"That's where Chubs will camp out, won't you, Chubs?" Gisselle quipped as soon as we set eyes on the dessert table.

Katie blushed. "I'm going to be a good girl tonight and not overdo it."

"How boring," Gisselle replied.

We all passed through the entryway, the eyes of the chaperones sweeping up from our feet to our hair, while off to the left Mrs. Ironwood stood glaring analytically at each and every one of her wards to be sure she was properly attired. The faculty surrounded her and mingled around their own refreshment table.

Chairs for the Greenwood girls had been set up on the left side of the gymnasium and chairs for the Rosewood boys on the right. Just like the other girls, we headed directly for the punch bowl first, got our cups to hold and sip, and found places on our side of the gymnasium as we waited for the arrival of the Rosewood boys. A little before eight o'clock, Suzzette Huppe, a girl from Quad A in our dorm, came rushing in to announce that the Rosewood buses had driven up. All of us lowered our voices in anticipation as the Rosewood boys began entering in an orderly fashion.

They were all dressed in their dark blue blazers and matching slacks. On the breast pocket of each blazer was the Rosewood insignia, a gold-embroidered shield with Latin words that Yield said meant "Excellence is our tradition." The design was supposedly the original Rosewood family emblem that originated in England.

The boys were all well groomed, their haircuts nearly identical. Just like the girls of Greenwood, the boys of Rosewood gathered in small cliques. They gazed across the gymnasium floor nervously. Some who recognized girls they had met before at previous socials waved. Then they all huddled around the punch bowls as we had and filled their cups. The sound of laughter and conversation rose as the last group of Rosewood boys streamed into the ballroom.

"There's Jonathan." Jacki indicated with a nod. We all gazed at a tall, dark-haired, handsome boy who seemed to be the center of his group. He was tan with broad shoulders, and he looked like a heartthrob movie star. It was easy to understand why he was so popular with the Greenwood girls. But he stood, spoke, and moved as if he knew it. Even from across the gymnasium, I could sense that Southern arrogance that some aristocratic young men inherited. As his eyes swept the Greenwood girls, he smiled disdainfully, muttered something to his pals that caused them all to laugh, and then stood back expectantly, as if this whole social were being given in his honor.

Then everyone grew silent as Mrs. Ironwood went to the podium to welcome the Rosewood boys.

"I don't see any reasons to remind you all that you are the young women and young men of distinguished families who are attending two of the most highly respected schools in the state, if not the country. I'm sure you will all behave properly and leave as you have arrived: proud and deserving of the honor and respect your families enjoy. In exactly one hour we shall interrupt the dancing so we can all partake in the wonderful and delicious foods our Greenwood chefs have prepared for this occasion."

She nodded at the orchestra leader, who turned to his musicians and started the first musical number. Those Rosewood boys who were familiar with a girl or two at Greenwood started across the floor to ask them for a dance. Gradually other boys built up their courage and began to approach the girls. When Jonathan Peck started toward us, we all assumed he was going to approach Abby, just as Gisselle had suggested; but he surprised us all by stopping in front of me and asking for a dance. I glanced at Abby, who smiled, gazed at Gisselle, who wore a gleeful expression, and then accepted Jonathan's hand. He took me out to the center of the floor before placing his right hand on my hip and holding my left up at the classic ballroom level, even with my chin. With the perfect precision of a schooled dancer, he began to move and turn me to the rhythm and beat, holding that confident look in his face, his eyes fixed on mine.

"I'm Jonathan Peck," he said.

"Ruby Dumas."

"I know. My sister has told me all about you and your twin sister, Gisselle."

"Really? What did she tell you?"

"Only nice things," he said with a wink. "As you probably know by now, Rosewood and Greenwood are practically sister and brother schools anyway. We Rosewood boys usually get to hear all the nitty-gritty about the girls of Greenwood. You girls can't hide anything from us," he added smugly and glanced back at Gisselle, whom I noticed, already attracted the interest of half a dozen Rosewood boys. But what surprised me more was Abby. She was standing off to the side. None of the Rosewood boys had asked her to dance; nor did any who were around Gisselle, laughing and joking, show any interest in her. Even Katie had been asked to dance.

