Us Against the World

13. A Night of New Beginnings

Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On plays soothingly in the room as couples assemble to the floor. The singer's extraordinary voice fills the silence that had covered the colorfully illuminated space between songs and the chatter drops to polite silence once the dancing begins.

Riya and Felix are awkwardly standing beside each other. Once in a while, they lock gazes, then quickly look away. It's astonishing, truly, that Riya hasn't dragged him to the dance floor by now.

Aceline mulls by herself in the corner that I was originally standing in. She occasionally sips from a styrofoam cup of fruit punch, using it as her excuse to ignore the boys that approach her for a dance.

"Pardon me, Ezra." A tall, slender woman who radiates with elegance stops us as we're joining the group of dancing couples. She's dressed in a dark black gown that shimmers in the lights and her jewelry is loaded with diamonds. Her platinum blonde hair is curly and wrapped in a royal-like bun.

"Laura," Ezra responds, and I notice that his demeanor has changed. His eyes become steely and his grip on my hand tightens. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Can I not say hello to my old friend?" Laura says softly. Her night-colored gaze falls on me, and unlike the solace that a glimmering, dark sky brings me, I'm wrapped in a prickling blanket of hot condensation.

"Of course," Ezra grates. "But perhaps we can do this another time? I quite like this song."

"Oh, I know you do," Laura replies. She takes one last look at me, then departs, her unnaturally wide hips swaying as she goes.

Botox does wonders, I think, still studying the image of her face that I've captured in my mind. How much plastic surgery can one woman have?

"Apologies," Ezra says, turning to me. His hold on my hand loosens and he smiles shyly at me. "She's an old friend. I forgot she'd be here."

"What part does she sponsor?"

"The fashion department," Ezra responds. We weave our way through other rich sponsors and their dance partners, finding a secluded corner close to where Aceline is standing. She doesn't notice us, though, her eyes trained on the styrofoam cup in her hands.

"She doesn't like to dance?" I ask, gesturing with my chin towards his sister.

"Not since she lost her leg," Ezra explains. He puts both of his hands on my waist, allowing me to rest my arms on his much bigger ones. Slowly, we begin to sway to Celine Dion's fading voice.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, and my brain is burning with curiosity, begging me to ask him how she lost a leg, but I'm not going to open another Pandora's box. It's none of my business, no matter how itchy I am to know what happened.

Ezra doesn't seem to give much away, either. With a shrug, he says: "It was a while ago when we were still teenagers. She's used to her prosthetic leg by now, but it makes it difficult for her to dance." He peels his gaze away from me and briefly regards his sister. "She's strong. She uses projects to occupy herself."

"That's understandable," I say, reminiscing about all the surgeries that I've had in my life. Of the rods in my back and the multiple machines, I've used to aid my ailing health over the years.

Ed Sheeran beckons us into silence. Our sway is awkward and tense, mostly from myself and my lack of slow-dancing experience. I can't even count how many times I've stepped on Ezra's toes, and by the time Elton John takes the stage, I'm red and hot with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I mumble sheepishly, bending my head so he doesn't see my shame. "I'm not the best dancer."

"It's alright," Ezra replies dismissively. "You're not hurting me. Besides, these shoes are a bit old." He glances at his feet and wiggles the tip. "I don't mind getting them dirty."