Perfect Mistake (Privilege 3)

She turned to go.

"Wait."

Ariana smiled to herself. Her heart warmed as he slipped his strong arms around her from behind. At least he did her the courtesy of showing her he wasn't yet ready for her to leave.

"Just tell me it'll be soon," he whispered in her ear. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I think about you all the time and all I want is to be with you. To eat lunch with you, share a study carrel in the library with you, do . . . other things with you . . . ," he added suggestively.

Ariana closed her eyes and let his perfect words rush over her. "Really?" she said, turning around to face him. She lifted his hand so it was palm to palm with hers, then laced their fingers together. "That's all you think about?"

"Don't you?" he asked, looking almost hurt. "I just want to be able to walk across campus with you holding your hand. I want to tell everyone you're my girl." He leaned back and raised his eyebrows. "You are my girl, aren't you?"

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Ariana felt as if her shoes had just left the floor, like she was actually floating. "Yeah," she said with a smile. "Yeah, I'm your girl."

He squeezed her hand, then lifted the other and held it the same way. "Then tell me it'll be soon."

Ariana smiled. "Soon," she promised, her heart feeling warm and fuzzy and free. "Very soon."

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TENSION

"Where're you going?" Kaitlynn asked Ariana as she opened the door of their room that night at exactly 8 p.m. She had estimated that it would take seven minutes for her to get from her room to the dance studio, and she wanted to be fashionably late, but also didn't want to miss out on a single moment of the action. Which meant she had to leave now."Nowhere you need to know about," Ariana said, starting through the door.

Kaitlynn shoved herself up off her bed. "You're doing something with them, aren't you?" she said, reaching for her jacket. "I'm coming."

Ariana took a deep breath and steeled herself. "No, you're not."

"Why not?" Kaitlynn said in a challenging tone.

Ariana felt as if she were dealing with a child. A small, petulant child. But that was the problem with the insane. It was always "me,

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me, me" with them. Ariana made a note to remember this when dealing with Kaitlynn from now on. It was just too bad she couldn't put the girl a on permanent time--out.

"Because this is invitation only, and you were not invited," Ariana explained slowly.

"So get me an invitation," Kaitlynn replied.

"I will. I'm getting you an invitation to the NoBash. But in order to do that, it's imperative that you don't start coming off as a needy loser," Ariana said with a sickly sweet smile. "So tonight, I suggest you stay in. See ya!"

She slammed the door of their room, leaving Kaitlynn fuming behind her. As she traipsed out the back door of Wolcott Hall, her head was held high and a triumphant smile played about her lips. Kaitlynn, for once, had not gotten her way.

Ariana arrived at the door of the school's dance studio at exactly 8:08, having been delayed by Kaitlynn for that one minute. The studio was directly across the hallway from the choral room, where the school's select choir was busy running scales, rehearsing for their first concert of the year. Further down the well--lit, marble--floored hallway Ariana could hear a string quartet playing Vivaldi and a guitar plucking away at some antiwar tune from the 1960s. A lone soprano sang a haunting aria that wafted above the other music, asserting itself in the melee.

Ariana took a deep breath. It was such beautiful noise. Such a far cry from the screaming and ranting of the Brenda T. She could listen to it all night long and simply revel in the fact that she was here.

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But she had other business to attend to.

Slowly, Ariana opened the door of the dance studio, unsure of what she was going to find. A huge, raucous party? A sophisticated dessert--and--wine gathering? Some kind of Bachelorette--style event designed to find Lexa a new beau? (She hoped not, considering she had already chosen one for her.) As soon as she stepped inside, her senses were filled with the scent of eucalyptus and the air rushed in

on her like a humid embrace. The pinging sound of soothing spa music tickled her earlobes. An African--American woman in an ocher--colored tunic stepped forward and smiled in a welcoming way.

"You must be Miss Covington. I'm Satia, your masseuse for the evening."