"For instance," he continued, "I know you fancy yourself an artist, right?"

"I don't 'fancy' myself anything. I am an artist," I fired back.

His smile widened and he threw his head back with a short and what I thought artificial laugh. "Of course. You are an artist. How rude of me to imply otherwise."

"And what are you, besides a walking encyclopedia about the nitty-gritty details on the girls of Greenwood?" I snapped. "Or is that your only ambition?"

"Wow! Susan was right. You and your sister are two balls of fire."

"Be careful then," I warned. "You might get burned."

This brought another peal of laughter from him. He winked and smiled at his companions and twirled me a little more firmly, but I didn't lose my poise. Having danced at a Cajun fais dodo more than a dozen times in my life, I had no trouble keeping my balance and looking graceful in Jonathan Peck's hands.

"This is going to be a very interesting night," he predicted as the first number came to an end. "I'll call on you again," he promised, "but first I have a few fans to please."

"Oh, don't strain yourself," I said. My stern retort stunned him for a moment. I turned and left him standing there and hurried back to Abby's side.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the flush in my cheeks.

"He's obnoxious, more arrogant than a cottonmouth snake, and probably just as poisonous. I bet he has mirrors on every wall in his room."

Abby laughed. Another number began and I was approached by a different boy, one somewhat on the shy side, which I thought was a welcome change. The boys who were around Gisselle remained, one rushing of to get her another glass of punch. Once again, when I looked back from the dance floor, I noted that all of the girls in our quad had been asked to dance but Abby. Left alone for the second time, she looked uncomfortable but tried to keep her happy demeanor, smiling and nodding at me.

"I'm sorry," I told the boy with whom I was dancing, "but my ankle's started to ache. I sprained it a few days ago. Why don't you ask my girlfriend to continue?" I nodded in Abby's direction. The boy, a redhead with a splatter of freckles on both his cheeks, gazed at her and then shook his head quickly.

"That's all right," he said. "Thanks." He let go of me and hurried back to his companions.

"What happened?" Abby asked when I returned to her side.

"I trust have twisted my ankle out there before. It started to ache, so I asked to stop dancing." I didn't tell her about the boy's refusal to ask her to dance.

"The music's very good," she said, swinging to the rhythm.

Why weren't any of these boys coming over to her? So many of them stood on the other side of the gymnasium looking anxious to ask a girl to dance. I glanced at Gisselle, who threw her head bad to laugh at something one of the boys had told her. She took his hand and pulled him down so she could whisper something in his ear that lit his eyes like Christmas lights. His face turned crimson, and then he grinned nervously at his friends. Gisselle looked over at us and flashed a smile full of self-satisfaction.

At the start of the third number, I felt confident someone would ask Abby to dance, especially when two boys headed directly for us. But one veered off to ask Jacki to dance and the other approached me instead.

"No, thank you," I said. "I have to rest a sprained ankle. But my friend's free," I added, tilting my head toward Abby. He gazed at her and, without a word, turned and hurried down the line to ask someone else.

"Did I put on the wrong perfume or something?" Abby wondered.

My heart began to flutter as a small panic began in the base of my stomach and climbed its way into my breast. Something was going on here, something very strange, I thought, and I looked toward my sister again. She looked smug and content. Dance after dance, boys would approach me, and if I refused and suggested they ask Abby, they flew off muttering excuses and approached someone else. It not only amazed me but annoyed me how the girl who was beyond a doubt one of the prettiest, if not the prettiest, in the school could go this long without being asked to dance. Just before the break for refreshments was announced, I pulled Gisselle's wheelchair aside.

"Something's going on here, Gisselle," I told her. "Not one boy has asked Abby to dance and none will if I suggest he ask."

"Really? How remarkable," she said.

"You have a way of keeping your ear to the wall, Gisselle. What's going on? Is this some sort of practical joke, because if it is . . . ″

"I don't know anything about any practical jokes. No one's asked me to dance either, you'll notice, but I don't see you being so concerned about my feelings," she snapped back.

"But you look like you're having a good time. All those boys . . . ″