Ruthie was the talk of the school for the next few days, though she tried to put it out of her mind and focus only on her drama dialogue, the dance, and the spring play, which had finally been announced. It seemed Ms. Piper had been having a little trouble with the administration on this issue.

"Okay, guys," she said. "I know there's been some stuff going on with a few of the students in this class." She gave Elliott, Ruthie, Gordon, Brett, and even Amelia a look, before looking at the rest of the class once more. "I need you to leave that outside, okay? I have some things to tell you.

"I came here because I needed a job fast, and Warren High needed a teacher fast, so it's not necessarily the best fit, ideologically speaking, you understand?"

Ruthie thought it funny that most of the class nodded even though they probably had no clue what "ideologically" meant.

"So, I had a few ideas for what I wanted to do this spring, including To Kill A Mockingbird, Diary of Anne Frank, The Life of Brian, Wicked, or even something more out there, but," and here she paused, drawing a deep, tired breath, "we couldn't come to an agreement."

Ruthie sat up at the titles mentioned, even though Ms. Piper said they'd all been nixed. It was amazing that she'd even tried. Warren would never go for a play about racism, rape, Nazis, Jews, a play that made fun of the life of our savior Jesus Christ, or witches.

"I honestly don't know what I was thinking," Ms. Piper said, shaking her head.

"I don't either," Ruthie said without thinking.

Ms. Piper glanced at her, tired amusement in her brown eyes.

"Please keep your editorializing to yourself, Ms. Barakat-Grimaldi," she said with a dry smile.

"Sorry," Ruthie answered, making a locking motion in front of her mouth, and then a tossing away the key gesture.

"So, I finally just let the school board pick the spring play, and they decided on Les Misérables," she told us. "At least that's what I think they chose. I'm not exactly sure, because quite a few of the school board members said 'La Miserelle,' and I don't know what that is. But they kept talking about Jean Valjean and Cosette, so it must be." She smiled wickedly at the class, and Ruthie and Elliott were a few of the students who were brave enough to laugh out loud.

"Anyway, they said something about there being a lot of good singers at the school, because of all the churches?" Ms. Piper continued. "And they especially mentioned Susan Cornell? One of the board member's granddaughters? I guess she goes to school here, but isn't in this class, right? But she has an amazing voice, and is a soprano, so she should make a good Cosette." Poor Ms. Piper sounded almost bored, Ruthie noticed.

"So class. In spite of my bad attitude, which I promise will be gone by Monday, it's a lovely play, with plenty to do for everyone. It has a huge cast, and it's a huge production, lots of fun props and sets and costumes, so please, spread the word, okay? I didn't have a fall play on purpose, because I didn't know what I'd be walking into, what kind of talent pool I'd have. And I'm happy to say that you are so smart and talented, and I'm really going to enjoy working with you, I am."

Ms. Piper twisted her brown pony tail into a bun and secured it with the hair tie. "In fact, your dialogues are going so well that I was thinking of putting on a small show with them, in this room, what do you think?" She looked around for the class's reaction. "I've been timing you guys, and all of them come out to about an hour and fifteen minutes, which would put us at about an hour and a half altogether. And you guys are phenomenal, I think your parents and friends would love to see you. And, I think they'd love to pony up, say, five bucks apiece to see you," she added with a smile. "This would really help the drama club out, you know? Especially with our trip to New York in the spring?"

The class looked around with interest, thinking about performing their dialogues in front of an audience. Some looked scared, but some looked interested and were nodding.

"Well, think about it, okay? It wouldn't be until after the dance, anyway, so you have some time."

The dance. Or, as some were thinking of it, The Dance.

🎃🍁✨💃🏼🌙🎃🌙🎃🌙💃🏼💫🍁🎃

"So, I guess since I committed to you in front of people, including Cro-Magnon Man, I have to take you to this dance?" Elliott asked Ruthie as they were walking home. He had taken to calling Brett either "Cro-Magnon Man or "The Missing Link," much to Ruthie's amusement. She had warned him that he was going to slip up and call him this to his face and get beaten to a pulp, but he insisted, saying that seeing Ruthie laugh was worth the risk.

