Vivi

Vivi

It was a rarity to have such a diverse horde of high schoolers congregated in one area. Either there had been a fight, a knockdown, or a bitch-slap somewhere in the past five minutes, or it was one of those charmingly dull school assemblies where at least one good student lost their feeble minds to the boring drabble of the Assistant Principle. But this was a true candid moment. There wasn’t a fight, an assembly, or a bitch-slap.
There was a prom.
Or, in fact, a prom poster promoting the prom.
Ridgefield’s prom was a huge event, like Prince Charming’s ball in Cinderella, with the frou-frou dresses and everything. It was when unknown alien girls would have dates and boys would finally pluck up the courage that hid inside their guts, just waiting to burst free like a butterfly from a cocoon. Though usually, that never happened so poetically.
Goths and geeks, dipsticks and dorks, band nerds and drama-queens, preps and punks, they all gathered to stare at the frilly pink poster in the cafeteria. Each had a cauldron of dread bubbling in their stomachs, their faces pale with the reality shock. There. Is. A. Prom.
“It’s next week!” one junior shrieked. “I can’t believe it! Next week! What am I going to wear!”
“What about my hair! I can’t get Sherry to cut my hair for another few weeks!”
“Oh, my nails will need a manicure!” another girl wailed.
“Who’s gonna ask me out?”
“Why next week?! They could’a gave us a bit more warning!”
“So, Darling . . . do ya wanna go to the prom with yours truly?”
“Ew.”
Violet slunk away from the panicking crowd, dodging boyfriends flocking to their girls, and preps flipping out their cell phones to call their beauty salons for the earliest appointment. Breaking through the last wall of seniors, she casually moved towards her friend, fingering the time and the date in the air.
Her friend, Keith, sighed and shook his chubby head. He folded his plump arms over his pudgy chest and turned away from the crowd. “In a week? There’s not a way to break this curse in a week.”
“Well, you can always go ---”
“Like I’ve been for most of my life? Yeah, that is how I envisioned my only two proms. As a fat ugly guy who can’t get the first girl. Right.” He turned back to the horde of pretty girls flocking towards the school exit and sighed wistfully again. “If only I wasn’t fat, then maybe I‘d get Celia.”
Violet reached up and retied one of the many poka-doted, striped, or starred bows in her braided hair. She was use to this by now, after all, they had been best friends for as long as she could remember, and he‘d never seen her as anything more than a shoulder to lean on. Celia, on the other hand, glowed like a goddess trapped in the mortal realm. “It’s not your fault. It’s that witch’s fault that cast that ‘spell’ on you.” It was hard to believe, especially by magic, but she was his friend, so thus she would believe. Especially after all the doctor-induced diets, pills, exercises . . . and not a single pound dropped. Keith had stunned the medical world, until they ruled that he had somehow slipped during the diets and went back to his old eating habits. Violet chuckled at that whenever she thought about it. Keith with bad eating habits? Only in a nightmare. He hated chocolate, grease, fats . . . everything a good Southerner would praise. There wasn’t a single grain of sugar in the family’s cupboard, nor oil in the deep fryer. “At least she did one thing right, you’ve never gotten sick in your life. Didn’t that witch say she’d make you healthy?”
“Healthily plump. I’d take sickness any day.” And he had, before the witch cast the curse. Keith’s parents had told her once that before the curse, he was a very sick child. Sicker and sicker with each passing day. No medical research would help their son in time, and they didn’t want him living in a plastic bubble all of his life, so they sought out a witch, one who promised to make their baby boy healthy and happy. Well, the witch got one thing right, Keith had grown up healthy, but not the least bit happy.
Violet picked up her multi-colored satchel she’d made with old blue jeans, skirts, and bandanas. It was a habit of hers to make things out of old articles of clothing. She liked to do it too, it made her different. Colorful. Something that most, if not all, of the guys in this school thought weird. In their dictionary, girls were only supposed to like pink lace, pastels, and miniskirts.
“Well, let’s get going. I have to start work on my dress for the prom.”
“Another multi-colored nightmare?” Keith joked as he pulled his black uni-strap book bag over his shoulder, which was a tight fit. “Everyone’ll be blinded then, Vivi.”
Violet secretly blushed at the nickname. He’d come up with Vivi when they were six, and even then, he didn’t use it often, but just often enough to take her by surprise every time he used it. “Don’t call me that! You know I hate it.”
“Alright Vivi, whatever you say.”
