Wahnagodadadancewifme?" he says.
I stare at him blankly. "What?"
"Want to go to the dance with me?" he mumbles softly, but this time I can make out the words.
I keep silent for just a moment too long to be contemplating my answer. He definitely knows that I won't, or can't, go.
"I'm sorry," I say sympathetically, looking up at him. "I can't go. With you."
A look of hurt flashes across his face but then the next second it's gone and replaced by a cold, stony look. I don't like it. I want to comfort him; I want to tell him that I can go. But I don't. I walk away before he can say anything and I don't look back.