Julia

On Saturday morning, when they knew Marie would be in her room (thanks to Emma), they stood outside her door with two coffees, one black and one with a frankly atrocious amount of cream and vanilla syrup. They texted Marie:

Jordan: look out your window

They had paid a supe with plant powers to grow roses spelling Marie, will you go to the dance with me? They just hoped it looked okay. Would it be horrible to ask for their money back if it was fucked up? Their phone buzzed. 

Marie: omg

Jordan grinned and knocked on the door. Marie opened it, looking far too cute in her pajamas. 

“Coffee, milady?” they asked, holding out the black coffee. (Another tip from Emma, Marie occasionally liked a flavored latte, but black coffee was her staple.)

Marie smiled shyly as she took the cup from them. 

“Well?” Jordan asked. “What do you say?”

Marie bit her lip. She took a sip of coffee. Jordan held their breath, then let it go. They really shouldn’t care this much. 

“Okay,” she said, finally. 

Jordan broke out into a smile that felt far too real. 

They were so fucked. 

“But,” Marie said, before they could fully absorb the victory, “I want to go on a date first.”

“Are you asking me out, Moreau?” they teased, “I accept.”

“You’re planning it,” she added. 

Jordan gave her a salute, “I better get started, then.” 

They leaned in quickly and kissed her cheek, then left as quickly as they could without running, feeling the blush rising to their cheeks and desperately needing to hide it from Marie. From everyone. Jordan Li did not blush. They were incapable. 

Apparently not. 

Marie and Emma were working on their homework side by side at their desks. Marie had wanted to move hers, but Emma had protested, saying they wouldn’t be able to hold hands while they studied. She hadn’t known Emma well enough to know if she was joking at the time. Now, Marie knows she wasn’t. 

Emma was editing something for one of her acting classes while Marie pretended to write an essay for Brink while really thinking about Jordan. And the dance. She had never been to a dance before, not even prom. Bloody Marie may have been a new nickname, but the sentiment was anything but. No one wanted to go to a dance with the girl who killed her own parents. 

Except Jordan Li, apparently. Because Marie had told them, she had vaguely remembered in the morning, and they had still asked. Ridiculously, with roses outside her window, in the most un-Jordan-like gesture she had seen from them yet. She never thought she would enjoy the whole promposal thing, but she had to admit it was kind of nice, knowing that Jordan cared enough to go to the trouble. It was proof, almost, that they really want to go to the dance with her. Not that Marie could picture Jordan really wanting to go to a dance at all. 

But they did. With her. 

“Em?” she asked. 

“Hm?” Emma moved one side of her headphones so she could hear. 

“Hypothetically,” Marie hedged, “If one was going to an event. Say, a dance or something. What would one wear?”

Emma removed her headphones fully, “Marie Millicent Moreau–”

“Not my middle name.”

“--do you mean to tell me you are going to the dance? Oh my god, this is amazing. We can go together! It’ll be so fun, I promise. Wait, is this your first dance?”

“No. I mean, yes. It’s my first dance. But I’m kind of… going with someone.” Emma gaped at her.

“I’m sorry! I figured you would be going with Sam! But I’ll ditch them. You and I can go.”

“So it is Jordan?” “What?”

“You said ‘them’. You’re going with Jordan!” Emma leaned forward precariously out of her chair and placed both hands on Marie’s shoulders.

“Maybe I was just trying to maintain my air of mystery,” Marie said. 

Emma raised her eyebrows. 

“Okay, yes,” Marie sighed, “I’m going with Jordan.”

“Oh my god!” Emma squealed. “Marie! I am so excited for you! Your first dance! And you have a date! We have to go shopping.” She reached over and shut Marie’s laptop. 

“Oh now?”

“Yes, now,” Emma urged, “Get up, c’mon!”

“Okay, okay,” Marie laughed, “So you are going with Sam then?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, ushering Marie out the door, “I mean. Probably. He hasn’t asked yet. But he will, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure he will,” Marie agreed, “And if he doesn’t, I’ll ditch Jordan and you and I can go together. And I’ll explode his dick.”

Emma laughed, “That won’t be necessary.”

“Fine. A finger then.” “Is that supposed to be better?”

“It’s less essential. He has nine others.” 

Neither Emma nor Marie had a car, so Emma made Marie call Jordan to take them. 

“Please, please, please, please!” Emma begged, “I want to meet them.” “You have met them,” Marie pointed out, “Let’s just take an Uber.”

