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in, and compliments rained down on both of them. Elena's dress… her hair… her flowers. Matt was a
legend in the making: another Joe Montana, a sure bet for an athletic scholarship.
In the dizzying whirl that should have been life and breath to her, Elena kept searching for one dark
head.
Tyler Smallwood was breathing heavily on her, smelling of punch and Brut and Doublemint gum.
His date was looking murderous. Elena ignored him in the hopes that he would go away.
Mr. Tanner passed by with a soggy paper cup, looking as if his collar was strangling him. Sue
Carson, the other senior homecoming princess, breezed up and cooed over the violet dress. Bonnie
was already out on the dance floor, shimmering under the lights. But nowhere did Elena see Stefan.
One more whiff of Doublemint and she was going to be sick. She nudged Matt and they escaped to
the refreshment table, where Coach Lyman launched into a critique of the game. Couples and groups
came up to them, spending a few minutes and then retreating to make room for the next in line. Just as
if we really were royalty, thought Elena wildly. She glanced sideways to see if Matt shared her
amusement, but he was looking fixedly off to his left.
She followed his gaze. And there, half concealed behind a cluster of football players, was the dark
head she'd been looking for. Unmistakable, even in this dim light. A thrill went through her, more of
pain than anything else.
"Now what?" said Matt, his jaw set. "The hog-tying?"
"No. I'm going to ask him to dance, that's all. I'll wait until we've danced first, if you want."
He shook his head, and she set out toward Stefan through the crowd.
Piece by piece, Elena registered information about him as she approached. His black blazer was of
a subtly different cut than the other boys', more elegant, and he wore a white cashmere sweater under
it. He stood quite still, not fidgeting, a little apart from the groups around him. And, although she
could see him only in profile, she could see he wasn't wearing his glasses.
He took them off for football, of course, but she'd never seen him close up without them. It made her
feel giddy and excited, as if this were a masquerade and the unmasking time had come.
She focused on his shoulder, the line of his jaw, and then he was turning toward her.
In that instant, Elena was aware that she was beautiful. It wasn't just the dress, or the way her hair
was done. She was beautiful in herself: slender, imperial, a thing made of silk and inner fire. She saw
his lips part slightly, reflexively, and then she looked up into his eyes.
"Hello." Was that her own voice, so quiet and self-assured? His eyes were green. Green as oak
leaves in summer. "Are you having a good time?" she said.
I am now. He didn't say it, but she knew it was what he was thinking; she could see it in the way he
stared at her. She had never been so sure of her power. Except that actually he didn't look as if he
were having a good time; he looked stricken, in pain, as if he couldn't take one more minute of this.
The band was starting up, a slow dance. He was still staring at her, drinking her in. Those green
eyes darkening, going black with desire. She had the sudden feeling that he might jerk her to him and
kiss her hard, without ever saying a word.
"Would you like to dance?" she said softly. I'm playing with fire, with something I don't understand,
she thought suddenly. And in that instant she realized that she was frightened. Her heart began to
pound violently. It was as if those green eyes spoke to some part of her that was buried deep beneath
the surface – and that part was screaming "danger" at her. Some instinct older than civilization was
telling her to run, to flee.