A/N: You guys are lucky I love this story so much. Because I really should have been memorizing my marching band music. But I haven't been, because I appear to be addicted to writing this story. Which is good for you, but not so much for my relationship with my band director. Oh, well. Enjoy. This one's really long, too- almost like two chapters in one!

As Mitchie and I make our way up the hill later that night, we notice the maintenance workers busily throwing fliers up all around the compound. I know exactly what this is for, and it makes me groan. Mitchie patiently waits for us to get back and situated in bed before giving me a quizzical look that means she wants to know what the fliers are about. We're both on my bed, me lying on top of the covers against the headboard and Mitchie sitting on criss-cross applesauce on the end of the bed.

"The fliers are for this dance that the compound holds every fall," I begin. "It's very formal and the one time a year we don't have to wear these hideous frock things. The dance is only for 16 and up, so I've never actually been. But according to Justin it's all about dancing and forming partnerships for marriage later, which sounds really dull. Plus, I'm sick of wearing dresses and a fancy one can only be that much more uncomfortable. Anyway, they pair you up randomly with one of the other kids around your age. Meaning a sixteen or seventeen-year-old. It's for everyone sixteen to twenty-one, except everyone eighteen and up gets to pick their own date. If the boy really likes the girl and is interested in pursuing her, he gives her a corsage on the day of the dance. Did you not have this at Cascadia?" She shakes her, shrugs. "Did they just force someone on you?" A nod. "Wow. That only happens here if you're a complete failure and can't find anyone by the time we're twenty-one. Which appears to be the path I'm headed down. No boy in this compound would want marry the rebel." In response to my statement, she puts her hand on my smiling as if to say, "Fuck the boys; you have me." Only probably not in that exact language because Mitchie doesn't seem like the type to curse. I just smile back at her, hoping that she understands. I've noticed that I consciously do a lot more with body language around her, probably because that's the major form of communication I get.

Mitchie yawns widely right after this exchange, suddenly looking really tired. She stretches herself out, leaning towards me and for a second I think she's going to stay, but all she does is just kiss me on the cheek- a little longer than I think would probably be proper for simple friendship. Then she goes, taking her body heat with her, and crosses back around the bed to her own. But I can't let her go that easy.

"Mitchie. Wait a second." She's right next to our shared nightstand as she stops to look at me. I take her shoulder and bring her closer to me so our faces are only inches apart and after checking in her eyes to make sure it's alright, I kiss her very softly. It's a little longer than our last one and with a little more movement, I guess because we've done it once before there's the tiniest sense of familiarity.

After we move apart, I smirk up at her in a slightly coy but still sweet way. "I just wanted to say good-night." She seems kind of paralyzed by this, but amused and excited just the same. I decide not to dwell much on that right now, and just let myself be happy for once.


The next morning during breakfast, everyone is all abuzz with the news of the dance. It's weird to see all these people excited over something; I've never noticed it before since this is the first year I'm eligible to go. But I'm still not excited, mostly because I want to go with Mitchie and I know that will never happen. I'm going to end up being escorted to the ball by some random guy who will stay away from me the entire night because he thinks I'm cursed by the devil or something.

Dad doesn't say anything to me during the course of breakfast, which is unusual since I've generally done something to anger him already. He attempts to talk to Mitchie, who halfway through the meal loosely grips my hand under the table to keep me from falling asleep. But I'm pleased to note that she keeps it there for the rest of the time, even as the Father stands up to speak.

"My children, it is almost that time of year again," the Father begins conspiratorially in almost a whisper. "Our adolescents will commence their long, difficult journey to becoming full-fledged adults with our Annual Formal Ball. This is an introduction into married life for our sixteen and seventeen year olds, and to ease the transition from their family lifestyle to a married one for those eighteen to twenty-one. It is a wonderful opportunity for our adolescents to understand courtship under gentle supervision. All of those under the age of eighteen have their names posted to the wall of the High Chapel with their partners' name as well. The ball will be on Friday, and all of those who do not have a book on proper courting techniques should speak to one of the Shepherds during lunch. Be sure to have a great time!"

