Free Like Jazz by Heather Blackmore

playing much better than usual, forcing them to elevate their game. We lost, as expected, but had some long rallies with fast volleys, and we all enjoyed the caliber of play. As the four of us filed into the locker room, a few of the other girls were drifting out. Some had already gone home. Sarah was walking out as we entered, and as we noticed each other, she reached for my upper arm and stopped me.
    “Hey. Got a minute?”
    I nodded and she pulled me outside the locker-room door.
    “What are you doing the Saturday after Homecoming?”
    Happy at the thought Sarah’s question might mean I’d be doing something with her, I didn’t hide my enthusiasm.
    “I don’t know. What am I doing?”
    “My dad’s foundation is having its semi-annual L.A. fund-raiser, and I was hoping you might come.”
    “What kind of fund-raiser?”
    “A black-tie affair with a five-course dinner, top-notch entertainment, and a silent auction. It should raise over a million dollars.”
    This had to be a joke. I played along by giving her an apologetic look and shrug. “Sorry, I left my purse at home.”
    Keeping her eyes on mine, she dropped her chin, affecting exasperation. “Not as a donor, obviously.”
    “You’re not kidding.”
    “I know it sounds kind of major, but they’re usually pretty fun.”
    “I don’t have anything to wear to that kind of thing.”
    “Don’t worry about that. The Foundation will cover it.”
    I eyed her in disbelief.
    “I’ll explain later, but it’s a nonissue,” she said.
    “Is Dirk going?”
    She shook her head. “I’d be the only one you’d know.”
    This was starting to sound better . “Assuming I’m adequately dressed, it’s not going to annoy anyone that some high-school girl is hanging out with the rich-and-famous?”
    Sarah’s eyes shifted to the locker-room entrance, then back to me, and a look of concern shadowed her face.
    “Listen, Cazz. Full disclosure. It’s selfish of me to even ask you to this event because it may be well outside your comfort zone. The truth of the matter, and something I want you to consider very carefully before agreeing to come, is that many of these donors are wealthy, powerful, often famous men. Married men, sometimes attending with their wives, sometimes not. They’re harmless, but they tend to be a little more…hmm…I guess…let’s say, philanthropic, with pretty, young girls around. They’ll be far from annoyed by your presence.” I couldn’t follow what she was trying to tell me and must have looked perplexed. “To be blunt, you’ll be eye candy.”
    I was momentarily confused. A small part of me was wondering whether Sarah had asked me to attend this function solely because it might possibly be advantageous to her father’s organization, but the other, larger part of me was staunchly defending her, telling myself she was being forthright, trying to give me the honest lay of the land so I could decide for myself whether to accept her invitation.
    My internal struggle must have been playing out on my face because she crossed her arms, glared at me, and shook her head.
    “No, I didn’t ask you to come because I think you’ll be good for business.”
    I believed her. Though I couldn’t seem to prevent my inherent—or learned—suspiciousness from creeping into my thoughts, I trusted Sarah. If I was going to get hurt, it would be beyond measure, because in less than a month, Sarah had single-handedly torn down the walls I’d instinctively spent years building around myself.
    I decided to mess with her and pretended to be offended. I mirrored her posture by crossing my arms. “I see. You think I’ll be bad for business.” I bit back the smile that was threatening to show itself and gave her a cool stare.
    Sarah appeared flustered and uncrossed her arms to gesture with her hands. “What? No! No. I didn’t mean you wouldn’t be good for business, I meant—” Realization dawned on her as she noticed the teasing smile blossoming on