SAINT-VÉRAN

THE WINTER FORMAL

I didn’t want to go to the winter formal.

That should have been obvious to everyone.

Especially Lucien.

Unfortunately, Lucien had never been particularly good at accepting no for an answer.

“You need to go.”

I didn’t look up from my book.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I turned the page.

“No.”

Lucien leaned over my desk.

“You’ve said no three times.”

“I’ve practiced.”

He stared at me.

I stared at my textbook.

“You have nothing appropriate to wear.”

“I have a uniform.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“The entire academy will be there.”

“That’s the problem.”

He sighed.

“You can’t spend your entire life hiding in libraries.”

“Watch me.”

He took my book.

I looked up.

“Give it back.”

“No.”

“Lucien.”

“Come to the formal.”

“No.”

He held my book above his head.

I stood.

“Give it back.”

“Come.”

“You’re childish.”

“So are you.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He said it so casually that I forgot what I was going to say.

He handed my book back.

“Eight o’clock.”

I stared at him.

“You’re not my father.”

“No.”

He smiled.

“I’m much nicer.”

I rolled my eyes.

He walked away.

I waited until he reached the door.

“Lucien.”

He turned.

“What?”

“I still don’t want to go.”

His expression softened.

“I know.”

Then he left.

That was the problem.

He always seemed to know.

At seven forty-five, I stood in front of the mirror wondering how I had allowed this to happen.

The formal was being held in Saint-Véran’s old ballroom.

The academy had transformed it completely.

The enormous chandeliers had been lit.

Dark green and gold decorations hung from the balconies.

White flowers covered the long tables.

The polished floor reflected hundreds of candle flames.

It looked less like a school event and more like something from another century.

I adjusted my tie.

It was slightly crooked.

I fixed it.

Still crooked.

I sighed.

Then there was a knock.

I opened the door.

And forgot how to breathe.

Lucien stood outside.

He was wearing a black suit.

Not his school uniform.

A proper tailored suit.

Black jacket.

White shirt.

Black tie.

His dark-blond hair was neatly styled, though a few strands had fallen naturally across his forehead.

He looked older.

Different.

Almost unreal.

I stared.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

I shook my head.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been staring.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

I looked away.

“You look...”

I couldn’t find the word.

“Different?”

“Yes.”

He smiled.

“You look nice too.”

I looked down at myself.

My suit was simple.

Black.

Nothing expensive.

Nothing designed to impress anyone.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look ridiculous.”

“You look like you belong there.”

“So do you.”

I looked at him.

He was serious.

For some reason, that made me believe him.

He held out his hand.

I stared at it.

“What?”

“Come on.”

I hesitated.

Then took it.

His fingers closed around mine.

Warm.

Familiar.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did I.

The ballroom was crowded.

Music filled the room.

Students danced beneath chandeliers while teachers stood along the walls pretending not to notice anything they shouldn’t.

I immediately regretted coming.

Too many people.

Too much noise.

Too many eyes.

I stayed close to Lucien.

He seemed to notice.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re gripping my hand.”

I looked down.

I was.

I released him immediately.

“Sorry.”

He caught my hand again.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

I looked at him.

“You can stay with me.”

My heart did something strange.

“Okay.”

We moved through the crowd.

People greeted Lucien constantly.

He nodded.

Smiled occasionally.

Answered questions.

But every few seconds, his attention returned to me.

Eventually, we reached the edge of the dance floor.

I watched everyone else.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“Neither do I.”

I looked at him.

“That’s a lie.”

“I play rugby.”

“That’s not dancing.”

“It requires coordination.”

I laughed.

He smiled.

Then he held out his hand again.

“Dance with me.”

My heart jumped.

“Lucien...”

“Just one.”

I hesitated.

Then placed my hand in his.

He pulled me gently onto the dance floor.

The music was slow.

Much slower than I expected.

His hand settled carefully at my shoulder.

Mine rested awkwardly against his arm.

We moved.

Neither of us was particularly good.

I stepped on his shoe.

“Sorry.”

“You’ve done worse.”

“When?”

“Tree.”

I laughed.

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything.”

My smile faded.

For a moment, I could see the lake.

The apple tree.

Two children.

The same boy.

The same hand.

The same feeling.

I looked up at Lucien.

He was already looking at me.

The ballroom seemed to disappear.

The music became distant.

The voices faded.

The chandeliers blurred.

There was only him.

His hand.

My hand.

His eyes.

I don’t know how long we stood there.

Maybe a minute.

Maybe five.

Time felt different.

Lucien leaned slightly closer.

Not enough to frighten me.

Just enough that I could hear him.

“You okay?”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

I smiled.

“Yes.”

His expression softened.

And for a few minutes, the entire academy disappeared.

There was no scholarship student.

No golden boy.

No family expectations.

No rumors.

No childhood secrets.

No past.

Just us.

Two boys dancing in the middle of a ballroom.

And I wished the moment could last forever.

Then a camera flashed.

We both turned.

Someone stood near the edge of the dance floor holding a phone.

The screen disappeared beneath their hand.

My stomach dropped.

Lucien’s expression hardened.

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know.”

He started toward them.

I caught his sleeve.

“Don’t.”

He looked at me.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s just a picture.”

He studied me.

Then sighed.

“Okay.”

He returned to my side.

But the moment was gone.

The music continued.

People laughed.

The ballroom came back.

And suddenly, I was aware of how close we were standing.

I stepped away.

Lucien noticed.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

The next morning, everyone was talking.

I knew something was wrong the second I entered the dining hall.

People stared.

Whispered.

Looked at their phones.

Then looked at me.

My stomach sank.

I sat beside Lucien.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

He was staring at his phone.

I looked over.

There it was.

The photograph.

Us.

Dancing.

Lucien looking at me.

Me looking at him.

It looked more intimate than it had felt.

Or maybe it looked exactly as intimate as it had felt.

Someone had posted it on the academy’s private student network.

The caption read:

VALMONT’S NEW FAVORITE SCHOLAR?

My face burned.

I immediately looked away.

“Who posted it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Everyone’s seen it?”

“Probably.”

I wanted the floor to open.

Whispers followed me through every corridor.

Some were cruel.

Some were amused.

Some were simply curious.

But all of them made me feel exposed.

By second period, someone had already asked if Lucien and I were dating.

I nearly walked into a wall.

By lunch, the rumors had multiplied.

By afternoon, the photograph had become the only thing anyone seemed interested in.

I wanted to disappear.

When I returned to the dormitory that evening, I found Lucien sitting at his desk.

He looked up.

“How bad?”

“Terrible.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have stopped them.”

“You can’t control everyone.”

He looked at me.

“No.”

Then he stood.

He walked toward me.

I expected him to say something.

Instead, he reached up and straightened my tie.

It was crooked.

Again.

“There.”

I looked at him.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Fixing things.”

His fingers paused.

“Maybe I like fixing things.”

“You can’t fix everything.”

“I know.”

He looked at me.

“But I can try.”

My heart tightened.

Outside, the academy continued buzzing with rumors.

But inside our room, everything became quiet.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

And suddenly, I didn’t care about the photograph.

Not as much as I should have.

Because for the first time, I understood why people had noticed us.

It wasn’t because of the picture.

It was because something between us had changed.

Something neither of us knew how to name.

Something that had begun beside a lake ten years ago.

Something that had survived forgetting.

And now, somehow, it had followed us onto a dance floor beneath the chandeliers of Saint-Véran.

Everyone else had seen the photograph.

Only Lucien and I knew what it meant.