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At the end of the evening, Madame Senetsky complimented us all on our behavior and what she called our social performances. Exhausted, we all looked forward to our comfortable beds. When we visited the museum the next day, we were all quite subdued. Steven looked like he was sleepwalking, in fact. A professional guide had been assigned to lecture us about the exhibition.

After we had passed through about half of the museum. Rose stepped up between Cinnamon and myself and said. "Cover for me. I'm going to tell Ms. Fairchild that I'm going to the bathroom, and then I'm going to get lost for a while."

"What?" I cried. "Don't, Rose. You'll get in terrible trouble."

"Your boyfriend's here, isn't he?" Cinnamon asked her.

She smiled.

"In the lobby," she whispered. "I told him where we would be and he and I planned a secret rendezvous. Cover for me."

"Rose, please don't take the chance," I urged.

She stepped back, muttered something to Ms. Fairchild, who looked displeased, and then hurried away before Ms. Fairchild could prevent it.

The guide concluded his comments on the artwork before us and we moved to another room. I kept looking back at the doorway. I was very nervous for Rose.

"Don't worry about her," Cinnamon said. "She'll get away with it. She's just as good an actress as she is a dancer. You've seen her in Mr. Marlowe's improvisation classes. If you keep looking after her, you raise the temperature of suspicion in Ms. Fairchild's thermometer."

"Where's Rose?" Ice whispered, coming closer. "Ms. F

airchild is growing very upset. She muttered. 'That girl,' twice under her breath."

"Bathroom," Cinnamon said.

"Terrible cramps." Ice smiled.

"Terrible cramps. Suddenly. huh?" She tilted her head. "Her boyfriend's here. right?"

"Boys don't usually give me terrible cramps," Cinnamon replied, and we laughed.

"If you're not interested, you can at least be courteous and quiet" Laura Fairchild admonished.

We straightened up quickly. Howard and Steven glanced back at us. Steven smiling wryly.

"Hey," he said. realizing Rose was not there, "where's Ginger Rogers?"

"Bathroom," I replied. but Laura Fairchild was staring at the door behind us, her increasing anger making her neck turn redder and redder.

"Excuse me. Mr. Longo," she said to our guide, and then turned to us. "You all continue-- and pay attention. I'll go look for our little lost lamb."

"I can go," Steven volunteered.

"You can go back to where you came from, too," she replied sternly.

Howard laughed at Steven's look of shock.

We watched Laura Fairchild march off, the fury stiffening her neck and turning her hands into small fists. Her heels clicked off down the corridor like an old clock ticking down to the launching of a rocket.

"I wouldn't want to be our beautiful Rose right now," Steven declared.

"Don't worry. You'll always be a weed," Cinnamon told him, and we all laughed.

"Ha, ha. You're a riot."

"Can we continue with the tour, ladies and gentlemen? I have another in about twenty minutes." Mr. Longo said, twisting his lips with obvious disgust.

"Oh. please do," Steven told him.