The mixer was pretty lame, as far as firsts went. Perhaps the First Party on Mars had just been too good and everything after that was going to be terrible in comparison. Or, more likely, a mixer was never going to be great.
Sighing as I stood at a table in the corner, I felt someone brush my elbow. “Oh, sorry,” muttered a tall, thin man with shaggy hair and bright green eyes. When he realized I was staring, he glanced around and set his glass of ‘Martian punch’ down on the table and leaned on it. With a wink, he asked, “What’s a pretty girl like you doing away from the dance floor?” What he was calling a dance floor was a ten-by-ten hole in the middle of the dome where no one wanted to step foot.
I rolled my eyes and replied, “Well, I guess I haven’t found the right partner. I’m Clarice.” Last names were so Earth.
“Nice to meet you, Clarice. I’m Dante Entra,” he murmured, leaning in as the music grew a little louder.
At the time, Entra didn’t sound familiar, but when I woke up in the morning very far from my bed, I remembered. Lying in a double king bed full of down pillows and three blankets, I shivered. Beside me, Dante stirred and smiled at me. “What a wonderful night,” he murmured.
“Your last name is Entra,” I sighed as I inched away from him. Still groggy, he nodded. I chuckled and snapped, “Last night never happened.” As I got up and found my clothes, I muttered angrily at myself.
I was almost at the door when Dante realized there was something wrong and sat up. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “I thought we had a connection,” he muttered, getting up and putting on his pants as though he was suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m a Tilin, Dante; we can’t be together. Our families will disinherit us and send us home or something. We have to get our stories straight in case anyone asks why we left together or why we were even talking at the mixer,” I explained, hurriedly counting the items that are meant to be in my purse. I was checking my phone for texts when Dante’s hand was on my arm and he was looking into my eyes.
“Hey, I think I’m in love with you,” he purred, caressing my shoulder to keep me tight.
Ducking out of his arms, I snapped, “It doesn’t matter. We can’t be together. I’m going to transfer out of here, okay. Just, please, forget you met me.”
That wasn’t the last time I found myself in Dante’s bed. I managed to get a transfer to the space station, but so did Dante. Forced to cancel mine, I remained on Mars while he sent love letters to my apartment until his parents found out and disowned him.
Pretty Twisted Mirrors 