by Chloe Smith
Her golden eyes flashed with anger. She was seething. How could that commoner…Oh! It infuriated her! It was too much!
First she embarrassed him in front of the whole school. And if it wasn't bad enough having him confess his feelings to her, she had the guts to turn him down? And now, he's gone?
No matter her brother's wishes, she would have to get rid of this girl. At. All. Costs.
"Sorry brother," she whispered, "I can't respect your wishes this time."
Tomorrow. Tomorrow at the dance. She would make her leave. One way…or another.
"Hilary!" I yelled as I entered her house Saturday morning. "Hilary!"
"Monica dear, what's wrong?" She came out of one of the doors on my left. She looked extremely pale, like she had heard some god-awful news or she had been crying. Maybe both.
Kind of like how my night had been…
"Is it true?" I asked.
"Oh dear, what happened to your face? It's all red! Your eyes are all puffy! Have you been crying?" She grabbed me by the shoulders, examining me from head to toe. A lot like how my mom would have done.
"Is it true? Clinton left?" I asked.
She looked a little surprised. Then great sadness took over her face. "Yes."
The tears silently slipped down my face. "I knew it." Then anger, more at myself than anything, made me ball up my fists. "That's why never wanted to come here to this school!"
"Monica!"
"No, I knew I was going to mess it up! I knew I would ruin everything!"
"You did not!" She said, quite sternly too. "He left because his father called for him. It has nothing to do with you! After all, he is the heir to a big company."
My eyes might have been as big as plates. "Heir?"
Hilary smiled. "Well, yes. It's what made us 'elite' as St Ferdinand likes to put it."
"Oh." Was all I said. Was all I could think of to say.
Hilary gave a little laugh, "Well, now that we've got this out the way, let's go fix you up. After all, today is the dance!"
Yes, it certainly was. I thought. So where was all that excitement I had for it during this week?
The Dance-Part 1
He stood in the shadows, staying away from the crowd, staying pretty much out of sight, finding the dark where no one would see him.
His disguise was a good one, considering he wasn't even supposed to be here. His raven-black hair was pulled back in a small ponytail and covered with a black hat. His brown eyes was hidden behind a hand-crafted mask made to fit his face perfectly. It was a comfortable fit and it easily made his face unrecognizable.
He was, as the silk-white sash around his shoulder displayed, Samuel. The costume though, was not his own idea.
No one knew he came here. No one would know he was here when he left.
The place the Dance was held at was lightly lit, the dance floor off to one side was only illuminated by the disco ball. The entrance to the building was at the top of the stairs. If you watched, you would be able to see every person who came in just watching those stairs.
There were hallways that led to other rooms, and a few even led to balconies that provided beautiful romantic sceneries.
His eyes latched onto the staircase, waiting only to see one person.
He didn't have to wait long. She came down, on the arm of her date, but he didn't see her with anyone, his breath leaving his lungs as his eyes focused solely on her. Her mask didn't mask her at all. He knew who she was with just one glance.
She was breathtaking beautiful. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a complex bun consisting of a myriad of braid interwoven. Crafty tendrils of hair escaped to frame her face. Her make-up was light. A little bit of pink lipstick mixed with gloss adorned her lips, a powder blush the same color as her natural blush crept over her high cheekbones. Her big brown eyes shone brightly behind her mask. The mask was all white, gold intricate lines chased around it. An array white feathers sprouted from a brooch in the top middle of that mask. They fanned out to cover her forehead.
Her dress was a blood red. Maroon. A white fancy fluff shirt was underneath, and the shoulder straps of the dress hugged it close to her body. The bell of her dress flared gently out, and it was long enough to completely cover her feet.
She would be perfect if that fragile smile didn't make her sadness transparent.
But still, she was the most beautiful out there.
The sad little Juliet who realized her Samuel went away.
He would be her Samuel. But just for tonight.
LalalalalAlalalalaL
Monica made her way down the stairs, arm in arm with Jackson. Of all the myriad of people or characters she could be, Hilary had chosen Juliet Capulet.
Jackson, on the other hand, had decided to be Porthos, one of the Three Musketeers. His brother and a 'close friend' filled in the other two.
I didn't bother asking him who was who, or even who this 'friend' was. I felt so empty. I felt regret.
But wait…why? This guy, Mr. King, affected me, yes, true. But I was still trying to figure out whether the effect was good or bad.
I forced the smile when Jackson asked me if I was fine. I waved it off. "Just a little tired. It'll wear off."
When we reached the bottom, someone was there waiting for us, his angry deep blue-purple eyes intensely watching us.
He was in 1800's European attire. The first thing I noticed was all the ruffles underneath his chin. I couldn't tell if it was part of his white shirt since it was the same color. Over that, he wore a vest, and on top of that, he wore one of those grey jacket-looking-things they wore back then. He wore a simple black mask that covered just around his eyes. His silk-white sash said he was Mr. Darcy…who I had no idea who that was…
He really did look mad. And I soon found out why. I didn't even say a greeting, and he spoke.
