Page 47 of The Dazzling Heights
“Back the hell off, Watt,” Leda snapped. She stormed away, her shoulders drawn up defensively, her movements injured and angry.
I give up,he told Nadia.How can I ever make that girl trust me? I don’t evenlikeher!
You don’t like most people, Nadia pointed out ruthlessly.
Watt sighed and turned around, only to see that he was standing quite close to Avery Fuller.
She was as resplendent as always in a draped strapless gown. Her hair was combed back into a low twist, showing off the perfect symmetry of her face, which was currently creased in puzzlement as if she couldn’t fathom why Watt would be here, or couldn’t even remember who he was. Watt realized with a start that Avery probably hadn’t thought about him a single time since that night. God knows he hadn’t been sitting around pining after her, either—he didn’t want her anymore, now that he knew she was with her brother—but he’d at least wondered what had happened to her, whether she was okay. Yet here she was, blinking at him as if she’d forgotten his very existence.
Watt suddenly understood what Leda had meant earlier, about feeling used by the people she cared about. Had he ever meant anything to Avery, or was he just another attempt at distracting her from her feelings about her brother?
“Hi, Watt. You look great,” she said, with a smile toward his tux: which she had helped him pick out, and which he’d bought in a pathetic, misguided attempt at impressing her.
For some reason, Watt was irritated with her for bringing up the afternoon they’d gone tux shopping together. How did she expect him to reply, anyway—was he supposed to tell Avery that she looked great too? As if she didn’t already know that.
“Thanks, I guess,” he said wearily.
“What brings you here tonight?” Avery pressed, evidently still confused.
“Leda brought me.”
Avery sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. She’s trying to get back at me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Watt was getting really sick of these highliers and their oblique statements.
Avery glanced down, fiddling with a bracelet to avoid looking at him. “She brought you here as a dig at me—because everyone remembers that I asked you to the University Club party, and now when they see you with Leda they’ll think she stole you from me,” she said miserably.
Watt was stunned. Part of him felt appalled by Avery in that moment, at how utterly self-centered her view of the world was, even as another part of him recognized that she was probably right.
“I’m sure you’re not here alone tonight either, are you?” he heard himself ask, wondering who her next victim was.
Avery looked back up at him. “I came with Cord, but we’re just friends.”
“You should probably double-check that Cord knows that,” he shot back, surprisingly angered. “Because I happened to miss that particular memo, about the real reason Avery Fuller asks a boy as her date to anything.”
She looked like she’d been slapped across the face. “Watt—”
“Forget it,” Watt said, and walked away from her. He needed a drink if he was going to keep getting further tangled in the Gordian knot of these highliers’ screwed-up lives.
AVERY
AVERY STOOD THEREin bewilderment as Watt turned angrily away. It pained her that he clearly thought so little of her. Her intentions toward Watt had always been genuine: she’d never intended to hurt him, never set out to use him, or trick him. Yet he obviously resented her for what had happened. And that last thing he’d said, about “the real reason” she asked anyone to be her date … it made her wonder if he knew the truth about her and Atlas. But how could he, unless Leda had told him?
The band struck up a new song, one of Avery’s favorites. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to dance. She glanced around in search of a partner, and her eyes lit almost instantly on Cord. It had been Atlas’s idea that they each ask dates to this party—it might soothe their parents’ suspicions—and besides, it would help keep Avery and Atlas from talking to each other too much.
Cord had always been Avery’s go-to for events like this. Atlas, meanwhile, was here with Sania Malik, a girl he’d known for years. Not the most believable fake date, but it was all Atlas could come up with on short notice.
Avery walked over to where Cord was standing next to Brice, along the edge of the flexiglass bubble. On the other side grew rows of potatoes, their fronds swaying back and forth in the water, lit by cheerful solar subs.
The radzimir skirt of her deep blue gown swished pleasantly as she approached. “Cord, will you dance with me?” she asked without preamble.
“Of course.” He held out a hand and led her onto the dance floor. “Can I hold your bag?” he added, with a nod to her tiny silver micro-clutch, barely large enough for a single paintstick.
Avery nodded as he slipped the bag into a pocket of his tux jacket. She was struck by a sudden memory of Cord’s mom, back before she died, shepherding them both to cotillion when they were in fifth grade. “When you take a girl to a party, Cord, you should always offer to hold her drink or her purse, ask her to dance, make sure she gets home safe, and—”
“I get it, Mom,” Cord had groaned, and Avery had stifled a giggle, exchanging a knowing look with Cord.
Cord didn’t speak as they moved expertly around the dance floor. The space between them felt relaxed, uncomplicated. Avery remembered the way Watt had danced—his steps correct but so painstaking, his brow furrowed in nervous concentration—and felt another pang of regret for the way she’d treated him.
