Learning to Dance

on place cards. China plates and far too many forks. The
crowd began to filter to their seats, many people still
casting glances in Taz’s direction.
“I think Alejandro may have done his job a little too
well,” he said to her as they sat. “We’re supposed to blend
in, not capture the notice of everyone in the room.”
“Well, excuse me,” she said, tugging angrily at the front
of her dress. “Do you see the target?”
“Not yet,” he said, though the special lens he was
wearing in his right eye was scanning continually for the
presence of the information diamond they were looking for.
“OMDG, you have to tell me where you got your dress!”
A blonde and bubbly teenager in an elaborately sequined
purple number squealed and plopped herself down next to
Taz. Before Taz could do anything but blink in
bewilderment, she continued.
“I’m February, like the month, but a girl - I saw you
come in and I’m, like, so psyched we’re sitting next to each
other, I just know we’re going to be BFF’s before the
night’s over.”
“Phillipa von Tuppington,” said Taz, after a moment, in a
sort of Mexican-drawl hybrid. “This is my husband, U-
Charles.”
“Ooh, he’s handsome, isn’t he? This is totally my first
time at the ball, I can’t even handle it, I’m so excited! All
the outfits – I just heart your dress so much. I knew I should
have worn red, red would look so much better on me than
you, don’t you think?”
Taz looked at Up for help, but if he said anything he was
going to lose his carefully constructed pokerface. He held
his tongue.
The teenager’s monologue was interrupted briefly as
other guests joined them at the table and one of their Jovian
hosts rose to the podium - the banquet was begun. February,