“Keith! I mean it!” Violet playfully whined, following her friend down the hallway towards the exit. It was then that the trouble began. Keith turned to her with a worried expression, his thin lips curved into a frown. Once Violet thought about it, he’d look rather handsome if the curse was ever lifted. But right now, he just looked cute, in a chibi way. “What? Is something wrong?”
Keith muttered something under his breath, it sounded somewhat like “I man lilac” which didn’t make any sense.
Violet raised a thin eyebrow. “What?”
Sighing, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her outside, around the corner of the school, and down the street. When they got to Main Street, he slowed his pace so Violet didn’t have to run, and began to finger the zipper on his jacket. “I can’t dance!”
Almost up to the crosswalk, Violet tripped on her shoes, straightened, and stared to Keith incredulously, as if it was a sin. “You what?”
He looked around, hurriedly, before he mustered up the courage to say it again, “I can’t ---”
“No, no. I heard you --- but what? Can’t dance?” Here she was, talking to Keith Welks, son of two renown ballroom dancers and he couldn’t dance? “How can you not dance?”
“They never taught me. When my curse began to . . . come out . . . they trashed everything that reminded them about dancing and whatnot. They don’t even dance anymore themselves . . .”
“Oh.” Who could have blamed them? They must have thought, to Violet’s horror, that since his body wasn’t a dancer’s physic like theirs, he couldn’t dance. And since he had no grace, he couldn’t dance. Narrowing her eyes to her best friend, she looked him over and grinned. “I know how to dance. I’ll teach you.”
“But I’ll stumble.”
“I’ll teach you not to.”
“I’ll fall.”
She shrugged. “Bounce back up.”
“I’ll step on their feet.”
Violet slung an arm around his shoulders and poked a finger into his chest. “Listen bub, there ain’t one pupil of mine that has ever stepped on someone else’s feet once I was through with ‘em. You’ll be as graceful as Princess Tutu by the time I’m done!”
With a frown, he shook his head. “But my partner won’t be able to get close to me.” He motioned to his round belly. Sure, he was over two-hundred pounds, but to Violet, that didn’t mean anything. In fact, she was close to him right now, and he realized that, blushing. “Well, willing, anyway.”
His best friend shook her head and turned the corner at the crosswalk, he followed rather foolishly. “I’m willing, now c’mon. We got a lot to teach ya before prom. You have to learn the whole she-bang before then, so you can ask that special person of yours out.” She winked at him.
Keith blushed. “Celia . . .”
“Right-o-mondo!” She spun around once, her skirt swirling up gracefully. “Soon you’ll be the talk of the town!”
“Yeah, how’ve I fallen on the prettiest girl in Ridgefield!”
Violet stopped her spin to glance back to her friend hopelessly. “You really know how to put yourself down, you know?”
He snorted and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, what do you expect?” Unexpectedly, Violet grabbed his arm gently to coax him into her front yard, knowing he was having his doubts on the dancing gig. Over the years they had known each other, they had sorted out each others feelings by facial expression, twitches, or eye-diverts alone. She knew his hesitation the moment he stepped into her front lawn. “I dunno about this Vivi . . .”
“Well I do. You’re gonna learn if it’s the last thing I do, and no homework excuses will get you out, compree?”
In defeat, he sighed and entered her house, down the stairs, and into the basement. There she insisted that he took her waist when she put in an old waltz record her parents kept since their dancing lessons a while ago. He finally agreed and took her waist, unexpectedly realizing how small she actually was. Violet could have been a slim, perky prep if she wanted to, she had the figure to do so. The top of her head reached his nose, so he, unnoticed to Violet, looked down into her garland green eyes.
“Okay, now.” She cleared her throat after a moment of staring into his sky blue eyes. “Now . . . first step is back --- the guy usually leads, mind you --- but I’ll lead for now. Keith?”
But he’d already began to lead after the first few steps. Violet was glad, so glad in fact, that she began to enjoy it a lot more. They twirled and swung, quick stepped, and tried the Vietnamese Waltz with little success. It was too graceful and fast for either of them, but they had fun doing so, and afterwards laughed well into the evening.
Soon, they bade farewell to each other and met the next day, then the next until Keith had became as good as any dancer in a ballroom. Before either of them knew it, a week had rolled around, a whole week. Tomorrow was the prom.
