Lila sighed. "You look the way you always look. Gorgeous."

  "Thanks," Jessica said happily. "You're such a good friend, Lila."

  "Why the insecurity complex today?" Lila demanded.

  Jessica lowered her voice. "I think today's the day," she confided. "I'm going to stay after class and see if Jean-Pierre wants to go the dance with me Friday night."

  Lila's eyebrows shot up. "Are you really serious about that? Don't you think he's a little old for a high school dance?"

  "Well, it isn't as if he'd just be going with anyone," Jessica pointed out. "He's probably got a real thing for American girls. Frenchmen always do in movies. Besides, haven't you noticed the way he looks at me?"

  "Somehow I missed it," Lila drawled. "Good luck," she added, taking her apron off and throwing it onto the counter. "I think I've just touched my last raw chicken."

  "You're not leaving now, are you?" Jessica asked, horrified.

  "I certainly am," Lila told her. "You can just stay here and play kitchen with Maurice or Matisse or whatever his name is until you die, but I've had enough!"

  Lila just didn't recognize a good thing when she saw it, Jessica thought sadly. She'd had her chance to witness the birth of the romance of the century, and she'd missed it now. But that was her problem.

  Jessica took as long as she could to put her equipment away when the class was over. One by one the other students wandered out the door until only Jessica was left. Jessica, that is, and Jean-Pierre.

  She had never seen the instructor look quite so handsome as he did that day. Flashing Jessica a smile, he said, "You're a fine beginning chef, Jessica. How would you like to enroll in the intermediate section?"

  "I'd love to," Jessica said happily, taking her apron off. Here it comes, she told herself. Now's the moment when he takes a second look at me and realizes that his prize student is actually a beautiful young woman. And then . . .

  Suddenly, the door to the classroom opened, and a redhead burst into the room, tucking her blouse into her jeans. "Jean-Pierre!" she cried. "I'm so sorry I'm late!"

  To Jessica's dismay, the beautiful girl dashed to the front of the room and engulfed Jean-Pierre in a warm hug.

  "Hey!" Jean-Pierre laughed, disentangling himself. "My student," he explained, pointing to Jessica.

  "But I haven't seen you all day," the girl complained sulkily. Her accent was almost as thick as Jean-Pierre's, and Jessica, her heart sinking, had to admit she was breathtakingly beautiful.

  "Jessica, this is Lizbette," Jean-Pierre said, "my wife."

  "Your—" Jessica's mouth fell open. Oh, Lord, she thought. Have I ever botched things up this time! She nodded and smiled at the redhead. Then she turned to Jean-Pierre. "Thanks for the lesson," she said hastily, gathering her things together and hurrying to the door.

  "See you Wednesday!" Jean-Pierre called. Jessica hurried down the corridor of the civic center, her face burning. She could still hear Lizbette's infectious laughter. Thank goodness I didn't make a fool out of myself by asking him to the dance, Jessica thought. And he looked so—so—unmarried!

  Well, she wasn't going to let it get to her, she vowed, jumping into the Fiat and slamming the door. She'd still learn to be a good cook, even if it meant having to stare at Jean-Pierre knowing he was married.

  It would be worth it, she told herself, to prove to her parents that for once in her life she could do something better than Elizabeth. And Jean-Pierre, or no Jean-Pierre, she was going to do it.

  Wednesday afternoon Elizabeth convinced Jessica to let her take the car after school so she could go over to Enid's.

  Elizabeth was more worried than ever about her friend. She still hadn't come back to school, and although she was making up assignments at home, it looked as if she was falling rapidly behind. Elizabeth had been phoning her every night, but she still felt distant from Enid, as if something were standing between them.

  "I think Enid's depressed," Elizabeth told Todd, standing at his locker. "She's just not acting like herself. She doesn't seem interested in anything, she's barely eating, and she keeps complaining she's tired all the time."

  "Maybe it's just the aftereffects of the accident and the operation," Todd suggested. "After all, she's been through a lot. It may just take her a little while longer, Liz."

  "I wish I believed that, Todd," Elizabeth said, "but I think it's more complicated than that."

  "What do you mean?" Todd asked.

