#llfl

"We didn't have a bet on this!" Hero said, "You can't just going around saying I owe you money when people behave like themselves." Balthazar snorted, and gave Ursula a high-five.

"Anyway," they said, "Here's Wonderwall." They were actually playing Sigh Not So, in a rather pointed attempt to make her feel better. Hero attacked-tickled them to make them stop as the football team ran onto the field and began doing warmups. She managed not to look at Claudio til the game began.

"You know," Meg said, as the ball got lost in the initial tussle, "I think I've dated thirty percent of the current football team."

"Really?" Balthazar asked, "Wouldn't that be fractional? There are eleven of them."

"Ah!" Meg said, "I counted Robbie."

"That's still fractional," Hero said, glad to be thinking about someone else's lovelife, "If you've dated four that's 33,3 percent."

Meg waved a hand languidly. "Close enough."

"I've only dated twenty-five percent," Balthazar, "You're still winning."

"Tony," Hero said, "Pedro, and - other Tony?"

"No, I've never dated other Tony. He really needs a better nickname, doesn't he?"

At that point, Beatrice and Ursula, who were actually paying attention to the game, stood up and cheered fit to burst eardrums.

"Tony who actually pays attention to soccer games, maybe," Beatrice said as she sat down, "Balthy dated Gus, didn't you?"

"Yup," Balthazar said, "So he came and cried on me about Cleo." Hero felt her shoulders tensing again, and tried to relax them. She needed to stretch.

She panted at the end of the dance, and wiped her face as the teacher gave critique. Thank heavens for ballet. Her feet might bleed, her lungs might labour, but her mind stilled.

For a few glorious moments she could think of nothing but the dance. Beatrice disapproved. Beatrice thought that surely ballet would be bad for her fragile cousin.

But it was a pain she could deal with. A pain she expected. She'd known going in that it would be like this. Unlike Claudio.

She stripped off her tights and changed into street-clothes. She tended to her battered feet. It felt like taking off armour. Like clipping her wings. As if she were inviting some idiot with a car to run her over.

She washed her face and redid her makeup. Put her hair up. She was the last one out; she always was. She put her shoes on and walked out the door, bag in hand. The Bs were waiting for her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Beatrice asked, as Hero threw her bag in the back of Ben's car. "This way, I mean?"

"I owe him this much," Hero said, and buckled her seatbelt.

"That's the thing," Benedick said, putting the car in gear, "You don't owe him anything."

"He's a little so-and-so who doesn't know anything about anything," Beatrice said, and the terrible British accent didn't hide her concern. Hero laughed.

"It kills two birds with one stone," she said.