council. Ya wanna take a walk?"

Velma can't help the smile that comes over her face. This is one of the many times she's glad her boyfriend knows her so well, because as much as she loves to dance, what she really feels like is being alone with Ice. Very, very alone. "Sure."

Ice tugs at her hand to lead her out of the gym. "C'mon, then."

And just like that, they leave. Velma can't help but stare up at him in wonder. Most of the time, she has to compete with the Jets for his time, but tonight, it's really that easy, that simple. He's hers. At least until midnight.

An hour isn't much, thinks Velma with the philosophical shrug of every girl who has ever had to wait and watch and worry for the boy she loves, but she'll take what she can get.