  "Well," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, "I think it has something to do with George. I'm not sure how it all fits together yet, but I'm sure that Enid senses something is wrong between them. She keeps trying to act like there isn't, but I can still see it in her eyes. Maybe . . ."

  "What?" Todd prompted her.

  "Nothing," Elizabeth said slowly. "Just a hunch. But I'm going to do what I can to cheer her up. I promised her I'd help her pick a dress to wear to the dance Friday night."

  "You're going shopping?" Todd asked, surprised. "Enid can't even make it to school!"

  Elizabeth laughed. "We're looking in her closet, silly," she told him. "Besides, didn't you hear? She's coming back to school on Monday. Dr. MacGregor said it'll be good for her. I think he's afraid she's depressed, too."

  "Well, if anyone can cheer her up, you can." Todd grinned and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "You sure cheer me up!"

  Elizabeth laughed, but she felt serious as she pulled up in front of Enid's house fifteen minutes later. She wanted to help her friend so badly, but she wasn't sure how.

  Enid was in her bedroom, looking critically at two dresses spread out on her bed. "Hi, Liz," she said. "Which do you think is better? I like the white one, but maybe the blue—"

  "They're both beautiful," Elizabeth assured her. "Maybe the blue one," she added thoughtfully, touching the material with one hand. "It's such a nice fabric."

  "Look!" Enid said, motoring herself across the room and back in her wheelchair. "I got a new wheelchair at physical therapy today. I can power this one myself. Now I don't need anyone to push me around!"

  "You won't be needing it much longer anyway," Elizabeth said briskly, picking up the blue dress and admiring it. "I expect to see you dancing in George's arms Friday night."

  Enid's face fell. "I hope it'll be OK," she said hollowly. "Liz, would it be OK if we doubled with you and Todd?"

  "Sure," Elizabeth said, surprised. "I don't see why not. But I thought—"

  "You know, George has been under a lot of pressure," Enid said conversationally. "He doesn't like to talk about it, but I think he's scared to death that the Federal Aviation Administration is going to take away his license. After all, he's wanted to be a pilot since he was a kid. It's only natural he'd be kind of nervous lately, kind of—"

  Elizabeth didn't know what to say. Her anger had cooled down a great deal since the operation, and lately she couldn't help sympathizing with George a little. I wonder if it wouldn't almost be better for Enid if she knew the truth, Elizabeth mused. Not that I'd ever tell her, but as it is—

  "Oh, Liz," Enid cried, her face crumpling. "Sometimes lately I've had the feeling that George hates me because of the accident! If I hadn't begged him to take me up, it would never have happened. He'd still have his license, and—"

  Enid began sobbing. Elizabeth ran to her, bending over to put her arms around her. "Don't be silly," she cried. "Of course he doesn't hate you! Oh, Enid, how could you possibly blame yourself?"

  Enid lifted her face and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's just that he's acting so different lately. I've tried and tried to find out what's bothering him, but nothing I say seems to get through to him!"

  Elizabeth stared at her, dumbstruck. If only I could tell her the truth, she thought miserably. If only she could forget about George and concentrate on getting out of this wheelchair!

  But Elizabeth knew it wasn't her place to tell Enid anything. All she could do was try to comfort her. Sooner or later Enid would find out the truth, but she was going to have to do it on her own.

  And at this point, Elizabeth had no idea whether her friend would be strong enough to recover without George's support.

  Nine

  Jessica had never seen the gym look as beautiful as it did on Friday night. The dance committee had decorated it with fresh flowers, and The Droids, Sweet Valley High's own rock group, were playing up on a platform at one end of the room. School spirit was very much in display, and Jessica was determined to have a wonderful time.

  It wasn't so bad, she told herself, not being there with Jean-Pierre. Her date was Ken Matthews, blond, clean-cut, and undeniably one of the cutest and most popular guys at school. Ken was captain of the football team, and even if he wasn't as sexy and mysterious as Jean-Pierre, he was a good dancer and a lot of fun at parties.

  And Jessica was in her element. She knew she looked her best. Her blond hair was gleaming around her shoulders, and her cream-colored dress showed off the tan she'd labored over. And Ken—sweet, if a bit dull—had bought her a rose to pin on her dress. It smelled heavenly, and Jessica felt wonderful. She could hardly wait to start dancing.