The hallways after school were always busy, chaotic almost, but today was scheduled to be the worst. Violet stuffed her books into her locker, Keith beside her, joking about the night before when, unexpectedly, Violet’s parents barged in on their dancing and called for flowers. Soon the whole basement was filled to the brink with flowers, disco lights, and warm music. Keith proclaimed that was the most embarrassing night ever, and Violet had to agree, giving him a sheepish grin. Keith was uncommonly cheerful today, she noticed, but didn’t want to disrupt his unusual mood.
Then, it happened.
Celia herself bumped right into Keith, pulling away as quickly as she could. When she realized it was the fat, sweet guy from her Geometry class, she smiled. “Oh, hi Keith. Sorry, I didn’t see you behind me.”
Under her breath, one of Celia’s friends murmured scornfully, “How can you not see him?”
Celia seemed to ignore her, her smile unwavering. “Have you heard about the prom?” she rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, “Like, of course you have! Have you invited anyone yet?” Her gray eyes traveled to Violet, as if expecting her to come up and proclaim that they were going together.
Violet rolled her eyes like Celia did, and turned away. “Like he’d ask . . .”
Keith smiled back to Celia and shook his head. “Not yet, but I was wondering ---”
Oh, Violet dreadfully thought, here it comes . . . She snapped her eyes closed as if to ignore what was about to be said, and the sight afterwards. Curiosity got the best of her.
“. . . if you’d like to go to the prom with me?”
Silence. Violet only heard silence after those fateful words. Then a sound that stung her heart. Giggling, then laughing, then an all-out roar from everyone in the hallway except from her and Keith, who bowed his head in embarrassment.
“Me?” Celia said in between laughs, “You asked me? Ha! Oh-haha! That‘s so funny! Gina, did you hear that? Ah-hah! Oh, my side, my side!” She put a manicured hand on Keith’s shoulder and shook her head. “Oh boy, that lightened my day! But I think you need to ask someone who’s more . . . fitted to you.” Then she burst out laughing again. Keith stood as stiff as stone, his hands trembling.
The multi-colored weird girl, Violet Mia Bones, stepped into the circle around her friend and Celia. The whole ensemble of laughter quieted instantly as they looked at the deranged girl. She wore bows of all sorts in her chocolate braided hair, she had mutilated her clothes by sewing older clothes on top of them in patches, a leathery rainbow-tassel vest over a tie-dye smiley t-shirt. Her jeans were covered in vibrant patches, a colorful hippie skirt over her jeans, and on her feet were fuzzy socks in brown sandals. The Routine Freak, as she was known.
“Get away! This isn’t no Broadway musical you know. Shoo! All of you!”
So they did, slowly at first, and then quickly after Celia finally stopped laughing to recompose herself under the careful glare of Violet. The prep straightened her hair and motioned for her girlfriends to leave. They did, but not without a few half-ass comments.
When they were finally gone, Violet turned to her best friend with a frown. “C’mon, let’s go home ---”
“I don’t need you telling me what to do. I could‘a handled myself perfectly.”
“Probably so,” she replied, “but I didn’t want to take that chance. Now stop being such a baby and lets get out of here.” Violet went to grab him by the arm, but he yanked away quickly, quicker than she would have expected. “Fine, I’ll go home by myself,” Violet snapped.
“Please do. I don’t need a babysitter.” Keith began to walk away from her for the first time in his life. Violet shook her head and turned back to the exit, and left without another word. To her side, a notice caught her eye. She plucked the piece of paper from the bulletin board in scrutiny, and read it.

WHERE YOUR GREATEST DREAMS BECOME REALITY
Madam Mallyna will grant
any wish your heart desires.
110 Baker Avenue.
Walk-ins welcome.

“Madam Mallyna?” Violet frowned. She’d heard that name before, a long time ago. It felt so important, actually, that the name stirred at the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t forget that name, it was a name that tied Keith’s curse to it. Balling the paper up, she found the nearest trashcan and stuffed it inside. If Keith had seen that, he’d go running --- quiet literally.
But for sure he didn’t he couldn’t have seen the notice. There wasn’t a way. Though, just in case, she raced around the school like a madwoman, tearing up each and every notice she could find. If Keith saw those, he’d try to make the Madam lift the curse, and that would only make things worse. Violet didn’t know how she knew this, but she knew. And usually, she was always right. Another feeling told her that Keith had already known about these flyers. That was why he was so go-lucky today.
