Hephzibah was seated graciously next to Stanford, who pulled out her chair and even dusted it off unnecessarily for her, certain she had never been to such a nice dinner and wanting to be even more certain she had a wonderful time, but he didn't know if that was a possibility given the fact that Pa was looming over them like a ghost. Stanley sat on Hephzibah's right with Stanford on her left and Pa on Stanford's other side. They sat with other businessmen and professors, people who, by no means, were princes or governors, but people with enough money to seem important, or at least pretend to be important.

As champagne and water was being poured by butlers and waiters, Pa made his first move with a tiny, sly smile. "So, Ms. Cece, tell us of the combinations in steerage. I hear they're good on Titanic."

Stanford froze. Of course his father was clever enough to detect that Hephzibah wasn't a first-class passenger.

Hephzibah, however, found herself more comfortable. She had no idea how to dress or how to act at a first-class dinner, but she did know what to say and do in these types of situations. She had a lifetime of practice under her belt. "Oh, they're the best I've seen, Mr. Pines. Hardly any rats."

The whole table gave a little laugh at her joke. Even Pa managed to hum a chuckle as he laid his napkin down.

"So, you're joining us from the third-class?" An older gentleman on Stanley's other side asked politely.

"Yes, sir," Hephzibah said with a kind smile and chatted with the man who had addressed her. "I had the pleasure of meetin' Stanford here last night while out enjoyin' the star-filled sky."

"It turns out that Ms. Cece is well educated for…" Stanford stopped. He had intended to outshine her best qualities, not bring into light her setbacks. Hephzibah waited for him to finish with a neutral facial expression, as well as anyone else who cared to listen. "... for someone of limited resources." Stanford concluded with.

Hephzibah chuckled. "Go ahead, ya can say it. I'm a poor ex-slave. I'm not ashamed."

"An ex-slave." Pa repeated calmly. "Really?"

"Yes, sir." Hephzibah answered and all ears were on her. "I was born a slave in Ireland n' was one until my grandfather n' I earned our freedom."

"I see."

"Well, I do apologize for your unfortunate background and upbringing," The older gentleman next to Stanley said after sipping his drink. "But, for what it's worth, you seem to have become a brilliant young lady."

"Why, thank ya, sir," Hephzibah said as she sipped her water. "But all the credit goes to my grandfather who is now one of God's good angels."

The topic then shifted to parents and grandparents, the old gentleman talking of his father's humble beginnings and how be climbed his way to the top with a factory that doubled in time and was passed to him. Hephzibah allowed the conversation to go on without her input and she looked down at her silverware and plates. On her left were three different forks, all different sizes, and on her right were two knives, a big spoon, a little fork, and a tiny wooden spoon. She also had two plates that were stacked on top of each other and a roll of bread on her upper right corner.

"Is this all for me?" Hephzibah hissed to Stanford as they listened to another man's story about his grandfather finding his family's small company.

"Simply start from the outside and work your way towards the plate." Stanford whispered back.

Hephzibah glanced up to see if Stanford's advice followed, and it did. People were starting with the little fork for caviar or munching on fancy cookies and crackers. Hephzibah nibbled on one cookie with much restraint (she hadn't eaten all day and was starving and wanted to eat the cookie in one bite, but knew better), and listened, entertained as everyone was now talking about where they were from.

"And where do you live, Ms. Cece?" Pa asked, pulling the misfit back into the spotlight.

With all eyes on her, Hephzibah said with a proud smile, "Well, I'm blessed to be livin' on God's green Earth like everyone else, Mr. Pines, but I suppose for now my address is Room 618 on the grand RMS Titanic. After that I'm wherever my feet can carry me."

"You travel alone?" Pa sneered into his glass champagne.

"Yes, sir, though I'm happy to say I've met some amazin' people among my travels who make the days less lonely." And her eyes darted to Stanford, making him blush, this being unknown to everyone but Stanley.

"And how do you have the means to travel?" Pa asked.

"Oh, well ya see my legs work just fine, sir, as well as the trains n' boats."

Another ripple of laughter came across the table and Stanford smiled into his drink, pleased that the meal was going as well as it can be expected.

"However, I should admit that I won my ticket here at a lucky hand of poker." Hephzibah added.

"Ah." The older gentleman said. "All life is a game of luck."

Pa shook his head as he lowered his glass. "Mm, a real man makes his own living, Mr. Archibald, so I guess that excludes you, Ms. Cece."

Stanford and Stanley exchanged strained looks from their seats.

