The Dance
Mo rounded a curve in the path and smiled. There was Les, sitting against a tree with her nose in a book. She stopped walking. Who was she trying to fool? Yes, she and Les had been dating for a while, but things had changed. Maybe when they’d started seeing each other, Les had been content with her plain best friend. But now . . . Les had blossomed. She was the prettiest girl at the Learning Academy. No, probably the prettiest girl in the entire sector. She was tall, and slim, and smart, and confident. Mo swallowed. She, on the other hand, had grown—what? A whole two inches in the past three years? She looked down at her chest. In some ways, not much at all. And pretty wasn’t a word anyone would use to describe her. She wasn’t ugly, but she certainly wasn’t anything special. And smart? Well, she wasn’t stupid, but she learned more through experience than she did from reading books.
Lately, she’d wondered if Les remained with her out of habit. After all, they’d known each other forever, lived next door to each other. Maybe Patty was right. Maybe Les was being kind. She could be biding her time, hoping circumstances would eventually force a breakup. They’d leave the Learning Academy in less than a year. Unless Les found the courage to stand up to her parents, she’d be off to college, not the Military Academy. Maybe that was why Les hadn’t pushed for them to see other people. In a year she’d be free, and without having to hurt anyone.
Or maybe Les was still in the relationship because she wanted to be? Mo desperately wanted to believe that, but how could she know for sure? Everyone else seemed to think Les felt trapped and wanted their relationship to end, or at least wanted the freedom to take out other girls. Mo bit her lip. Was she totally oblivious to signals Les was giving off, signals that were clear to everyone else? Was she only seeing what she wanted to see? How could she know? If you really do care about her, stop thinking about yourself. Tell her you’re not going to the dance. You’ll see how quickly she goes with someone else. . . . She knows what she’ll find out. That’s why she won’t do it.
No, she would do it. Not attending a dance together wouldn’t kill them, not if their relationship still existed because they both cared. She was mature—she could handle Les going on a date with someone else. It wasn’t as if they’d be spending the rest of their lives together—eventually the Chosen Council would end their relationship for them anyway. And if Les enjoyed herself at the dance and wanted to date others more often, Mo would rather know. Better to know the truth, even if it hurt, right? She squared her shoulders and resumed walking.
Les looked up from her book and smiled. Mo’s heart thumped. It always did when Les beamed at her, but this time apprehension and dread were helping it along.
“I was starting to wonder where you were.” Les tucked a bookmark into the book, carefully slid it into her satchel, and stood. “It’ll be beautiful at the lake later. Might be a bit chilly when the sun sets, though.” She brushed off her pants. “We should take a blanket.”
Mo took a deep breath. “Actually, Les, I can’t go.”
Les stopped brushing and stared at her.
“I have to start an essay. It’s due Friday.”
“We’re not leaving for a few hours. You can start it before we go.”
“I know, but—”
“I’ve got homework, too. If we’re pressed for time, we’ll leave right after the sun’s gone down. Mo, we’ve been talking about the lake ever since we left the Indoctrination Academy. You can spare an hour, can’t you?”
Mo almost gave in. Lying next to Les at the lake watching the sun go down was right up there on her Things I Love to Do list, and it had been two years. But tonight it wouldn’t be the same, not after Patty and Evelyn. Now she’d wonder if Les was really enjoying herself, or wishing she was somewhere else—or with someone else. “Well, you see, the thing is, I think maybe we see a little too much of each other. We’re not Chosens. I mean, I like being with you, but we shouldn’t be too attached to each other, you know?”
“But we are attached to each other.” Les reached for her.
Mo stepped back. Her resolve would crumble if Les touched her.
Les stiffened and lowered her arms. “What’s wrong, Mo? Did I do something wrong, say something?”
“No. As I said, I like being with you, but we’re not Chosens. It would probably be better if our relationship was a little more casual.”
“Our notifications are at least seven years away,” Les said. “And we might be Solitaries. I hope not, but we might be.”
“We can’t count on being Solitaries. At least one of us probably isn’t.”
Les cocked her head to one side, puzzled. “Why are you suddenly concerned about it? You’ve never said anything before. Is it because you want to be with someone else?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
“Les, will you stop being so immature? We’re not Chosens. If you—if we want to take other people to the dance on Friday, we should be able to.”
Les gaped at her. “The dance? You won’t go to the dance with me, either?”
“I’m not sure I’m going. So if you want to take someone else, go ahead.”
“Will you be taking someone else?”
Not likely. Girls flirted with Les, not her. To think she’d thought for a split second that Patty was going to ask her . . . Not that she would have said yes. If she wasn’t going with Les, she didn’t want to go with anyone. Argamon! Was she doing the right thing, telling Les to take someone else? If you really do care about her, you’ll think of her instead of yourself. Tell her you’re not going to the dance. You’ll see how quickly she goes with someone else. Right. One dance wouldn’t kill them, remember? “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not sure I’m going.”
“You won’t go with me?”
“No.”
Les stared into the distance, her lips trembling. Mo looked up at her, surprised and dismayed. Les looked like she might cry. Les hardly ever cried. The last time Mo remembered her crying was when they were eleven, when Les had fallen off her bike and ripped her knee open. “We can still see each other,” she added quickly, wishing she could take back every word she’d said in the last five minutes. “But maybe we shouldn’t be so clingy with each other.”
“Clingy,” Les echoed flatly. “I have to go.” She picked up her satchel and marched away.