“Look who’s suddenly made of money. C’mon what do you have a boyfriend-girlfriend for if not to drive you around?”

“They are not my boyfriend-girlfriend. We haven’t even been on a date.”

“If you don’t call them I’m not gonna help you figure out what to wear and then you’ll have to go to the dance naked,” Emma threatened. 

“Or I’ll just figure it out myself.”

“No! I want to go dress shopping with you!” Emma seemed about five seconds away from stamping her foot, which Marie told herself was the only reason she gave in. Marie laughed, “Okay, okay. I’ll call them. But if they don’t pick up, we are taking an Uber.” “Deal.”

Marie dialed the phone, silently begging Jordan not to pick up. Apparently, telepathy was not one of her powers because they picked up on the second ring.

“Just can’t get enough of me, huh, Moreau?” They said in lieu of a greeting.

“I… need to ask a favor.”

“Whatever my lady requires she shall receive,” Jordan said. 

“Since when are you such a dork?”

Jordan gasped, “Excuse me! You take that back.”

“I won’t.”

“So you don’t want that favor from me?”

Marie paused.

“Okay, I take it back. I need you to drive Emma and I to the mall. Please.”

“Sure,” Jordan said easily, “Now?”

“Um, yeah. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I’m not busy. I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Okay! Great, thank you!”

Great, thank you? What was this, a business email? Marie winced as she hung up. 

“You two are so cute,” Emma said, clutching her hands together and pressing them against her face. 

“Shut up.”

Marie had half expected Jordan to drop them off and drive away, but they parked and went in with her and Emma. Their knuckles brushed against each others’ in the parking lot, but neither quite had the courage to hold on. Marie didn’t, at least. Maybe Jordan hadn’t even noticed. 

But maybe they had. 

Emma had suggested red for Marie’s dress and Marie had allowed herself to be led to the correct section. She had no idea what she was looking for, honestly, so she allowed Emma to pull pieces for her. That’s what she called them. Pieces. It made Marie feel fancy, and a little pretentious. 

Emma pulled her into the dressing room and Jordan diligently followed, sitting on the bench outside without complaint. Marie came out in dress after dress, Emma alternately lacing and zipping her up. Then she stood in front of like, seven mirrors while Emma and Jordan offered helpful critiques. 

“Jordan, go get more,” Emma ordered, after what felt like hours, “This is the last one.”

Marie stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide what, exactly, was wrong with it. She tilted her head. The dress was stunning, tight down to her ankles where it flared out in a small train. It hugged her curves in a way that made Marie a little uncomfortable, but she had to admit it looked good. It was also covered in sequins. 

“I think it’s too sparkly,” she said, running her hands down the bodice. 

“No such thing,” Emma replied. 

“There is for me.”

The sales girl came back with several dresses in various shades of red. Jordan’s picks, presumably. 

“I wish my boyfriend would go dress shopping with me,” she giggled, “You have him well trained.”

“Oh–” Marie began, denial on the tip of her tongue. 

“Your hair is so soft,” she said, way too loudly considering how close her mouth was to his ear.

“Thanks. My mom says I need a haircut.”

Marie hummed and fell silent. In the elevator, Jordan placed Marie back on her feet. She leaned against the wall, head tipping back.

“No sleeping, Moreau,” Jordan reminded her.

“‘M not sleeping,” Marie protested, sleepy and a little sad. When she opened her eyes, Jordan could swear he saw tears collecting on her waterline.

“What’s wrong?”

Marie just shook her head. The elevator doors opened on her floor. Jordan wrapped a hand around Marie’s waist and led her out. Her head tipped onto his shoulder.

“C’mon, Marie. Why’d you get all sad on me?”

“Are you close with your mom?”

“Not really. It’s complicated. You?”

“My mom’s dead.”

Jordan stopped. The hallway was quiet and still. Marie’s head was still on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“I killed her. And my dad.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know I had powers until my first period. I couldn’t control the blood. My mom came in and the blood went right through her body. I screamed and my dad ran in, same deal.”

“I killed my grandpa with my powers.”

Marie picked her head up and looked at him. “Really?”

“No.”

And for some reason, Marie laughed. Jordan smiled. They had been sure they’d fucked that one up. Maybe the concussion was working in their favor. They reached Marie’s door and she checked three pockets before she found her key.

“Well…” she said, fiddling with the key, “Thanks for getting me home alive.”