Mitchie and I fall near the back of the pack when breakfast ends and all the other teenagers rush to see their partners. Justin looks exceptionally excited to find out his, probably because last year he got paired with a girl who spent more time sneezing than speaking. I am really horribly uninterested, though I hope I don't get paired up with either Nate or Shane Grey, Rosslyn's sons. Her eldest son, Jason, is too old for the under eighteen thing, thank God. Those odds would be way too good if he was eligible, too. That would just be so terrible. Rosslyn would have an excuse for torturing me. Great fun.

We reach the board last, after nearly everyone has gone off with their partner to talk which is the custom for the week before the ball. And even if you hate your partner, you have to stick it out. I think they're trying to foreshadow marriage, though no one agrees with my theory. Only two boys are standing next to the board: Justin and Nate. Three guesses as to who I get. I wish that Havenwood didn't have such a strict quota system that requires an even number of female and male babies be born every year- mostly they just go around and let every family who wants one have a baby each year and then adopt for the numbers. Apparently the Father has an "in" at the local adoption agency. Or so go the rumors.

Mitchie nudges me and points at our names on the board in all their glory:

Justin Russo....................................... Mitchie Torres

Nate Grey.......................................... Alexandra Russo

This is just lovely. Justin's smile gives away how absolutely ecstatic he is for getting paired up with the holiest girl in camp. He's probably thinking that it means the Shepherds might induct him one day, but all I'm thinking is that Mitchie will be on my brother's arm Friday, not mine.

"Mitchie, I think you're with me," Justin says in this smug domineering way like he's trying to prove something to me. Bastard.

Nate awkwardly offers his arm to me. "And, um, Alexandra... I'm your escort."

"I can read, dumb ass," I reply. I don't take his arm but instead lead him around to the only open ground in the meadow. We sit down and stare at each other for a while- well, to be more accurate, he stares gapingly at me while I watch nature and my brother with Mitchie. He's being a proper little gentleman, getting his entire conversation out of the courtship guide. Both being first years, neither Nate nor I have one. It might be helpful for poor Nate since he seems to be at a loss for what to say. I wouldn't be any more talkative if I had the book. It would actually probably make me inclined to be more quiet.

Finally, after forty minutes, Nate says something. Just not what I would expect him to say. "Just because you're used to sitting with a mute person all day doesn't mean we all are!" he snaps at me, clearly frustrated.

"Not like you've made any contributions to the conversation, either!" I shout back. "And don't you dare go attacking Mitchie for something she can't help!"

Nate knows I'm not supposed to question his "manly" authority, but apparently he's not smart enough to realize I will. "I can attack whoever I want, most certainly some girl. And we are going to have a normal conversation!"
"Is that so?" I stand up menacingly upon saying this, and Nate follows. "How about I just pummel you instead?"

He steps closer, his breath right against my cheek. I want to throw up. "It will be nothing compared to what the Enforcers will do to you."

"Are you really willing to find that out?" I put my hands on my hips and stare intensely at him for a few moments. Thank God he's such a pansy because he backs down and sits, clearly upset and brooding. Nate's not the type to start a fight, and in any other circumstance, I'd say he'd be the type of boy who would cry to his mommy. But not this time. He stood up to a girl, a girl who challenged him. And she won.


The rest of the week passes by in almost time, and by that I mean it's so inescapably dull that I can't bring myself to care to relive it. We've been doing mostly lame trust exercises with our partners and lessons from the stupid fucking courtship book, which I promptly ignored all week. Nate hasn't tried to challenge my authority in our "relationship" again, though I do behave myself around Rosslyn because I honestly am afraid of her. In all of the nightmares I've ever had about being beaten or whipped or hurt, Rosslyn is always the one doling out the punishment. Mitchie seems to be letting Justin lead with the courtship book and they are often called out as the exemplary couple of the bunch, though anyone who knows Mitchie as well as I do can easily see she hates every second of it.

