I blinked in surprise and struggled to find my voice. "Oh, hi." He sat down in the chair next to me and smiled but his eyes had an edge to them. "You know, when some girls run out on a guy at a dance, they at least leave a glass slipper behind to help him out. You disappeared without so much as telling me your shoe size." I laughed, and blushed, and felt happy despite the accusation in his voice. He had the most gorgeously familiar eyes, and he had cared that I left the dance. "Sorry about that," I said. "You see, there was this thing . . ." He nodded with his eyebrows raised. "This thing? Are you sure you don't just make a habit of fleeing from dances?" "No, you see . . ." But I didn't want to explain any of it. How did I go about telling a stranger that Rick and his deadbeat band hated me and had written a whole CD of awful songs in my honor? "It's a long story," I said. "I see." More nodding. "Does it involve a carriage that turned into a pumpkin at midnight?" "No." It did involve a wicked sister, but I wouldn't go into that either.
What do You think about Revenge Of The Cheerleaders?
