Word spread quickly that I was taking Kagura to the dance, and when Jenny caught wind of it, she was furious. As expected, she confronted me in her typical, dramatic fashion, her rage palpable.

"What do you think you're doing, taking some goth chick to the dance?!" she raved.

"Relax, babe," I replied, keeping my cool and using my most charming tone. "She's not really going to be my date. It's all an act."

"An act?"

"Just a little joke I'm playing on her. I want to teach her and those other self-righteous freaks a lesson. Kagura walks around this school preaching that looks don't matter, but we all know that if she had the chance, she wouldn't be able to resist the allure of being one of the beautiful people. And guess what? She said yes to being my date. Now, picture this: she tells everyone I'm her date, maybe even believes it and gets a fancy dress. Then I show up at the dance with you. It's classic."

"Oh, Glen, that's just evil," Jenny said, initially horrified as if she had her limits to cruelty. But then a wicked smile spread across her face. "I love it!"

"I thought you would."

"So you're still taking me to the dance, right?"

"Of course. Who else would I take?"

"Fabulous. Très magnifique." She kissed both my cheeks like the French do. Seriously, one trip to Paris and suddenly she's a Francophile. "Now remember, Glen, my dress is going to be magenta, leopard print, so that corsage has to match, and the only flower that will go with it is a purple orchid. Nothing else."

"Sure. I'll get you one."

"Merci beaucoup."

"Oh for God's sake, woman, drop the French act already!" I would have said if she weren't so attractive and I didn't want to get lucky on the night of the dance.

The dance wasn't just the night I would become a prince; it was also the night I intended to finally lose my virginity. Lyon had already bragged about his conquests, and whether it was true or not didn't matter; the whole school believed him, giving him an edge in our friendly rivalry. I had to catch up and fast, and with a real hot chick.

"Are you sure you want to do this tonight? And with Jenny?" Ur asked as she handed me my tuxedo for the dance. "This is a big step, and you're still so young."

"Again, it's none of your business! How do you even know about it?!"

"You're not exactly quiet when you boast to Lyon on the phone about your dating life," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Especially when you're doing it right in front of me while I'm doing the dishes."

"You have no right to eavesdrop on my conversations!"

"Oh believe me, Mr. Glen, I don't want to hear about your escapades, and I wish you would be more discreet."

"Just ignore it!"

"I try. Trust me, I try. Still, if I may offer some advice—"

"I don't need your advice!" I snatched the tuxedo from her. "Did you get the corsage too?"

"Yes, sir. It's in the fridge. I'll get it."

By the time I finished changing into my tux, Ur returned with a small box containing a flower. But when I opened it, I found a single white rose instead of an orchid.

"What the hell is this?!" I exclaimed, shoving the box under her nose.

She stepped back, her expression calm. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Beautiful?! It's a rose! I specifically asked for an orchid! Are you so clueless that you don't know the difference?!"

"I know what an orchid is, but unfortunately, the floral shop was all out. A rose is just as lovely, maybe even more so. I'm sure Jenny will love it."

"Roses are cheap!" I threw the box down in frustration. "As cheap as a dandelion you can pluck off the ground! What woman would want one of these?!"

"Your mother would," she said softly. "Roses were her favorite, you know? Especially the white rose."

That only fueled my anger. I hated when she brought up my parents to guilt-trip me. It made me want to lash out, and I knew I could get away with it. My uncle wouldn't care what I did to the help. It was no concern of his if the maid got smacked around a bit. But even though I felt like doing it, I couldn't bring myself to.

"If you don't want to give the rose to Jenny, then I will take it," Ur said.

"Are you on crack? That's probably your plan, huh? Get the wrong one so I won't want it and then keep it for yourself? Not a chance!"

I picked up the box, but the fall had broken the plastic and knocked the rose out. A petal fell to the floor. Cheap piece of trash. Oh well, better than nothing, I suppose.

I grabbed the rose, put it back in the box, and slipped the petal into my pocket.

"I'm sorry that I'm always failing you. I try my best," she sighed. "And I pray every night for you, Mr. Glen. Every night I pray for your happiness and well-being."

"Pray for your own damn kid! If she even exists! Where is this so-called daughter of yours? If you have one, how come I've never seen her? I bet you made her up just to get sympathy, right?"

I knew I had gone too far. I saw it in her eyes—betrayal and disappointment. It was as if I had crossed a line she never thought I would. She turned away, and I watched a tear roll down her cheek.

"Your uncle ruined you," she whispered before walking away.

For a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of guilt. I almost went after her to apologize, but then I remembered my uncle's words: a real man never apologizes, especially to the help. So I shook it off. Why should I care if I hurt her? Her opinion didn't matter! She was just the maid—nothing more.

Later, I picked up Jenny in the limo my uncle had paid for. She stepped out in that tight magenta leopard-print dress that barely covered anything. But when she saw the rose, her face turned crimson with rage. That is, if she could even move in that dress. Throughout the entire limo ride, she screamed and raved about the rose and how stupid I was for not getting her an orchid.

"I mean seriously, Glen, what are you, blind?! This stupid flower clashes with my dress!"

"I'm sorry. The shop was all out."

"I specifically said orchids are the only flowers that will go with this dress! Have you not read Fiore Monthly? Orchids are the flower of the season! And it's this year's yellow ribbon! It was to be a political statement! So thanks for making me look like an insensitive bitch!"

Yeah, right. Like she needed my help looking like one.

She threw the flower down just as we stepped into the plaza. I picked it up; another petal had fallen, and I slipped it into my pocket with the other one. Then I took it with me to give the tickets to the person checking them.

"Pretty flower," a voice said.

"Huh?"

I turned to see a girl dressed in layers of grey and black clothes, guy clothes, that were too big for her. She wore a faded grey beanie that covered her hair, and her face was devoid of makeup or jewelry, except for a charm bracelet on her right wrist. If it weren't for her breasts, I might have mistaken her for a pre-teen boy.

She looked familiar; I'd probably seen her in class but never noticed her because she wasn't pretty enough to associate with, yet not ugly enough for me to pick on.

"The rose," she said. "It's very pretty."

Her skin was so pale, as white as the rose in my hand. It was as if she had never seen the sun. Did she spend every day indoors or something? What a weirdo.

"Do you want it?" I asked her.

"That's not very nice," she replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Goofing on me. Pretending that you'll give me the flower only to take it back when I reach for it. I've had that joke played on me since fourth grade, and frankly, it's getting old."

"Oh no, I'm not messing with you. You can have it. My date doesn't want it, and it's just going to die anyway."

I held out the rose to her. She looked at it longingly, then turned to me skeptically.

Strange. The rest of her was nothing special, but her eyes were an entirely different matter. They were so blue and deep, a vivid shade that could appear lavender in the light. I never imagined someone so plain could have such beautiful eyes.

Such a shame they couldn't be on a better-looking girl.

"Well, since you put it that way," she smiled, taking the rose from me. "Thank you, it's very beautiful."

She looked so happy with it that I was suddenly reminded of my mother. It triggered a memory from years ago, back when I was about seven or eight. My dad had come home from spending a week in Vermont, where he helped a rich guy remodel the garden of his new house. He had brought Mom a bouquet of white roses, and she looked as happy as that girl did.

That was the first time I truly acknowledged that Ur had been right about something: roses were Mom's favorite.