Hephzibah, however, never faltered or lost her confidence. "I find it shallow to think that all ya need to make your own livin' is male genitalia, Mr. Pines."

Stanley snorted into his champagne while the table burst into laughter.

Pa's face turned red. "I guess a Negro like yourself would find that kinda ruthless existence appealing." He sneered.

The laughter died. Hephzibah's courage, on the other hand, did not.

"Why, yes, sir, I do." She said proudly and bit into her roll, extremely hungry and unwilling to continue talking without more food in her body. "I consider myself blessed to wake up in the mornin' at all. I don't care if I wake up in silk sheets or in hay or on the cold dirt. I've got everythang I need: music in my soul, air in my lungs, n' a mind eager to learn n' see n' hear more every day. It doesn't matter if you're a man or woman, white or black, rich or poor. We're all human n' we're all mortal. Life's a gift n' I don't plan on wastin' mine. Ya never know when your last day is. My Grandpa used to say to treat each day like it's your last, cuz it may very well be. I never know what's gonna happen to me, n' I love it. Just last night I was sleepin' in a run-down hotel room, n' the night before that I fell asleep with the stars as my ceilin', n' now here I am surrounded by good friends n' good food. I consider myself very blessed n' very lucky, not cuz I'm covered in diamonds or am branded with lighter skin, but cuz I'm livin'."

"Well said, young lady, well said!" A black-haired man with a beard said across the table.

"I say, you should go into parliament!" Mr. Archibald remarked.

Hephzibah chuckled, color rising to her cheeks, and picked up her glass.

Stanford raised his glass, seeing an opportunity in front of him. "To being blessed for living."

The table copied him. "To being blessed for living." And they all toasted to Hephzibah's philosophy.

The rest of the dinner pressed forward without subtle conflict. Stanford worried if Hephzibah would put herself out there too much, but she was clever. She only spoke when spoken to, though it seemed there were two types of guests at the table: those who thought engaging Hephzibah in conversation was like opening a can of worms and those who couldn't wait to hear her speak again. Hephzibah answered whatever she was asked and talked politely, but when she wasn't doing that she was eating as much as she could politely and listening carefully. Stanford found that he enjoyed her company immensely and was grateful that she could have joined them for dinner.

After dessert had been served and Hephzibah had finished a thin slice of the best cake she had ever had, Stanley began to tell a story of when he and his brother were kids, it being extremely comedic and making everyone laugh with aching ribs and watery eyes. Stanford also laughed, remembering this particular moment in his childhood, and he smiled a little bigger when he saw Hephzibah laughing and wiping her eyes dry with her napkin.

"... so I didn't tell Ma I hid Shermie's pants in the stove, Ford's got his nose in a book, and Ma bends down and lights a fire!" Stanley paused a moment for laughter so no one would miss what happened next. "Shermie suddenly realizes what's going on, runs into the kitchen, and screams, 'MA! MY PANTS ARE ON FIRE!' And that's how Ma knew Shermie was lying about taking Old Man Crampelter's petunias, and I got off the hook!"

The whole table laughs loudly; a few men even clap, and one bangs the table with his hand. Stanley sipped his champagne smugly. Stanford was reminded, once more, why Pa allowed Stanley to come along to things like this. While Pa could use Stanford to show off how intelligent he was, Pa could use Stanley to charm anyone he wanted with funny stories, quick jokes, and a cocky attitude. Pa may never be impressed with Stanley, but clearly everyone else was.

Feeling that the end of the meal was drawing near, Stanford leaned over to whisper to Hephzibah. "The men will go to the smoking room for brandy soon any minute now."

Right on cue, Mr. Archibald stood and kissed his wife's hand farewell. "Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?"

There was a chorus of agreement and Hephzibah snorted a little. Stanford rolled his eyes on his own accuracy and added, "Now they will sit in a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on their accomplishments."

"Since when is being a pompous asshole an accomplishment?" Hephzibah hissed.

Stanford choked on his water. Men were standing, as well as Pa, and so did Hephzibah.

"Joining us, Ms. Cece?" One man asked with a raised eyebrow and a bit of amusement in his voice, like he was talking to a child who wanted to join the grown-ups.

Hephzibah chuckled. "No, sir, I gotta be headin' back."

"May I escort you back, Ms. Cece?" Stanford offered. He knew she was more than capable of returning to the third-class section of the Titanic by herself, but in actuality he was looking for a reason not to be flaunted like a first-place trophy by his own father in the smoking room. Still, Stanford knew the likelihood of Hephzibah accepting the offer was minimal.