It's very early Friday morning and I finally have a moment to breathe. I wake up before the sun has risen completely, but that's OK because during this ball week it's nearly impossible to get a peaceful moment. And what makes it even better is that Mitchie fell asleep in my bed last night and she's still here this morning. I almost don't want to leave the safe cocoon of rumpled nightgowns, spilling hair, entwined legs, clasped hands, arms over chest, body on body. Scratch that. I really don't want to leave. But I feel kind of creepy watching her sleep so peacefully, sprawled across my chest and all over the bed, really. It seems as though she moves a lot. It's adorable. I kiss her on the forehead, and let it linger for a second or two. That second or two is enough to drag her out of her slumber in an almost frenzied motion. I have to grab her wrists and clamp one of her legs between mine, gaze at her before her breathing calms down and I can her see face again.

"Hey, it's alright. It's just me. No one else. Just you and me. You and me," I tell her quietly, squeezing her closer. I have no idea what that seizure thing was all about, but I'm not about to ask. I know better. It's OK to just kiss her now, which I do, and soon enough our mouths are moving together and our hands are tracing lights circles over each other's torsos, carefully avoiding chests. I glide my hands over her stomach and she giggles.

"Why, Mitchie Torres," I say, leaning just far enough away from her so that I can get that out. "Are you ticklish?"

She buries her face under the blankets, clearly answering my question. I carefully move my hand from her stomach to her side. "Don't worry. I wasn't going to use it against you." I give her one last kiss on the cheek; I think I may have freaked her out a little today, so I'm going back to what's safe.

I rollover, starting to get up, but her hand tugs me back down. Her eyes make it seem like... oh. She thinks she upset me. "I'm fine; I just have to go to the bathroom," I explain, smiling. The smile's contagious.

I almost skip with happiness down the hall to the bathroom. It's been a good morning so far, and has definitely made up for whatever torture I'll have to endure tonight at the ball with Nate. But I think most of that torture will come from watching Justin dance with Mitchie- a wonderful girl that he knows nothing about, a girl that he just wants to use to get to the top. I get upset at this thought, slamming down the faucet and pretty much manhandling the towel. I throw the door open and smack right into Max. We mumble our apologies quickly; he looks a bit stunned, but alright to keep moving into the bathroom. Only as I walk down the hall do I notice that he hasn't closed the door.

"Hey, Alexandra?" It's Max, his voice so quizzical that my anger melts into a sort of guilty curiosity.

"Yes?"

He thinks real hard about the next part as though he's unsure of how to phrase it. "Why do you always... hold Mitchie's hand and give her hugs and stuff? I've never seen you like that with anyone else." Maybe he's more observant than I give him credit for; Mitchie and I rarely do that anywhere but the edge of the room and in this house late at night. Then again, he's always had strange sleeping patterns.

It takes me almost as long to answer for fear that he's discovered what we are. But I don't think he's asked with malicious intent. He seems genuinely curious about this behavior, which is definitely considered odd for me. "Well... I guess I've never really had a friend before. She's kind of my best friend now, and it seems like the kind of stuff best friends would do." Except for kissing. Best friends don't kiss each other.

He looks sullenly at the floor and speaks quietly. "I wish I had a best friend. Or anyone, really."

It's heartbreaking to hear your brother say that he doesn't have any friends, especially when you know you've been less than warm to him his entire life. "Max... I didn't know. When you were little, Mom and Dad wouldn't let me near you, because that was the exorcism phase and they didn't want me to get the devil all over you. And after that, well, you sort of became Justin's little project. I always thought you liked him better."

Max laughs. Actually, truly laughs. I don't know if I've heard my little brother make a sound so enthusiastic before. "Justin? I always hated him. I always thought you hated me."

I put my arm around his shoulder, now grinning. "I never hated you. I guess... neither of us really knew how to handle siblings after the catastrophe that is Justin. Maybe we should just start over, Maxie."

"Maxie... from when I had the flu as a little kid," he remembers in a whisper. "You snuck into my room, and told me it would be OK. I was only three or four. But I remember that."