Violet found Madam Mallyna’s house too late. Keith had already stepped halfway inside by the time she had reached the rotting front gate. “Keith! Keith! Don’t go ---”
Her best friend gave a glance over his shoulder that told her to stay away, then closed the door behind him. Madam Mallyna raised the curtains to look for a moment, then closed them abruptly when Violet gave her a spiteful glare.
Before another second past, Violet rushed up to the front door and banged. Knocked so hard that the curtains on the door fell clean off their racks, the window vibrated. “Lemme in you old witch!” she shrieked. “Lemme in!” On the fourth try at the door, it swung open so hard, the window shattered against the wall and the doorknob left a hole in the lime-colored wall.
Green eyes traveled the interior of the house. Everything was wooden, antique. Masks hung on the walls while flowers of every variety thrived within brown vases. Below her sandals there was ugly shag carpet, not complemented with the lime-colored walls. Violet made a face at the mothball smell. The horrendous smell almost made her gag in reflex. But then she remembered her friend.
“Keith! I mean it! I don’t like this --- please!”
The floorboards creaked behind her, then a gnarled hand rested on her shoulder. With a sharp gasp, she turned to meet the old witch herself, Madam Mallyna. She was an old hag, with wiry black hair, dark eyes, and wrinkles that dug into her face like misshapen moles. “You came, dearie?”
“Y-Yes. Where’s Keith?”
The old witch grinned. “Ah, the boy with the gift of health? The one that just pleaded with all his might for me to take back the curse?” Violet nodded. “He got what he wanted. I took the gift back . . . but I‘m afraid he is now deathly ill.”
All color drained from Violet’s face. “W-Where is he?”
Madam Mallyna motioned for Violet to follow down the hallway, with an elegant gesture. Violet nodded and followed. Down the hallway they went, past unknown entrances and secret exits, beyond nightmares and hellish things, and into the end room, where a young man lay, in a feverish sickness she couldn’t name. He looked ghastly yellow, a cold sweat over his body. His clothes didn’t fit, more than a few sizes too big, and his joints stuck out like an ailing old man. Violet gave a wail and dove to her best friend, feeling his burning forehead, trying to quiet his quivering lips.
“Keith! Oh, Keith . . . Keith.” She stroked his hollow cheek, remembering it’s once soft, almost babyish feel. When she found that Madam Mallyna stood behind her, Violet whirled around, teary-eyed yet as fierce as a fiery furnace. “Heal him! Heal him now!”
The witch gave a crooked grin, baring her rotten teeth as holey as the picket fence outside, and shook her head. “No. He has bargained with me already.”
“Bargain?” she snapped. “Bargained what?”
“His health away,” Madam Mallyn walked among the things in the room as if she floated. “He bargained his life away!”
Violet looked down to her sickened friend, his chest barely rising, his eyes rolling in a vehement nightmare. She wrapped her spindly fingers around his hand, stroking it gently. Silently, she turned back to the old witch, her hands tightly around his. “Madam,” she said softly, holding down the urge to cry, “what may I bargain for to make---to make him well again?“ Tears fell like raindrops down her cheeks. “Just normal . . . just Keith Welks.”
Madam Mallyna rolled the proposition around in her head for a moment, running her sickly black tongue over her teeth and lips. After a while, her yellow eyes darted back to the quivering young woman. “In exchange for your friendship. It must be very powerful if you are willing to sacrifice anything for him.”
Violet nodded, afraid. Loose her only friend in the world? That would mean she’d be alone . . . but she’d be alone either way. Either with his death, or with their friendship terminated. Oh, how ironic life was. Tightening her grip on his hands, he looked into his feverish eyes and nodded. “Alright. Yes. Yes I will.”
The Madam grinned. “Perfect. Now, remember these terms, since a friendship can always rebuild. You can never be friendly with him, you cannot ever smile at him, and most of all,” her grin turned into an impish smile, “you may never look into his eyes again. Let this time be your last,” she waved her hand towards the boy. “Awake!”
Without another word, Keith snapped his eyes open, out of feverish dream, out of unhealthy sickness. Muscles suddenly swarmed over his protruding bones until he looked as fit as a professional baseball player, and as tan as one too.
Violet snapped back, somewhat surprised at the sudden change, then pressed her hand on her heart and sighed. Stupid witch. Stupid magic.
As if a fissure had guided them, his wonderful blue eyes turned to hers, and she drank them all in, for the last time. For the first, and last time. His hands slipped over hers, and he squeezed them tightly, in a quiet thank you, a quiet I’m sorry at the same time.
