The rest of the ball passed in a blur. I sat with my would-have-been in-laws through dinner, hollowed out with embarrassment, flat and thin as a paper doll, like a child disabused of foolish illusions.

I couldn’t stand the pity in Peter’s eyes.

I’d told myself he and I would talk after the announcement, once we had the truth between us. But I hadn’t prepared for the truth to be this.

Our tense meal was a mockery of the festive night I’d envisioned, the ball a total farce. But Peter was well liked, and his parents were respected. His father was a captain in the military, his mother a talented florist.

So I contained myself.

Besides, everyone was watching to see how I’d react.

We sat side by side through dinner, hardly speaking. I couldn’t produce any words; he could only produce two.

I’m sorry, he said, again and again, in whispers and with looks.

I’d been a fool to choose him.

I’d never risked telling Peter how I felt, always afraid of his reply. Proposing via official channels had felt safer, somehow.

Why hadn’t I seen that public rejection would only hurt worse?

What, I wondered, makes one person want another?

I knew why I wanted Peter. I had speculated for so long on whether he cared for me, carried the hope of him for so long, I hardly knew how to break it apart and examine it.

The only thing left to wonder now was what made a person stare into a proffered heart and say, No, no, thank you, not for me.

After dinner, Peter’s parents left the hall, making quiet, polite excuses. I met Peter’s eyes, searching for an answer, trying to trace the path to destruction my hopes had taken.

A flush crept up Peter’s light brown skin, and as he dipped his head slightly, his laurel wreath slipped a little in his tight black curls. He stood wooden and awkward, fingers clasped behind his back, shoulders rounded. A mere two feet away and a world apart from me.

The gap between us taunted me.

I thought I understood him. I thought we were friends, that I could ask him things. But his refusal had stolen my voice. I couldn’t ask the only questions left to me.

And the person in front of me was a boy I barely knew.

“I just wish you’d told me when it was just the two of us,” I whispered, staring at my shoes.

Peter hitched up a lean shoulder, his light brown eyes baffled. “The thing is, it never was just the two of us, Selah.”

The words stung me.

They didn’t merely remind me that I’d been avoiding Peter these past few weeks. They meant he’d been totally blindsided by my proposal.