Before (The Sensitives) - By Dawn Rae Miller Page 0,2

to be all over the gossip feeds tonight.”

He wiggles his hand at me. “Better say ‘yes’ before I change my mind.” His eyes sparkle and the dimple in his cheek sinks a little deeper. When he looks at me like this, I can’t control the rapid beating of my heart.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But if the cameras attack, I’m done.”

I place my hand lightly on his and let Beck guide me to the dance floor. He bows low and I curtsey, taking care to hold my dress out on each side as Ms. Jensen, our music and dance teacher, has taught me.

He takes my hand and leads me through the first set of steps. “If the cameras come too close, I don’t have any snowballs to fire at them.”

I giggle. At school, Beck and my housemates have made a game out of pelting the cameras with snowballs. “Just don’t step on my toes, and I’ll be fine.”

With all the other couples around us, I don’t feel exposed. We’re just another couple.

Dancers swirl past us, keeping beat with the frenzied music. Beck’s hand presses against the small of my back and his fingers tighten around my hand. Step, step, step, twirl, shuffle left, step, twirl, shuffle right. We keep the appropriate amount of distance between our torsos, taking care to touch only where absolutely necessary. We don’t need people gossiping about how we flaunt the rules.

My toes cramp, reminding me that I should have practiced dancing in these shoes before actually having to do it. Balancing on my tiptoes while performing the rapid moves proves to be more challenging than I expected.

“The way that bow flutters off your shoulder reminds me of a bird,” Beck says, dipping his head toward mine so that his mouth grazes my ear. His breath feels warm against the side of my face and I shudder a tiny bit. “Birdie.”

He laughs.

Step. Step. Spin. “What?”

“Birdie. That’s what I’m going to call you.”

I tilt my face up to his, but he’s staring off past my shoulder. “I didn’t realize I needed a nickname.”

Flashes of crimson, gold, eggplant, and emerald whirl past. Next to them, my dress must look dull. Shimmering ecru with a thick, black band along an assymetric hem that exposes my knees. It’s not brilliant, but as my best friend Kyra proclaimed, it’s stunning. Or at least I hope it is.

“Everyone needs a nickname. Birdie.” The word rolls off his tongue.

I shift my weight as he spins me beneath his arm. When he catches my free hand, I squeeze it hard. “So

I should come up with a nickname for you?”

He laughs again. “I’m bigger than a nickname, don’t you know?

“Kyra’s going to love this.” She finds Beck and me nauseating as it is. I can only imagine what she’s going to say about the nickname.

The music changes to a round-robin dance. Beck raises his eyebrows and I shake my head. Dancing with Beck is one thing; dancing with a stranger is something else. We rest along the far wall, in a space all of our own, as if no one dares get too close to us. But I don’t care. Let them leave us alone. I don’t need anyone but Beck.

A gentle ringing of a bell announces the end of the dancing hour and the start of the formal dinner. Beck holds out his arm in the appropriate manner and I accept. I keep my shoulders back and head high, just like I’ve seen Mother do during broadcasts of State events. Maybe if I pretend to feel confident, I can make it true.

As we walk toward our assigned seats, a hush falls over the room. Next to me, Beck stiffens and when I glance at him from the corner of my eye, I notice the hard set of his jaw. My stomach plummets. This isn’t anything like dancing. This is being the center of attention. And I hate it.

“It’s okay, Lark,” he whispers as my breathing becomes shallow and rapid. “They just want to get a good look at us.”

I should be used to this, but I’m not. All our lives, we’ve lived in the public eye, our every move documented by annoying gossip feeds. But never have we made a room go silent.

“Table Ten?” Beck asks me.

I keep a smile plastered on my face, but my fingers dig into his forearm. “Yes.”

He leads me away from the tables where the most distinguished guests sit, past the foreign dignitaries, and toward the back of