"I just want you to know, the arm that he caught you with back in homeroom that day, was the same arm he injured when he rescued you and he was too stubborn to get it checked out."
"What do you mean? From what?"
"From being trampled to death by horses."
"Huh? No, Martin saved me, not-"
"No, I watched my best friend put himself in harm's way to save you. I think I know who saved you."
"But Gaya and Martin…"
"They were protecting you. Didn't you say that you hated the guy? They didn't want you to know that your enemy had saved you. Just think of the position you would have been in if you had known. You would have felt you were indebted to him and hated him even more. They wanted to keep that smile on your face."
"Percy…" I reached out to him. He looked positively angry.
He turned away, dodging my hand. "Please Monica. Don't touch me right now. Please…just stay away from me…I'm too afraid I'll…" He waved his sentence off and walked away.
Thoughts whirled through my head, overbearing guilt clamped me by the throat. Way to go Percy, make me feel even worse!
But I guess I deserved it. Like Gela said, maybe it was all my fault. Maybe his father found out about me and his feelings toward me and he didn't want his son to be around someone like me.
I didn't have much time to dwell too much on that, with a certain person's voice cut off my thoughts.
"Well! well! well!! You didn't have the common sense to just stay home, did you?" Gela. I turned, and whatever was going to come out of my mouth was silenced. I swear I tried not to gawk…but I couldn't help it.
"Gela…did you…dye your hair?" I asked. It was completely platinum blonde. It was so light, it was almost completely silver.
"Of course! And Clinton would've loved it, especially since he hates redheads." What she said made no real sense. Her hair was completely outrageous. But I guess it went well with her costume. It was snow white, just a little lighter than her hair. The bodice hugged her like a second skin, and it continued to hug until it reached her hips where it gently flared out. Snowflakes decorated the bottom in large, glittery abundance
. The dress was so long it covered the stilettos Monica was sure she was wearing, and it ended in a train. On her bleached head sat a crown-not tiara-of silver. An accessory you could hardly called a mask sat on her face. It was shaped like a snowflake, but it did nothing to hid any part of her face. And proudly displayed on her silk sash explained it all. Ice Queen.
Even after she heard that he left, Gela was probably still hoping he'd come to the dance. Did she think that Clinton would fall for her if she dressed up as the Ice Queen just because he was called the Ice King?
"Excuse me?" Her outraged half-yell brought me out of my musings. Just by looking at her angry eyes on me, I realized I must've spoke.
So they hadn't just been musings in my head, but spoken words. And the funny things was, I was beyond caring.
"But isn't it the truth?" I asked.
"How dare you!" Her hand raised, and I flinched away. I heard the smack loud and clear, but I didn't feel anything. One look, and I'd realized Jackson had stepped in front of me, taking the slap for me. Which of course surprised me.
She'd knocked his mask crooked, but he straightened it, saying as he did so, "Please stop harassing Monica. If you ever dare try and lay a hand on her again, you'll regret it." He spoke this in such a serious flat tone that it gave me shivers. Evidently, that surprised Gela. But instead of apologizing for hitting him, she turned quickly and stormed away, reminding me of that white witch off of Narnia. I guess her pride was too big to apologize, although her she clearly felt remorse for what she did.
"Jackson! Why did you do that?" I asked, horrified.
He smiled. "I don't know."
"Are you okay?" I studied the red mark on his cheek, touching it gingerly with my fingertips.
He grabbed my fingers, gently lowering my hand. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure, I mean-"
"Really Monica, I'm fine! I'm in football. I've been hurt worse than a small little sting from a slap."
"But still-"
"Hey Babe!" Instantly, I knew exactly who had just walked up without looking.
"Martin!" Turning, I was surprised to see that his costume was a lot like Jackson's, but instead of the black top with a white symbol on a red shield, Martin's was a white top with a red symbol on a black shield. According to his silk sash, he was Athos.
Behind him, Denzel followed as the third Musketeer. His was a red top with a black symbol on a white shield. He was Aramis. For once Denzel and Jackson both had their hair the same. Pulled back into small ponytails, and a black hat sat jauntily on their heads, a plume to match their costumes emerged from the side. Martin couldn't copy the twins' hair, but he gelled it back, and he had the same hat, with a white feather instead of Jackson's black one or Denzel's red one. They all wore similar black half-masks.
"So you're the close friend Jackson was talking about?" I asked, astonished. "How do you know these guys?" I asked.
Martin just smiled his 1,000-watt smile. "We grew up together."
"Ah. Interesting." I didn't notice the look the twins shared between each other, distracted by my name being called.
Sharon walked up, and I noticed right away she wasn't wearing her glasses. "Sharon! Did you get the surgery?"
