Though Elle was the one the boys talked about she had a way of flicking her hair, sharpening her eyes and laughing that kept them at bay. The day she asked Marco if he’d take her to the dance he thought he might be dreaming. He said yes before he’d remembered Polly. They were just friends really. She’d understand.

The night of the dance they arrived late, Elle having made a point of re-doing her immaculate hair. All eyes followed them—followed her—up the stairs until a scream ahead drew their attention away. Unused to her heels Loni Hendricks had taken a nasty fall. Marco stooped to help her. He felt a tug on his arm. ‘Leave her.’

As Elle and Marco passed their fallen classmate Polly, a qualified first aider, glanced up then refocused on Loni’s ankle. ‘Nothing’s broken,’ she said, but she wasn’t so sure.

 

(this is an edited version of the story published on this day, 2010. See about small stories about love)

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