And then he dipped me. Yes—actual dippage. And he winked. Yes—actual winkage.
"Come on, Gallagher Girl"—he spun me out and smoothly back—"relax a little."
From the side of the room, Madame Dabney smiled and made a mark on her clipboard.
But at that moment I was capable of doing anything but relaxing…
"Hey." We stopped dancing, and Zach shook me slightly. His voice was different. His eyes were different. He wasn't his legend as he said, "Gallagher Girl? You okay?"
Actually very little was okay…
Because my bra—you know, the strapless one—had come undone.
And things were starting to slide.
Just hours before, I'd thought that the most humiliating thing in the world would be to encounter your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend…Then getting saved by a Blackthorne Boy…Then finding out that the entire sophomore CoveOps class and two teachers had heard the whole thing.
But I was wrong.
The most humiliating thing in the world would be to have all of those things happen and then have your bra mysteriously snap open while dancing with the aforementioned Blackthorne Boy!
I was one good twirl away from disaster, yet Zach still had a hold of my waist; he was still staring into my eyes.
"I gotta go," I blurted, pulling away.
"Ms. Morgan!" Madame Dabney warned as she walked by.
"I mean," I said, turning back to Zach, "if you could excuse me for a moment." Zach didn't look like he wanted to excuse me—he looked like he honestly wanted to know what was wrong—but I just wanted to disappear and take my disobedient undergarment with me.
I started away again, but Zach held on to my hand.
"Thank you very much for the dance," I said, and pulled away.
I felt the bra slide another fraction of an inch with every step I took toward the doors. (The dress, thankfully, was staying right where it should.)
Liz came toward me and said, "Hello, I don't believe we've met. My name is Maggie McBrayer. I'm a vegetarian, and—"
"Not now, Liz," I whispered, and walked faster.
Near the doors I saw a group of eighth grade girls staring daggers at Macey, who Madame Dabney had forced to foxtrot with one of the eighth grade boys.
Mr. Solomon stopped me and asked which of the guests would most likely be concealing firearms, and it seemed like forever before I was able to slip into the empty foyer and dart up the stairs.
"Can I help you, Ms. Morgan?" Professor Buckingham asked as she appeared on the second floor.
"I just need to go up to my room for a minute, Professor," I said, starting to move around her. But despite her bad hip and arthritic fingers, she was still faster than a girl who was afraid that any sudden movements might send her bra out the bottom of her dress.
"Oh, I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Ms. Morgan," she said, blocking my path. "The headmistress said that all students are to remain downstairs during the examination."
"But—"
"No exceptions, Ms. Morgan," Buckingham warned me, and somehow I got the feeling that Patricia Buckingham was never the kind of operative to let a bra emergency stand in her way.
Well obviously Plan B was the bathroom just past the library, but halfway there I saw a door open, and Dr. Steve started walking toward me.
"Oh, excellent, Ms. Morgan … or shall I say Ms. St. James…" he added with a wink. "I was hoping—"
But I didn't have time for an excellent chat with Dr. Steve—not at all—because I could feel the bra making its way toward my waist. The Grand Hall doors stood open. Anyone could come walking out at any minute, so I blurted, "Sorry, Dr, Steve, I've got to go do … something," and then I did the thing that I do best: I disappeared. I went down a corridor that almost no one ever used and walked deep into the heart of the oldest part of the mansion.