Within the moment, she saw his recognition of her fade in his eyes, and his grip quelled just the same. Violet looked into the eyes of a stranger the next moment. In sorrow, she diverted them quickly and stood. Madam Mallyna had vanished.
“Why am I here?” Keith asked, looking about, then looked to her for answers. “Violet Bones? What are you doing here? Where am I?”
“You fainted,” Violet replied in a distant voice. “I carried you into this house, but you’re okay now, right?”
“A bit woozy, but okay.” He stood and brushed his shoulder-length dirty blonde hair from his face. Violet didn’t dare to look upon him, to see what was lost of her best friend, and what remained. “So, I’ll be going.” He began out of the room when he turned back, “Oh, and thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” She replied, following him out of the house. Then they parted ways. She went left, he went right. Surely never to meet again.
It wasn’t so.
The next day was the prom.
Violet waded along the people in elegant dresses and stunning tuxedos. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of a ravishingly handsome young man, dancing with the steps she had taught Keith, dancing with his dream girl. His Celia. Violet had to smile, there wasn’t anything else she could do. Only smile and watch the couples dance the night away while she stood over to the side with the rest of the loners. Most were picked off, taken into the swirls of colors and beautiful people, dancing, trotting, laughing until their were sore with exhaustion. And even then they danced on.
Soon, she was the only one left, in her multi-colored home-made dress and many ribbons. She was elegantly weird, her mother put it, but she was herself, and that was all that mattered. Taking a seat finally, she lowered her eyes as a group of preps walked around to her. Keith was with them, his arm intertwined with Celia’s.
“Oh look,” Celia grinned, “where’s your date Violet?”
“He left,” she lied, sitting straight in her chair, her chin out. From experience, she knew not to show fear to the likes of Celia and her gang. “He had . . . other obligations.”
“Pity,” Keith said, grinning to Celia, “but didn’t he have a good time? After all, there are only two proms in your lifetime.”
Violet put on a fake smile. “Yes, yes. Of course. Only two . . .” Diverting her eyes from the group, she let them travel to the dancing mob in the center. They were waltzing, a couple trying the Vietnamese Waltz, laughing and tripping together. When she noticed Celia’s group staring and whispering at her, she cleared her throat and stood. “Excuse me, please. I need refreshments.”
“She needs more then that,” Celia whispered. Even Keith grinned at that. “Maybe a life? I heard that she didn’t have a date to begin with!”
Violet stopped for a moment, playing with the idea to slap her, but decided against it, and kept walking.
“I think she’s just a poor, pitiful fool, waiting for her meaning in existence. If she even has one, right Keith? You knew her.”
“Once,” Keith replied, “a while ago.” But he didn’t say any more. Violet was somewhat glad he hadn’t lost all of his decency. They followed her to the refreshment table, talking and laughing about her and everything about her.
Finally Violet turned to face Celia, but miscalculated the turn and bumped straight into her. Maybe it was an accident, or maybe it was on purpose, but Celia’s hand came up and knocked Violet’s cup of punch onto her dress, spilling it over the multitudes of colors. At first, Celia gasped at the horrible stain, then hid a smile under her cupped hands and giggled.
“Oops! I’m so sorry, but like, I think it gives your dress more flavor, don’t you agree?”
Violet stared to the stain in her dress without a word, then looked soundlessly to Celia.
“What? Sad that your ugly dress is, like, more tasteful now?” the prep gave a monstrous grin and snuggled tighter with Keith, who stared at the punch monotonously. “Well, don’t you agree my sweetie?”
Keith shook his head to rid himself of staring and nodded. “It’s orange now, that’s for sure.” He looked to the stain again. “Maybe bleach will get it out?”
“Maybe,” Violet muttered, remembering the old hag’s rules, “but it’ll also take out the stupid color in everything else!” It hurt her tongue to spit with such venom, but it must’ve worked, seeing his handsome face harden. “Now excuse me,” shoving the horde out of her way, she retreated to her spot on the sideline, watching Keith and Celia swirl and collide and smile while she dabbed her stain with a horde of napkins. First softly, then harder as she watched them longer, farther, deeper. A perfect match, she thought ruefully, I guess the witch did something right then . . .