  But first Jessica wanted to get a good look at the rest of her classmates. "Let's get something to drink," she told Ken, heading in the direction of the refreshment table in one corner of the gym.

  "Hey, look at that," Ken said, stopping and nudging Jessica. He pointed across the gym at Mr. Collins, the handsome English teacher who was chaperoning the dance. Mr. Collins was the best-liked teacher at Sweet Valley. Not only did he look like Robert Redford, with strawberry blond hair and laughing blue eyes, but his easy-going personality had won him quite a few admirers among the student body.

  Elizabeth was one of his greatest fans, having gotten to know him quite well from working on The Oracle, the student newspaper for which Mr. Collins was faculty adviser.

  That night Mr. Collins looked even more dashing than usual in a white linen jacket and navy-blue trousers. That wasn't what caught Ken's attention, however. Ken was pointing at Mr. Collins's dance partner, Nora Dalton, the beautiful young French teacher. "Looks like that's getting pretty serious, don't you think?" Ken chuckled.

  "Maybe," Jessica said offhandedly. I'll bet Lila's glad to see that, she thought. Everyone knew that Nora Dalton had been dating Lila's father off and on this past winter, and Lila hadn't like it one bit. Now it looked as if things were finished between Nora Dalton and George Fowler for good. The pretty young French teacher seemed to have turned her interests elsewhere. Ken's right, Jessica told herself. Just look at the way they're dancing! It's obvious they're falling in love.

  But Jessica had more important things to look at right now. "Who's Robin Wilson with?" she asked, catching sight of the brunette, who was wearing a purple dress. She really looks like she's gained some weight, Jessica thought critically.

  "Some guy from L.A.," Ken replied. "His name is Stan, or something. I heard Robin had a hard time getting a date and this guy turned up at the last minute. He's a friend of her cousin's, or something."

  "Hmmm," Jessica said thoughtfully. Stan didn't look very promising to her. He wore thick glasses, and he kept looking around the room as if he were really bored. Robin, too, kept sneaking little glances around the room. Looking for George, no doubt, Jessica concluded.

  "I'll get the drinks," Ken volunteered. "What do you want?"

  Jessica snapped out of her reverie. "I'd love a Coke," she told him.

  As Ken hurried away, Lila came up to Jessica. "What happened to Jean-Pierre?" Lila demanded, frowning at Ken's back. "Don't tell me your little scheme backfired, Jess."

  "Oh, he's way too old for me," Jessica said airily. "I wasn't really serious about him anyway, Lila. Ken's much more fun."

  "I'll bet." Lila snorted.

  "What about you?" Jessica asked her. "Who are you here with?"

  "Someone you don't know," Lila said moodily. "His name is Louis Scott. And just between us, Jess, I don't see how I'm going to make it through the night! He's a sophomore at Sweet Valley College, and all he wants to talk about is business classes. What a bore! And he almost broke my foot the one time we danced!"

  "Speaking of broken feet," Jessica whispered, her eyes glued to the main door of the gymnasium, "look who's coming."

  The door to the gym had swung open, and Elizabeth and Todd came in, holding hands. Behind them, George Warren was walking beside Enid in her wheelchair. The whole gym seemed to hush as they entered, and Enid, white-faced, stared straight ahead of her as George pushed her forward.

  "How inappropriate," Lila said coldly. "Who'd ever dream of showing up at a dance in a wheelchair! What does she think she's going to do all night?"

  "Probably keep an eye on George." Jessica giggled.

  "Well, she's not the only one," Lila replied. "Look at Robin Wilson."

  Robin, her face flaming, was watching the foursome enter. It was clear who she was staring at, and the expression on her face gave Jessica the shivers.

  She'd never seen a girl look so hopelessly in love. Then Jessica looked over at George. There was no denying the anguished look on his face as he and Robin locked gazes.

  Jessica had a feeling there was going to be trouble that night.

  Enid couldn't remember ever feeling as self-conscious as she did the moment the gym doors swung open and she directed her wheelchair into the crowded dance. Everyone seemed to be staring at her, and even the hours of careful preparation that afternoon didn't make her feel more self-assured. "I must look like a real idiot," she whispered to Elizabeth. "Who ever heard of a cripple coming to a dance?"