"I love how your little freckles move and bunch up around your nose and eyes," he said, touching the area with his forefinger. "It's absolutely adorable."

"Well, I guess you don't have to, if you don't want to," Ruthie said, looking at him in the slanting afternoon sunlight as she crunched the leaves under her boots. "But then on dance night, you'd have to see the complete opposite of that adorable thing you love with the freckles and the scrunching up thing," she informed him.

"The opposite?" he repeated.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "That would be where my eyes and nose get all red and puffy and my chin gets all wobbly and tears come dripping down my face? And snot? And all I do is sit in my room with Clarence Darrow and eat Ben and Jerry's and this special love cake that I make for myself when I'm really sad, that has, like a pound of butter and cream cheese in each little cake? And I get all bloated and sad."

"Oh, no," Elliott said, his voice melodramatic with sympathy, hooking an elbow around her neck and pulling her close. "That sounds absolutely awful, my beautiful little darling. We can't let that happen, can--" he stopped for a moment. "What was that last bit, though? About the cake? That sounded ace, actually? Tell me more about that?" He leaned in and kissed the side of her head, released her, and grasped her hand.

"So, um, what exactly are you wearing when you eat this rich, decadent, delicious sounding cake, then?" he asked, grinning at her and kissing her hand. He gave her a tiny lick between her knuckles, along with a chuckle, before lowering her hand. He raised his eyebrow suggestively and winked at her.

"If you happen to let a piece fall, do you pat it with your fingertip and lick it off?" he asked. "Or do you grasp it between your thumb and forefinger and retrieve it that way? And, and, is there icing?"

Ruthie yanked her hand from his, trying not to laugh. "You're such a jerk, Elliott Banks."

She shook her head, and Elliott nearly died at how her beautiful curls swayed about her head.

"Yes, yes, yes, you animal, you have to take me to the dance, okay?" Ruthie shouted, bending over, grabbing a handful of leaves and throwing them in his face. " You have to show up at my house with flowers, and a corsage, and preferably a vehicle, and take me to the dance, and dance every fucking dance with me, in between telling me how fucking gorgeous I am and sneaking me drinks of spiked punch to try and get me drunk so you can take me somewhere after in the vehicle I mentioned earlier and take advantage of me." She finally laughed, because she couldn't help it anymore. "And I might even let you, even though you're being a real disco stick at the mo."

At her words Elliott actually fell down laughing in the leaves.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'disco stick?'" he gasped.

Ruthie stood over him, hands on her hips.

"I did," she acknowledged.

"Oh god, I'm actually going to die," he managed to say, hands on his chest.

A couple of little kids came out of their house to stare at him.

"It's okay, guys," Ruthie assured them. "He's fine, he's just being stupid. Go on.

"Honest," she said. "Stuart, Lolly, he's okay, we're playing a game.

"Oh god, get up, Elliott, before their mom calls the police."

She grasped his arm, and hauled him up, though he was still laughing so hard he was having trouble breathing.

He was able to wave at Stuart and Lolly, however, and they went back in the house, small hands clasped, to tell their mother that the crazy teenagers outside were fine.

Ruthie and Elliott continued walking, hands clasped, looking a lot like the children they'd just left, as the sun sank lower.

"Where did you learn, uh, 'disco stick'?" Elliott asked, finally able to control his laughter.

