Page 31 of All That Glitters

“I can. It was a great idea,” I tell her.

She gives me a small smile. “It was great writing, too. An idea is only as good as its execution.”

“Without you, the writing would have been terrible,” I retort.

She lets out an exasperated laugh and shoves my shoulder lightly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but take a little credit. You worked hard.”

I smile down at her. She touched me.

“Fine, but only a little. If we get some kind of award, I’m giving it to you.”

Her soft giggle makes the entire room brighter.

“That’s fair.”

“Well, how did it go?” Paisley asks, peeking her head around a stack of papers on a filing cabinet.

Marigold laughs at her spying friend.

“He loved it!”

Paisley’s eyes light up. “I told you he would! We should celebrate.”

Marigold gives her a flat look. “You’re going to say we should go to the party, aren’t you?”

“You know me well.” Her lips turn up in a mischievous grin. “What do you say?”

“Fine,” Marigold groans. “I’ll go, but only if my roommates aren’t planning something. Well, besides Jasmine, who I’m sure will be spending the evening making out with Shepherd somewhere.”

“Yay! I’m going to break out my pink cowgirl boots.” Paisley walks back toward our desks, and Marigold follows her.

Looks like I’m going to a Valentine’s Day party.

Chapter sixteen

Pen For Your Thoughts

Marigold Belmore

“No guy is going to talk to you if you keep scowling like that,” Paisley says while bouncing to the beat of the music.

“I don’t think I want any of these guys to talk to me.”

I frown down at my journal. The page is blank, because I forgot my pen. My only reason for coming tonight—besides appeasing Paisley—was to write down inspirations for characters.

“Would you put that away and dance with me?” Paisley yells over a new, louder song.

I slide my notebook into the pocket of my plaid dress. All around us are clusters of people dancing, talking, and drinking. A lot of that last one. Too much of that last one, if you ask me. This is liable to get sloppy really quick. My roommates were right to turn this down. I’m starting to wish I would have stayed home to watch movies and do homework with them.

“I’m not a dancer,” I say as she grabs my hand and tugs me over to where the majority of the dancing is happening.

“Neither am I,” says Paisley as she starts to shimmy.

Her dress sparkles in the shifting colors of the tacky disco ball hanging above us.

“Didn’t you say you know how to two-step?” I ask her as I switch from one foot to the other in a makeshift dance.