  "Enid Rollins," Elizabeth snapped, "you are not a cripple! And you don't look one bit foolish. You have as much right to be here as anyone else does."

  Elizabeth always knew how to make her feel better, Enid thought gratefully. But Elizabeth couldn't be expected to spend the whole night standing around consoling her. She'd come here to have fun, too. And it was enough, Enid reflected, that Elizabeth and Todd had agreed to double with her and George. Enid couldn't pretend any longer that the two of them were acting like a couple in love. George was so strained and uncomfortable that Enid was embarrassed in front of her friends. She was almost relieved when Todd asked Elizabeth to dance.

  Almost—but not quite. Alone with George, Enid found she had absolutely nothing to say. She felt miserable.

  "Why don't I get us something to drink?" he said after an uncomfortable silence.

  "Go a head," Enid told him. "I promise not to run away," she joked. She wasn't suprised when George didn't laugh.

  "Enid!" a feminine voice called. And suddenly Enid was surrounded. Caroline Pearce, Olivia Davidson, DeeDee Gordon—a whole group of girls gathered around her, asking her questions and moaning with sympathy about the wheelchair. Enid found it harder than she'd expected to make small talk. Where was George? she wondered. He seemed to be taking an awfully long time getting drinks.

  Suddenly she saw him through the crowd that had surrounded her. He was standing at the refreshment bar, his back to her, gesturing earnestly as he talked to someone—who was it?—a dark-haired girl in a purple dress, who was gesturing frantically back at him.

  It was Robin Wilson, Enid realized, a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. What had she heard lately about Robin? Something about breaking up with Allen Walters because of some other guy. No one knew who it was. . . .

  Robin was taking flying lessons with George, Enid remembered suddenly. But George wouldn't—It couldn't possibly be George! It was just a coincidence, Enid assured herself. They were probably talking about the accident.

  But she couldn't shake off the terrible feeling that had overcome her, not even when George came back with the drinks and tried to talk to Olivia and DeeDee.

  George and Robin, she thought weakly. It just couldn't be. But, in a terrible way, it made sense.

  I'm getting paranoid, Enid told herself as the group around them scattered. I'm just feeling strange because of everything that's happened. George still loves me. He just feels guilty about the accident. And I'm so sensitive now that I'm blowing everything out of proportion. I've got to act as though it's OK.

  "You shouldn't just be standing around," she chided George, trying to make her voice sound natural. "Why don't you ask someone to dance?"

  "No," George told her, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Enid. I'll just stay here with you."

  "Come on!" Enid urged him desperately. "It's a dance, George. You're supposed to have fun."

  "Well . . ." George said slowly. "You really won't mind, Enid? Maybe I'll just dance once."

  Of course I mind! Enid thought hysterically. I want you to stay right here with me!

  But she'd sworn to herself that she was going to act as though everything were perfectly fine. Maybe he'd ask Liz to dance, she thought. That would be OK.

  But Elizabeth was coming over to her now as George headed back to the refreshment bar. "Enid!" Elizabeth called, "Where's George?"

  Enid shook her head, tears filling her beautiful green eyes. "I made him go dance with someone," she mumbled dully, unable to keep up a brave face.

  "Oh." Elizabeth stopped short. "Well, that's probably a good idea," she said cheerfully. "Are you having fun?"

  "Oh, Liz," Enid cried, her face falling. "I don't know what's wrong, but George is acting so weird lately! He barely listens to anything I say, and—"

  Her voice broke off in midsentence. There was no point in going any further. Enid had just seen George step onto the dance floor. The gym had darkened for a slow dance, and it was hard to see at first whom he was with.

  But Enid had seen the flash of purple silk beside him, and there was no point in fooling herself a second longer. George was dancing with Robin Wilson, his arm tight around her, her head resting dreamily on his shoulder.

  Elizabeth gasped, staring at her friend's stricken expression. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  But Enid couldn't say a word. She just stared at the dance floor, the color draining from her face. She was not all right, as a matter of fact. And she had a terrible feeling she was never going to be all right again.