The Last Dragon Shifter

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When Lark and Naomi entered the grand hall, thoughts of the gown stopped. The room had been transformed for the dance. Silver chairs and colorful table settings lit up every available surface. Several, twinkling star decorations hung from the ceiling.

Many heads turned to take in her and Lark's entrance.

The lesbian and the dragon. Out on a date.

A sight to behold!

But by this point, Lark and Naomi were so used to being gawked at, they no longer cared. Naomi gallantly held out her arm for Lark to take. She did, and they began to spin around the room, disregarding their audience and laughing the whole while.

They danced to at least four hit singles before Naomi called for a break. Lark was a much better dancer, and she was having a hard time keeping up.

"Breather?" she asked hopefully. Lark groaned but thankfully gave in.

"I'll go get us something to drink," Naomi offered.

When she reached the punch bowl, she found Sam loitering there, glaring at something in particular. Following his gaze, she spotted the object of his discontent. It was Figgis and her ethics teacher.

"Hi, Sam." Naomi diverted his attention for a brief moment.

"Naomi," he grunted before sipping his punch and resuming his staring.

"I'm surprised to see you and Figgis here. I thought you guys were the day shift."

"What? We have to spend eight hours of our day here, and we can't even show up at a little school dance?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying. I guess, I was—you don't seem like you're having a good time." Naomi glanced around. "And neither of you seem to be watching Malcolm." She was unable to spot the prince among the crowd.

"Giving him his space to dance with his future queen," Sam said, before gesturing wildly in Figgis's direction, where Ms. Grant was currently flipping her hair.

"And of course, he's not watching him. Too focused on that silly twit, Ms. uh...Ms...."

"Ms. Grant."

"I know who she is," Sam snapped.

At his slurred speech and surly manner, Naomi's suspicions were raised. She snatched Sam's cup out of his hand, sniffing it expertly.

"Sam, are you drunk? Did you taint the punch? With all these kids here?"

"Course not," he said, revealing a flask from inside his jacket pocket.

"You're not being very responsible, Captain Sam." Naomi put on her stern voice.

"And he's being a lush." Sam pointed at Figgis again. "But you don't see me complaining about it."

"Actually, you are. And you seem far more sloshed than him." Naomi took in Figgis and her teacher. They were flirting, her fiddling with his tie, a winning smile on his face. They weren't subtle. Naomi couldn't understand why Sam cared, but she took a likely guess.

"Don't be jealous of your partner. You can go find some other teacher to dance with."

"You know what, Naomi?" Sam patted her on the shoulder companionably, before leaning in, his alcoholic breath inches away. "You're not as bright as you think you are."

With that impolite declaration, Sam walked—more like, stumbled—away. She simply shook him off, his intoxication taking the sting out of this specific barb.

Now that Sam was out of the way, she was able to reach the fruit punch bowl. As she finished filling up the cups, an accusatory voice came from behind her.