An excerpt from Forsaken Flight

"Who is that?" she exclaimed, and Charlotte and Tammy fell silent long enough to follow Karissa's gaze.

"Oh," Tammy said, in that kind of voice. "That is Paul Black."

"The Kent prince," Charlotte filled in.

"The what?"

"That's Amelia Kent, his mom." This was undoubtably the petite blonde in a white dress who walked with him.

"As in the Kent Companies," Tammy informed her. "They're Woodland's richest family, they live up on the mountain. And he's the heir to it all."

"How come I haven't seen him at school?"

"He goes to public school," Charlotte answered. "Don't ask me why."

"Huh," said Karissa, apparently also in that kind of voice, and her friends rounded on her like moths to a candle.

"He doesn't date much," Charlotte warned.

Tammy concurred. "We'll admit it, we've all tried. But he's kind of a loner."

"Really." Karissa watched as Paul laughed at something his mother said, then with an easy motion, guided her into sure but spectacular steps. Karissa felt blazing bright as that candle, kept her eyes on Paul and Amelia as they swept round the floor. "He dances," she breathed.

"Do you?" Tammy asked.

Karissa grinned. The song was a waltz, she watched the rhythm of it glide in blue clarinet steps and pink violin slides, the drums rolling over at the edge of it like waves breaking. And she watched Paul Black move through it all like none of it would have existed without him. He was the very center of the music. When the waltz stopped, the clear gold clack of Karissa's own heels on the floor rose up around her. Paul turned as she got near, and Karissa looked up into his face. He was handsome, oh, my goodness, amazingly so, Mr. Kyle had nothing on him. High cheekbones, easy smile, and eyes of the most unusual color, a blue-purple combination that buzzed in Karissa's ears as she looked. Karissa had never seen a color that made a sound before.

"Hi," he said.

Her voice was pure and strong. "Hi. I'm Karissa Parker, I'm new here." She put out her hand, and Paul shook it, and then so did his mother, who smiled a pretty smile, light blue eyes framed by lightly curled hair, a slender figure. Elegant and friendly.

Introductions took a minute, and then the music started again. But this was no waltz. There were sudden drums of a deep black color that pounded out across the floor like smoke billowing, there were trumpets so bright red that they could have stopped traffic, if anyone else could have seen them. They sliced the air into slivers and turned white as they reached the ceiling. Paul must have seen the look on Karissa's face, the way the music made her smile when it reached her, like it got inside and flowed right up to her mouth. "Do you dance?" he asked.

"I'd love to," she said.

Paul raised his arms, and slid them slowly against her waist, but despite the way the drums were pushing at their feet, he did not move yet. "How much do you dance?" he asked.

"Since I was four."

"Really." A smile from him now, and his hands tightened on her waist. But still he didn't start to dance, he just lifted her slightly in her shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just getting a feel for how much you weigh."

And that was when Karissa knew that this was going to be a dance to remember. Her skirt was made for twirling, she said a mental prayer of thanks that she'd worn something as bold and fluid as the music, it painted a starburst of bright blue across the floor where nimble feet took her. Paul swung her into another turn, this one a loop so that she spun against him. He had been spell-binding to watch. He was magic to touch. Karissa held onto his hands and twisted into a swivel, her skirt swishing against her legs and then flying away. Paul gave her a twist as she stood up straight again, spinning her around on just her left foot.

She began to notice that other couples were giving them more room, and Paul took advantage of it, passing her under his arm. He gave her no more warning than any man she'd danced with, but somehow it was obvious to Karissa what he was planning to do. She could see it in his eyes, the only other eyes that had ever held the music the way hers did, the only one who seemed to really move to the same rhythm she was. Not just the steps, the essence of the music. When he let go of her, Karissa turned against the back of his hand in a cut and catch, tethered to him all the same.

The black of the drums scattered with Karissa's shoes and the blue of the clarinet whirled with her skirt. Paul's twists got more advanced, but Karissa noticed he began to choose ones that left her close to him, tosses with come arounds, which meant his arm stayed around her. And then, as the crowd really began to back up, Paul showed her why he'd wanted to get an estimate of her weight. She saw it in his eyes, grinned to let him know she was game. On the next step, he picked her up just like he was going to carry her off of the floor, as if she were a princess. But instead he propelled her into a backflip over his arm. Karissa soared up toward the ceiling before landing lighter on her feet than it seemed she ever had before. She stared at him, but he just grinned and swung her into a turn as the people around cheered. Everyone else stopped dancing and Karissa felt like the music had only been for them anyway.

She laughed as Paul turned around in graceful step, back to back, and flipped her over his head to the explosion of scarlet trumpets. Karissa landed in a well of golden trombone slides, and was surprised that the tight toes of her shoes didn't hurt her feet as she came down. She and Paul moved together, just the dark of his clothes and the brightness of her skirt and the kaleidescope colors of the music across the floor. The pressure of Paul's hands seemed so much more important than any nervous first conversation she'd had with another boy, this meeting between highschoolers that should have been uncomfortable and ungainly turned to elegance and ease. And not a word spoken. Maybe that was why.