There was a clattering sound as the key slipped through her fingers. They both bent to grab it at the same time. Jordan shifted quickly to avoid a repeat head injury and picked up the key. She handed it to Marie.

“Thanks.” Marie stepped closer. She bit her lip. Jordan looked down at the movement. Marie leaned in.

And Jordan leaned back.

Marie froze, opening her eyes, “Oh. Sorry, I —”

“Marie,” Jordan sighed, “You’re drunk. We shouldn’t…”

“Right,” she said quickly, “I get it. Totally. Message received.”

“Wait, Marie.” Jordan grabbed her wrist, but Marie pulled away. “Marie!”

She shut the door in their face.

Marie was already in bed when Emma got home. The room lit up with light from the hallway and then fell dark again. Then Emma was climbing into Marie’s bed.

“Oof, Emma, what’re you doing?” Marie mumbled, fuzzy with sleep and alcohol and her concussion.

Emma wormed her way under the blanket, “I had the best night ever.”

Emma settled into the miniscule space between Marie's body and the wall. Marie sighed and let her get comfortable, having learned long ago that arguing with Emma was a waste of time. Especially when it came to her understanding of personal space.

"How's your head?" she asked.

"It hurts. But I'll live."

"I kissed Sam," Emma said abruptly.

Marie sighed. "Emma..."

"I know, I know. But I think he's different. I think he really likes me."

"That's what you said about Liam,” Marie reminded her, aiming for gentle but not quite sure she hit the mark. She wound an arm around the other girl to soften the blow.

“I know. But I think I really like him. I think he's a good guy. Like actually."

"Look, I don't know him. He could be amazing. I just don't want you to get hurt again if he's not."

"I know. You're the best. And you're my best friend."

"You're mine, too."

" I love you," Emma sang into her ear.

Marie rolled her eyes at the dark."I love you, too."

Jordan woke up with a headache and two text messages.

Sam: My brother and his friends and I are getting breakfast at Bridget's Diner, if you want. As payment for last night.

Sam: Also, you need to take Marie to the dance.

Jordan typed out two quick replies.

Jordan: i'll be there

Jordan: what dance

Then they groaned and rolled out of bed.

Jordan wanted to hate Luke so badly, but they couldn't. He was just such a genuinely good guy. Which made the want even stronger. He had everything. The powers, the rank, the money,

the girl. The offer to join the Seven. It wasn't official official, but from the way he talked about it, and the way Cate kept smiling sadly at him, it might as well be. The only upside was that Num­ber One would be up for grabs once he was gone. But would the Seven take two kids from Godolkin in two years? Jordan would just have to prove they were worth it.

Cate was a little disconcerting, with her piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde hair. She looked at them like she was reading their mind like a book. And maybe she was. She snapped a picture of their food and asked Jordan for their handle and it all felt a little transactional. Not that Jordan should be judging on that point.

Andre was nice enough. although he kept eyeing up their wait­ress. He was a nepo baby through and through, but at least he knew it.

"So, Sam, are you asking that girl you like to the dance?" Cate asked, looking slyly at Sam.

Sam's cheeks tinged pink. "Maybe."

"You should," Luke chimed in. "Didn't she kiss you last night?"

“Yeah,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Good for you, man." Jordan said, "And just last night you were convinced she didn't like you."

Cate looked between Jordan and Sam quizzically, as if they were a crossword clue she couldn't figure out.

"What dance are we talking about?" Andre asked. Jordan was glad someone else had brought it up. She hadn't wanted to seem clueless in front of the others.

"The winter gala. It's some fundraiser," Cate said, stirring her coffee. "Because god knows this school needs more money. Anyway, some of the board members might go and there's a rumor the Deep will make an appearance, so we should all go."

She looked to Jordan. "Are you going?"

Jordan swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Um. I guess."

"You were going to ask Marie, right?" Sam said.

Jordan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah."

"Bloody Marie?" Andre asked. "Good luck. She's kind of a bitch."

"You just think that be­cause she turned you down." Cute said, poking him in the cheek with a perfectly manicured nail.

“She's got good taste, then,” Luke said, “I'm sure she'll say yes."

Jordan bit her lip. “Maybe. I think she's mad at me, though."

"Why?" Sam asked.

“Uh... long story."

"She'll say yes." Cate said, “You just need a big gesture."

"Marie does not seem like a grand gesture kind of girl," Jordan protested.