And yet, she surprised him. "Ya may." Hephzibah said with a smile.

"Well, good of you to join us, Ms. Cece." Pa said and dipped his head to her. "Stanley, coming?"

"Sure, why not?" Stanley said and followed his father out of the dining hall, but not before turning around and throwing his twin a quick wink.

Stanford blushed, unsure of what his brother was suggesting, but quickly recovered and offered Hephzibah his arm. She took it, and they began to talk quietly to each other as they left for the staircase they had met at.

"I'm sorry about Pa."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be."

Hephzibah looked at him with a crooked smile. "What about ya, Stanford? Are ya livin' each day like it's your last?"

Stanford looked onward as his mind sunk back to his darkest thoughts. He had shared them with no one, not even Stanley, but here, in the midst of it all, someone was asking him. It was like someone had finally heard his internal screaming. "No. But I want to."

"Why don't ya?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Stanford growled more to himself than Hephzibah. "All I've ever done is work and crawl and climb for something better than what I have now. All I've ever tried to do is make a name for myself and my family so we can have the life we deserve."

"Well, what does that life look like?" Hephzibah asked and waved a white-gloved hand to the atmosphere that surrounded them. "All of this?"

"What else would it look like?" Stanford dared to ask, betting that Hephzibah didn't have an answer. Oh, how wrong he was.

Hephzibah grinned. "I've got an idea." And she took his arm in both of her hands and dragged him to the third-class section of the Titanic.

The third-class party was more crowded, louder, and drunker, and yet, despite the stench of sweat, the loud noise that flooded his ears, and the poorer conditions the people were in, Stanford was happier here than he ever would be back in first-class.

He sat on a crate by a table full of glasses of beer, watching Hephzibah dance with a little boy with flaming red hair and dark freckles. She twirled the boy, still in her dark-green dress, but her dreadlocks were down in her favored ponytail and her long, white gloves were missing. She also looked far happier, her smile genuine and no longer fake. Stanford clapped along to the music, his own gloves gone and his six fingers exposed unashamedly. The music was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was a mixture if Irish, Scottish, and British, people from all over Europe playing their prized possessions so others could dance and play. Crowds of men and women did dance lines, pairs jigged together, and others happily chatted and drank beer like it was water.

Stanford had a pair of Germans trying to talk to him, but it was too loud and their accents were too thick to understand them. Maybe if it wasn't so loud he could talk, but for now Stanford was happy to watch Hephzibah pick up the boy and swing him, holding him by her hips as he laughed joyfully into the humid air. Stanford paused his clapping to slip off his suit jacket and leave on his dress-shirt. If the man who always wore sweaters and layers was getting hot, you knew it was scolding in the vast, crowded room. Stanford caught sight of Fiddleford, who was dancing with a young lady, and gave him a thumbs-up when their eyes met. Fiddleford winked at him, his hands busy holding the lady, and the couple danced on.

The song ended and the crowd stopped dancing to applaud the musicians. Hephzibah put the boy down and he kissed her hand in thanks. One old drum-player commanded the musicians in several languages to play a faster tune, and the next song began.

"I'm gonna dance with him, now, okay?" Hephzibah asked the little boy, who nodded, and stepped aside. Hephzibah reached out her hand towards Stanford. "C'mon."

Stanford's eyes widened. "W-What?"

"Come dance with me." Hephzibah requested.

"N-No. I'm sorry, but no."

"Oh, c'mon!" Hephzibah grabbed his hand and pulled the light-skinned man up on the dancefloor.

"Hephzibah! Wait!" Stanford and she were still. "I… I can't dance."

"Yes, ya can." Hephzibah insisted. "Just get closer to me, like this." She got closer, grabbed one of his hands, and she had his hand hold her by the waist. She detected that daggers were being glared at them and she looked back at the boy, who was now sitting on Stanford's crate. "You're still my best man, Jack."

The red-headed boy shrugged with a small smile and clapped along to the music, watching Hephzibah and Stanford slowly escalate and dance among the crowd.

"I don't know this dance, Hephzibah!"

"Neither do I, Stanford, just have fun!"

"Hephzibah, wait! Wait!" But Stanford couldn't keep from laughing. His chuckling turned into a jolly laugh that couldn't be contained in his chest and when Hephzibah was laughing, too, he knew he was doing something right and began to lead.

"Look at ya, Mr. I-Can't-Dance!" Hephzibah laughed.