Before she could object, tears came to her eyes, ran down her cheeks, and her shoulder shuddered at the thought of loneliness. Utter loneliness. How was this a price to pay for life? She didn’t know, but knew now the extent of Madam Mallyna’s bargain. She’d never be able to laugh with Keith, to talk with him, to dance with him . . . to love him. She’d never get any of those chances she had been dreaming about. Flashes of the nights in the basement ran through her head, the beautiful nights where they danced to no one rules, no one‘s watchful eye. It was their personal prom, and it would never come again.
The coldness eating at her was unbearable, unfathomable once she thought of the warm days she’d spend without him. Summer shone almost upon them, nice relaxing days without school, without worry . . . and she would be there to spend them alone. Alone.
Burying her face into her white gloves, she tried to stop her confounded crying, especially at the prom, but her tears wouldn’t stop. The laughter in her ears wouldn’t stop. Celia and Keith, dancing the night away together, in harmony unmatched. Just as Keith wanted it, just as he’d wished his life away for. Keith got what he wanted, but she didn’t. Everything she wanted was stolen from her, from her grasp. A part of her wanted him to fall dead that moment, to die in Celia’s arms, but another let it go, that half let everything go. Uncovering her face, she sighed and hung her head. At least he’s finally happy . . . happy and healthy.
“May I have this dance?”
Violet snapped her eyes open to meet an outstretched hand with a handkerchief in it, laced in poka-dotted ribbon, her initials in a corner. Trailing the hand to the black-tux arm, to the strong chest, to the head, she gasped. Keith bent to her, his expression somewhat open, somewhat unsure. “What are you--- aren’t you with ---”
“Celia? I told her I would get her a drink, but I found you here crying instead. Is it because of that stain? . . . Or something else?” By the hesitant tone in his melodic voice, Violet knew it took a lot of courage to come over here, especially when his life was on the line. She’d make sure he’d live to see another day out of a plastic bubble.
“My dress. It took ages to make and now look.”
“Ah, and you’re afraid that no one will ask you to dance now?”
“ . . . Yes,” she didn’t know if that was the right or wrong answer. Hopefully he’d back away, get drinks, and go back to the waiting princess. He didn’t. Keith looked as if he could care less about the girl of his dreams.
Maybe Celia wasn’t that fabled girl at all.
Gingerly, he took her hand and helped her stand. “Then let me be your partner, for one song.” A new song just began, one that Violet had played in the basement while she taught her best friend to dance. Maybe this was a sign? But how? Their friendship was terminated, forgotten.
Violet found herself being led into the swirling people by the most beautiful young man she’d ever seen in her life. A man with a hint of mystery, a hint of magic, and just a speck of friendship, but when he took her by the waist and began to waltz, the speck ignited into an inferno, in his eyes, in his smile, in his body. Everything suddenly felt open, welcome with this dancing stranger.
They danced all sorts of waltzes, capturing the hearts of everyone who watched. The foxtrot, the shag, the quickstep . . . even the Vietnamese Waltz was no match for them. Their feet went as one, swirling, twirling within an atmosphere of colors and lights and perfumes of all exotic sorts. One song migrated to two, then three, and soon both lost any recognition of how many songs or the time. The best dancers couldn’t have competed with them that night, for they were flawless, as one. Perfect as one.
“Vivi?” His voice finally awoke her from her trance. She spun to him, careful not to look into his eyes.
“Yeah?” Another dizzying swirl to bring her to him, then their eyes met to her great horror.
“I’m sorry.” His dance was still as strong as before, his eyes unwavering from hers. Was he getting sick? Had the witch lied? No, the old hag couldn’t lie. It was a bargain! He placed his forehead against hers, she finally noticing how tall he actually was, how slender and wiry he had shrank to, how fit for a life of dancing he always should have been. Strong enough to hoist her into the air, yet slender enough to take any dance in strides. Their eyes never left each other as she figured this out. The magic never lost its realism. “I’m so sorry . . .”
“F-For what?” Violet asked, blushing. He was so cute, so dreadfully good-looking to be her best friend.
He pulled closer to her . . . closer still until she could feel his breath on her skin. “For not doing this sooner.”
In the mass of dresses and tuxedos, under the lights and stars of the night, their lips met with the temptation to hold forever. It almost was forever, to Violet, a very long time at least. Their kiss sent swirls of unseen magic through the air, unseen fantasy, unseen poison to the witch. They had found a way around her bargain, the great wish-maker, found a way around and above it all.
And when they parted, Keith smiled to her, one of those old smiles that she loved, and she too gave her best smile, then kissed him again.

End.