Ruthie shrugged, laughing a little herself. "I don't know, online somewhere," she replied. "I just got tired of the same words, you know?" She turned to look at Elliott. "I read in Ruth Bader Ginsburg's biography that she used to have a notebook that she'd fill with common synonyms when she was at the library so she could build her vocabulary, and not sound dull, so she could sound more intelligent? One of the most intelligent women of the twentieth century did that, you know?" She was squeezing Elliott's hand as she spoke. "I just figured that, if RBG, the real RBG, with her amazing, busy life, with law school, a baby, a husband with cancer, all the cards stacked against her, had time to do that, surely I, her namesake, could google synonyms and learn a few words to not sound so stupid.

"I mean, I want you to know that I learned more than synonyms for penis," Ruthie said, her expression earnest.

Elliott stopped in his tracks and turned so he was blocking Ruthie's tracks. "You are just as real as Ruth Bader Ginsburg," he murmured as he put a hand on either of her cheeks. "And just as amazing, Ruthie Barakat Grimaldi."

He leaned in and kissed her, turning his head and seeking with his lips, touching the corners of her mouth with his thumbs, pressing gently and parting his lips slightly.

Ruthie let her backpack slide to the ground and put her hands on his hips so she could pull him closer. After a moment, she moved her mouth and chin so she was closer, and slid her her hands around to the back of him so she could pull that part of him closer as well. She felt his slight intake of breath, and she knew that having their torsos touch in this way excited him.

He was so thin that her hands met easily across the top of his jeans, and she pulled him firmly, felt his front curve over her as he moved his hands to wrap around her back.

Part of her was vividly aware that they were standing on the street half a block from her house in the middle of the afternoon, but the rest of her didn't care; after all, they were only kissing, their hands were in safe places as well?

She felt Elliott pulling his head away, heard and felt him murmuring, "Okay, okay," against her mouth. She felt the wonderful, warm exhalation as he pressed his hands against her back. "Okay, okay," he said again, pulling away a little more. "That's enough for now, enough for now," and the tiny prepositional phrase at the end was enough to curl her toes, it was such a turn on.

Wow.

Elliott stepped away, picked up her backpack with one hand and reached for her hand with the other.

They walked in silence to her house.

"I do have access to a vehicle, as it happens," Elliott said to Ruthie, turning to her as he released her hand and set her back down. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at 6:30 sharp, suitably attired for photographs and dinner and dancing at a high school dancing event, all right?"

"Yes," Ruthie replied. "Thank you, Elliott."

"See you tomorrow, then," he replied.

So the next day, at 6:30, Ruthie was ready. She knew that Gordon was going with Linda, just as friends, which was nice, and Pepsi was going with someone named Carlos from her church, who was supposed to be very nice. The only thing wrong with him was that he insisted on calling her Maria, which happened to be her real name, but not what anyone who knew her called her, ever.

"Pop, how does my hair look? And please give me some adjectives, okay? Don't just stand there and cry, that's not helpful," Ruthie admonished as she turned from her bathroom mirror.

"Oh, Rosebud, that's so unfair," Phil sniffed, holding his phone to take another picture. "Especially when you were dating that douchecanoe last year and we couldn't enjoy any of this, you know?"

Ruthie, who was trying to draw a line with an eyeliner, had to stop so she could laugh.

"Stop it!" she scolded, leaning on the counter. "Do you want me to look good, or do you want me to look like Elvira, Mistress of the dark? Come on, Pop, let me do this? And my hair? In the back?"

Phil just stared at her, speechless.

"Jesus, Pop, how do you litigate in front of the State Supreme Court? You're useless," Ruthie said, shaking her head. "Where's Dad?"

"He's just, um, cleaning up the entry a little so it looks okay for when Elliott comes to pick you up."

"You mean he's staging the entry," Ruthie corrected. "Oh god, you guys are so homosexual sometimes."

"Sorry, it's a genetic thing," Phil apologized.

Ruthie just shook her head and turned to him, arms outstretched. "Well? Yeah?" She waited, then just shook her head. "Forget it, I'll just ask Dad."

They both heard the doorbell.

"Perfect timing," Ruthie said with a laugh. "Come on, Pop, let's go."