"𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝑨𝒌𝒊 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒛𝒊𝒆𝒔."
"𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝑫𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒂𝒏."
When forced to move from the Bronx to the upper east side, where his aunt, uncle and cousin reside...
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"You want me to be a cava– what?"
Montero asked as he and Monet entered the ballroom.
"A cavalier. How do you not know what that is? We're literally related." she wondered, glancing at the other girls in attendance.
His eyes narrowed at her, knowing that she knew the reason why.
"Okay, poor choice of words. But didn't they do this kind of stuff at The Bronx Academy?" she asked, clutching her purse a bit closer as someone walked past them. Montero tilted his head, eyes still narrowed at her question.
"You have no idea what The Bronx Academy actually looks like, do you?"
"It has the name academy in it. I just assumed it held value." she admitted while looking down at his shoes. "Amongst other things, but clearly I made a mistake."
Montero looked down at his shoes. "Ouch. What's wrong with my shoes?"
"Oh, nothing. Just remind me to take a look at Daddy's closet before you make your appearance tonight."
"I never agreed to this little-debbie-event-thing," he motioned around the room, glancing at the girls in poufy skirts.
"It's called a debutante."
"Whatever! I'm not dressing up in a suit to dance with some bald girl that I don't even know."
"Montero, please. I need you." Monet looked at the curly-haired boy, head tilting as her puppy dog eyes stared into his soul.
Montero had a soft spot for Monet. Once upon a time they were the most important people in each other's lives.
"Oh my– fine. Fine. But you gotta stop calling me Montero."
"Deal."
"Also, I don't own a suit."
"Oh, I was counting on it." She forced a smile, parting ways with her relative.
—
Rehearsals for the debutante had been going on for about an hour now and Montero eagerly waited to be relieved from his duties. The waltzing wasn't a problem because he had background knowledge on it, the problem was the bald girl that he was partnered with.
Every time they took a step, she took a step on his shoes. The first time was excusable, it was an accident. The second time, fine. The third, fourth, and fifth time, started to feel like a personal attack.
Their instructor was directing the waltz, telling them when to open up, went to curtsey, went to bow, and finally they were waltzing again.
They did as she instructed. Julien's grip on Montero loosened up by this time, she began to feel comfortable with the instructions and the dance. She hadn't even stepped on his shoe this time, which she thought was commemorable.