"Yeah." She beamed. And she was stunning! She wore a red hooded cape, the hood was pulled up, covering her head except a few pieces of hair that fell on both sides of her red and black mask, framing her face. Her dress was a beautiful dark maroon color. She had a gauzy black material that was transparent enough to show the maroon. Decorated into this top layer was little white decorations. Hanging from her arm was a purse woven of thin light-brown wooden pieces, and over the top, a beige leather flap covered the opening. I knew who she was without even looking at her sash. She was Red Riding Hood.
"You're beautiful!" She smiled, as thanked me, but behind her intriguing red and black mask with the strings of black beads hanging from it, her eyes were already drifting to my company. Her eyes brushed past Martin to Denzel. He was staring unabashedly at her. By the blush that crept over her cheeks, she didn't feel disgusted with his stare.
"Um, Sharon, have you met these guys?" I asked.
Sharon looked away from Denzel to the others. Unlike me, she was unsurprised to see Denzel had a twin. "This is Jackson," I introduced. Jackson nodded in acknowledgement. I moved on, "Martin," Martin tipped his hat and grinned, "And Denzel." Denzel bowed, sweeping his hat off his head as he did.
"A pleasure to meet you." He said with the biggest smile I'd ever seen on him.
Sharon's blush grew deeper and I smiled. "Would you like to dance with me?" Denzel asked abruptly.
Sharon giggled. "Sure." They walked off. Wow. That's what you call quick chemistry. They would be fine. I didn't think they would separate anytime during this dance.
LalalalalAlalalalaL
"Is your Elizabeth Bennett here?" The masked Samuel asked Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy scowled. "Don't play with me. I could never fall for anyone here. They're all too busy with their dates to find a date."
Samuel chuckled. "So why did you come?"
Mr. Darcy leaned a little on his cane. "I needed to talk to someone." He tucked his unoccupied hand into his trouser pocket, his tailcoat bunching around his arm.
"It was Monica, wasn't it? No lying, what did you say to her?" Samuel asked, his brown eyes scrutinizing Mr. Darcy.
"I told her to stay away from me." In truth, he didn't lie to Samuel, he just left out the majority of his conversation with Juliet.
"Why are you angry at her? Did she do something wrong to you?" Samuel prodded. Mr. Darcy already knew he would.
"Let's just say it was a lover's fuss and leave it at that?" The only thing was, he was stepping into Clinton's shoes for that 'Lover's Fuss'.
Samuel nodded. Mr. Darcy wouldn't continue even if he nagged him non-stop.
Out of pure boredom, Samuel asked, "Would you like to dance?"
Mr. Darcy scowled. "Go find your Juliet. I'm sure she wouldn't mind dancing with you."
Samuel laughed. "I'd love to, but only if you agree to keep a lookout for your Elizabeth Bennett."
In spite of himself, Mr. Darcy grinned. "But of course. I wish you luck , Mr. Curtis." He gave a little bow.
Samuel returned the bow. "I thank you kindly, Mr. Darcy." Samuel turned on one booted foot and strolled away, looking for Juliet.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. He thought that guy was out of town, but that guy could be so unpredictable at times.
He made his way to the refreshments table. On his way, he bumped into a "Belle" from Beauty and the Beast. She had the blackest hair he'd ever seen, and her astonished gold eyes looked up at him.
"I'm so sorry." He apologized, stabilizing her. She quickly disentangled herself from him and dusted off her yellow dress with her fingerless white elbow-length gloves. She didn't say a word, but kept moving away. He watched her until she disappeared in the crowd of people. For some reason, he had the odd notion that she was different somehow…
He bent down to retrieve his cane which he dropped in the process of making sure she didn't fall, and realized she had dropped something as well. A small little dainty yellow purse.
He picked it up as he looked around, but he already knew he'd find her nowhere in sight.
Chapter 50
"So is there any wine and goodies in that 'basket' of yours?" Denzel asked when he led Sharon to the seats near the dance floor. The lighting was much brighter opposed to the rest of the room.
Sharon laughed. "No…well, if you would say my cell and wallet were goodies, then I guess so." She feigned horror and used a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh no! Maybe I've said too much! Are you the big bad wolf?"
Denzel maliciously smiled. "Only when it comes to monopolizing your time, lady."
Sharon blushed and giggled. "Oh dear, you've barely met me and you're hitting on me."
"So tell me…" Denzel's smile disappeared and he became completely serious. "Why have I never seen you? St Ferdinand’s not
that big. I would've seen you around campus, but I would've known if I recognized you."
Sharon looked down. "Well, I did notice you, and your brother. I just wore my glasses so that may be the reason you didn't recognize me."
Denzel lifted her face to look up at his by a finger under her chin. "Those must've been some big glasses to hide so much beauty."
Sharon gasped at his words. She'd never had such heartfelt words spoken to her.
"Well, I guess then, Mr. Wolf, you can monopolize me." She spoke it softly, shyly, but Denzel heard, and a blush of his own crept over his face.
