I made an awkward little bow in front of her, as we were supposed to when asking someone to dance the Virginia reel.
“Hullo, uh, Geordie,” she said self-consciously.
“Hullo, Patience,” I said, nodding at her name tag. “It’s a nice name, Patience. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”
“I guess I’m not anymore.” Smiling, she held out her hand.
As we took our places for the dance, the girls in the opposite line fluttered like a row of butterflies. I had to admit to myself that they looked . . . well, at least interesting in their long skirts and mobcaps. Curious to see if the line of boys was equally impressive, I glanced down to my right.
Yes, I thought, we boys look pretty authentic, too. Like me, they all had pants tucked into kneesocks to resemble breeches, neatly tied neck cloths, and black three-cornered hats made of construction paper. One boy had even managed to get a real tricorne, I noticed. Then he turned and I saw his face.
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