Gaining confidence and seeing others move towards a little stage to dance, Stanford led them to that and separated from Hephzibah to take part of the fun activity. Stanford pocketed his hands in his dress pants and began to do a jig with his sharp shoes. Hephzibah looked up and down him, impressed by his hidden talent as he danced well to the music. Hephzibah held her long dress up, revealing her boots, and jigged against Stanford. It soon escalated into a small dance fight with no real winner, seeing that when the music got faster in tempo, people starting locking arms and dosey-doeing. Stanford and Hephzibah did the same, escalating until Stanford scooped Hephzibah up and spun on the spot, both of them laughing and they didn't stop until the music stopped, and then Stanford let Hephzibah down and then leaned on her for support as he breathed heavy, dizzy from the quick spinning.

"You're just a right little liar, aren't ya, Stanford?" Hephzibah laughed as she helped Stanford walk off the stage for a seat.

"It runs in the family." Stanford huffed, thinking of Stanley. He then pitied his brother, seeing how he was probably dying of boredom in the smoking room back at first-class, meanwhile Stanford was having the time of his life.

Hephzibah gave him a beer and they sat and drank, talking as much as they could above the noise and loud music. It was like how they spent their time together before the visit to the library. Hephzibah was just so easy to talk to. She told stories of her travels, Stanford told stories of his misadventures with Stanley. At one point, Fiddleford sat and joined them for beer and they exchanged jokes and fun riddles and puns.

Stanford glanced away when Fiddleford told a really awful pun that made Hephzibah groaned in misery, and Stanford's eyes doubled in size when he saw his brother climbing down the stairs and gazing around the room.

"Stan!" Stanford called and stood up. "Stan, over here!" Stanley saw Stanford's waving and joined him at the table. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be asking you the same question." Stanley answered with a smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "Pa sent me after you."

Stanford winced. If Pa found out he had weaseled himself out of the smoking room, a perfect chance to brag about his academic success, to go to a third-class party when they were working so hard for a "better life", he would be in tremendous trouble. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Hell no, Ma didn't raise a snitch!" Stanley said, looking slightly offended that Stanford would even consider that a possibility. "Wherever we go, we go together, Sixer. I just wish I had followed your lead and had never gone to that boring hellhole. I nearly died in there!"

Stanford rolled his eyes and handed his brother a glass of beer. "Have a seat, there's someone I would like you to meet."

Stanley shook hands with Fiddleford and quickly liked the guy. At one point in the conversation, Fiddleford dared to challenge who was stronger: Stanley or Stanford. Stanford claimed he was, because he was older (by fifteen minutes, Stanley informed the table). Stanley claimed he was, because he wasn't a wimp like his brother. Hephzibah claimed there was only one way to settle this, so the twins agreed and began to arm-wrestle by glasses of beer. They were still as statues for a few minutes, evenly matched by the looks of it, until a little girl accidentally ran by Stanley and bumped his shoulder; this gave Stanford enough leverage to pin his brother's arm down and splash beer everywhere. Groaning and cheering erupted, as a little group of men had joined them, and one man took Stanley's seat and challenged Stanford to an arm-wrestling match.

Stanford actually proved to be pretty good at arm-wrestling. Stanley stood behind him and cheered him on, as well as Fiddleford and Hephzibah, while others cheered the opposing man, all were competing good-heartedly with no real penalty for losing and no real gain for winning. Stanford beat two other men and then it became a fun challenge to try to find someone that could beat Stanford. He was humble and only sipped his beer with a sheepish grin. The gang of men were surprised when Hephzibah sat across from Stanford and held her hand up.

"Gimme your best shot!" She growled with a sexy smile.

Stanford, after his shock wore off, grinned maliciously and was ready to beat another competitor. He took her hand and they began to try to pin the other down. They hadn't even been competing for thirty seconds, however, when Hephzibah leaned forward, kissed Stanford on the lips quickly, and used his shock to her advantage and pinned his arm with no resistance. The men around the table busted up laughing at Hephzibah's trick, even Stanley and Fiddleford, but Stanford stared at her in amazement, not only for her cleverness, but because he liked her kiss. He really liked her kiss. And he wanted to kiss her again.

No! No, she was a great friend, no doubt about that, but there was nothing there! Nothing could happen, and nothing would happen! A black can't be with a white! A poor girl can't be with a man destined to be one of the greatest minds of all of history! No, there was no future for them.

The music picked up and people started to do a line. Someone grabbed Fiddleford's hand and he grabbed Hephzibah's hand and she grabbed Stanford's hand and he grabbed Stanley's hand. They all laughed at the top of their lungs through the musty air and danced the night away.