Winter Wonderland

The Crestview gymnasium had been transformed. White tulle draped from the basketball hoops, and artificial snow glittered under blue gel lights. It was a "Winter Wonderland," the biggest social event of the semester.

Mia stood at the entrance, clutching her clutch bag in one hand and a stack of index cards in the other.

She felt... exposed. She was wearing a silver dress she had bought three weeks ago, hiding it in the back of her closet. She had spent two hours curling her hair. On her wrist, the white rose sat heavy and fragrant against her pulse.

She scanned the room. The music was loud, a thumping bass that vibrated in her chest. Couples were swaying on the dance floor.

She needed to find Julian. The speech was in ten minutes. He needed the cards.

She wove through the crowd, keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact. She felt like an imposter in her own dress. *It’s okay,* she told herself. *He asked you. He gave you the flower.*

She checked the stage. Empty.

She checked the VIP table. Empty.

She headed backstage, behind the heavy velvet curtains where the tech crew set up the audio equipment. It was darker back here, quieter.

"Julian?" she called out softly.

She heard laughter. Familiar laughter.

Mia froze. She stepped toward the gap between a stack of amplifiers and the curtain.

Julian was there. He looked devastating in a black tuxedo. He was leaning against a road case, holding a bottle of water.

Standing next to him was Chloe, the Vice President. Chloe, who had broken up with him last month. Chloe, who was wearing a red dress that looked like it had been poured onto her body.

"You look stressed, Mr. President," Chloe teased, picking a piece of lint off his lapel.

"I'm terrified," Julian admitted, flashing that crooked grin. "I haven't memorized a single word."

"Where's your shadow?" Chloe asked, scanning the area with a bored expression. "Little Miss Secretary? I thought she was supposed to be glued to your hip."

Mia’s breath hitched. She took a step back, intending to leave, to announce herself, to do something.

But Julian laughed.

It wasn't a warm laugh. It was a nervous, dismissive sound. A sound that stripped the air from the room.

"Mia?" Julian said. "She'll be here. She's probably laminating the note cards right now."

"Ideally," Chloe smirked. "God, Julian, why do you spend so much time with her? It’s weird. People talk. They think you're actually into the mouse."

Mia felt the blood drain from her face. *The mouse.*

She waited for Julian to defend her. She waited for him to say she was brilliant, or essential, or even just a friend.

"Look, Chloe," Julian sighed, taking a sip of water. "She writes the papers. She organizes the schedule. She fixes the budget. I just have to smile at her once a day to keep the machine running."

The words hit Mia like physical blows.

"It’s not real," Julian continued, his voice smooth, practical. "It’s strategy. If I don't keep her happy, the whole administration falls apart. I'm just... managing the staff."

"Managing the staff," Chloe repeated, looking impressed. "Ruthless."

"Practical," Julian corrected. "Now, are we going to talk about politics, or are you going to tell me if you saved a dance for me?"

Mia looked down at the white rose on her wrist. The "elegant" flower. It wasn't a romantic gesture. It was a maintenance fee. It was the oil used to keep the machine running.

She looked at the index cards in her hand. The words she had agonized over. The words that would make him sound inspiring. Presidential.

She wasn't his partner. She was his prop.

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