Kennedy was bored out of her mind.
She sat at a table, alone, a small smile plastered in place, because, as her mother had warned her—unsmiling young ladies looked sullen. Sullen equaled pouty. And pouting was never allowed.
At eleven, she was the youngest here—the only girl still considered a child—because none of the other guests would entertain bringing children to such an affair. She was too young to drink, too full to eat more, too uninteresting to engage in conversation for long.
But as she gazed through her glasses at the crowd, she saw him—standing beside his parents, looking as handsome as a prince in a sharp tuxedo. Brent had come—he would save her from the boredom monster. Kennedy darted out of her chair and walked straight to him.
“Hello, Kennedy.” His father greeted in his familiar rough, deep voice.
“Hello, Mr. Mason.”
Brent’s mother, always soft and sweet, smiled genuinely and Kennedy smiled back. Then her eyes fixed on her friend. His hands were folded behind his back, his eyes scanned the room—not nervous—but cautious. Careful not to do the wrong thing.
“Hey.”
His blue eyes warmed when they rested on her.
“Hey. You look nice.”
She shrugged. “Thanks.” Then she leaned closer, so only he could hear. “Do you want to dance? There’s nothing else to do.”
Brent knew a few ballroom dances—his mother had taught him, to help him become the refined gentleman they all expected him to be. But he hadn’t even thought to try them in public—not since the accident.
“I might trip.”
Kennedy reached out her hand. “Then I’ll catch you.”
“Yeah, right. I would squash you.” He snorted.
She shook her head. “I’m stronger than I look.”
He held her eyes for a few seconds. Then Brent took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
It was a basic waltz, a simple box step. And Brent didn’t trip.
They talked as they danced, and laughed.
Neither of them saw Brent’s mother’s eyes fill with tears or his father’s fill with pride. Because although a tragedy had befallen their dear son, they knew then that his life would not be tragic.
****
Kennedy and Brent were inseparable for the remainder of that summer. And even after school began again in the fall—with Kennedy back at her all girls day academy and Brent at home with his tutors—they saw each other at least once a week. When the next summer came around, they were inseparable again.
Brent thought of them as a dynamic duo—like Batman and Robin or Green Arrow and Speedy. Kennedy imagined they were more like Winnie Cooper and Kevin Arnold.
She thought they would be best friends forever.
But…she was wrong.
They’d become so much more.