Sophronia bobbed a perfectly executed slightly bad curtsy—which caused her teacher to snort and say something about this kind of assignment encouraging regressive behavior—and went in the direction indicated.
She spotted Dimity holding court near the punch bowl, surrounded by admiring young men. Dimity said something, no doubt cutting, and the boys around her laughed. They were mostly Pistons, a Bunson’s club known for churning out new Picklemen. At a school for evil geniuses, these were the most evil and the least genius. Pillover waltzed by and gave his sister a disgusted glare. The Pistons had made his first year at Bunson’s miserable. His attention returned to his partner. A lively Agatha looked up adoringly into his face. Pillover’s expression went soft—still glum and morose, but certainly soft.
The dance ended and Sophronia sent a longing look at all the happy flirting, hoping Professor Lefoux saw. She paused to watch Pillover lead Agatha off the floor. He pressed a tiny parcel into her hands. Agatha colored, looking as self-conscious as normal. Then she faked a laugh and tucked the gift down her cleavage in a flirt so blatant Pillover looked as if he might faint.
Lady Linette caught the maneuver and moved purposefully in Agatha’s direction. Whether intent on praise or reprimand, it was difficult to predict. Sophronia, mindful that Professor Lefoux’s eyes were glaring, could not linger. She made her way out into the hallway.
Felix did not try to speak to her again. Vieve contented herself torturing the debuts. Monique didn’t stay much longer, and Sophronia wasn’t blessed with the opportunity to engage her in conversation. Pillover danced with Agatha twice, much to Agatha’s pleasure. And possibly to Pillover’s as well. Hard to tell with Pillover—he had an almost spylike ability to maintain a sulky expression.
Such a public preference for Agatha, however, afforded Sophronia the ideal excuse to cry off her engagement with Pillover. Which she did, by letter to both him and her own mother, as soon as possible. The missive was prettily penned and very civil, stating only that she felt—given his two dances and provision of a bosom-worthy gift to another young lady—that they were no longer suited. He was young, she forgave him his transgressions, and hoped he would accord her the courtesy of never renewing his addresses. She could only suppose that Pillover’s delight upon reading her note would balance out her mother’s misery.
The gift he’d given Agatha turned out to be a Depraved Lens of Crispy Magnification. “Don’t you think it kind of Mr. Pillover?” Agatha was disposed to be chatty after her euphoric all-conquering ball. “Did you know he’s reached Nefarious Genius? He’s developed the technique of having most everything he makes explode upon contact. The Pistons have stopped bothering him. Lord Dingleproops nearly lost an eye to Pill’s exploding hair tonic applicator. Pillover is ever so proud.”
“His hair did look nice,” said Sophronia.
The girls were preparing for bed. If preparing for bed could be characterized by lounging about in nightgowns, caps, and robes, sipping tisanes and gossiping.
Even Preshea had joined them, in a rare moment of camaraderie. “Sophronia, I must say, being you was unexpectedly fun, for someone who never says what she actually thinks.”
“Difficult to hold back on the barbs, was it?” asked Dimity, in an indisputably barblike manner. Her Preshea characteristics seemed to be taking a while to wear off.
Preshea noticed. “Clearly you enjoyed being me.”
“Somewhat. It was frankly exhausting to insult everyone all the time. And hard never knowing one’s real friends.”
“Now, Dimity, don’t be rude.” Preshea’s smile was glassy with contempt. “Who needs real friends?”
Sophronia was struck with a sudden pang. Was Preshea’s nastiness a front? They had never given her a chance, as she’d allied with Monique from the start. After Monique left, Preshea had organically assumed the position of cruelest pretty girl. But there was something wistful in her tone. Perhaps it was only a lingering bit of Sophronia. No one ever doubted that Sophronia valued her friends above all things.
Lady Linette was prone to saying that if Sophronia had any major weakness, it was her unswerving loyalty. To which Sophronia always responded that she intended to prove that was a strength.
Preshea couldn’t tolerate even a moment of sympathetic expressions. “Oh, stop it, all of you.” She stood. “As if I should trade my status and standing for the likes of you.”
Just like that, they were back on familiar ground.
“I, for one, do not want to be scolded into bed by Professor Lefoux. Good night.” With which Preshea left. As older students, they had been moved into more luxurious accommodations, and each had her own private room. Sometimes Sophronia missed sharing with Dimity. As she’d grown up sharing with sisters, this was her first foray into the unparalleled privilege of a solitary bedchamber. But she did have Bumbersnoot to warm her toes.