As he mentions it, I barely remember it, though soon the scene starts to sound familiar: me leaning over the crib of my tiny little brother, praying that he doesn't turn out to be a "poopy-pants" so that we can have fun and play games together and ask questions. But this is before the devil years, and that just about puts a halt to any brother/sister relationship we could have had. "Look, Max, neither of us made much of an effort before- what if we just start over? I'd like to grow up knowing that there's someone in this family here for me."

He looks at me again with eyes too deep for a thirteen-year-old. "I just want something to care about." There is no more need for words as I wrap in a tight hug, his head buried in my chest, my arms squeezing his shoulders, his cutting off the circulation around my waist. But it's worth it. It's so worth it.

We part ways after that; him going to the bathroom, me back to the room. I slip back into bed, and feel Mitchie adjust next to me so that her head once again is on my chest. She's wondering what's going on. "I just... feel like sleeping again. Max has put a lot on my mind." She smiles, which means that she probably heard at least parts of the conversation. I'm glad for that.


Rosslyn angrily storms at me during lunch. She probably thinks I've upset her fragile, precious, porcelain-doll-delicate Nate. I probably have, because he takes almost every insult to heart. What a baby. "Alexandra. I have a request from my son."

"And what does your dear son want?" I question.

She is so totally uncomfortable with this, it's comical. Awkwardly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a corsage. Brilliant. I'm sure Justin's going to give one to Mitchie, too, if he hasn't already. "He wishes for you to wear this at the ball tonight."

Technically I'm not allowed to refuse, but I seriously would have if the boy's mother were anyone but Rosslyn. So in instead, defeated, I reply, "I'd be delighted." Dad and Mom are both overjoyed at this acceptance, but it's the others' reactions I'm looking at more: Justin's bewildered and upset, Mitchie's just shrugging, and Max knows that this isn't right but he doesn't know what to do about it, either.

"Shepherd?" Dad calls out to Rosslyn as she's leaving.

"Yes?"

"Send my regards to your son."

An evil smirk appears on her face. "With pleasure."

And sure enough, directly after lunch, Justin presents Mitchie with a corsage of her very own. Just how much more awesome can this day get?


It's almost time for the ball, and I am not happy. While not unexpected, it still doesn't make this feeling any better. Mitchie is in the bathroom getting ready, per my mother's insistence. She wants us each to have our own mirror, as this is the only time each year we're allowed to wear make-up and perfume. I haven't put on either. And though I know that Mitchie and I won't be going together, I'm still excited to see her in her dress. Mine is kind of dull, but that's how I like it: long, black and sort of fitting around my body. It's the best I could get; the one with the least ruffles and excess fluff and nonsense. I've finished arranging my hair in a sort of stylish mess atop my head, so I hope it looks alright. It looks fine to me, but then again I don't really care. I'm more interested in the small group of daisies (the last of the summer's) tied together with the old lace of my baby clothes. Just looking at them makes my heart race. Urg. Why can't this kind of stuff be easy?

It's further complicated when she enters, looking absolutely stunningly beautiful. I can't get over her. She's practically glowing. Suddenly my daises don't seem like enough for this girl; Mitchie, with her dark hair curled in elegant tresses over her shoulder, her golden dress that looks like it was made by placing one layer of fabric on top of another and leaving just the tiniest bit of the bottom layer showing, her long tan arms covered mostly by flawless white gloves, her face smiling so wide and taking in the sight of me- it's almost enough to make my knees buckle.

Scared, I pick the daisies up off my table and hold them out to her. "Mitchie, I know that we're not really going together, but I think that I'd like to give you a corsage myself. Because I'm very, very interested in pursuing you further. I know it's not very elegant, but I-" She stops me by jumping into my arms with an eager hug, and just as easily I hold on to her waist.

Mitchie hugs me tightly, body pressing lightly, sweetly against mine, mouth right next to my ear. I hear her breathing, warm and soft; I hear-

"You're beautiful."

The corsage slips out of my hands and falls swiftly to the floor.