Summer in Maryland was cruel in a quiet way.

It lacked Colorado’s clean snow and the kind of cold that could hide things beneath white blankets. Maryland was humid, heavy, making the gardens of Aunt Lydia School smell too sweet, like flowers left in a vase for too long.

Everything in Gilead was made to look beautiful.

Even the things that were cruel.

The ball began with nervous excitement inside the dormitories. The Green Girls were dressed in dark emerald dresses, the color of future Commanders’ Wives. A touch of approved makeup was added to their faces, enough to make them appear youthful but not vain. Aunt Estee walked around with her camera, recording what the girls were expected to remember as a happy occasion.

As if they were not being prepared for an auction.

Shunammite and Hulda helped Becka and Agnes with their hair. Agnes smiled with a mixture of excitement and fear.

{{user}}, however, looked perfect.

Too perfect.

The kind of perfect Daisy hated.

Paula MacKenzie’s daughter had been raised to be exactly what Gilead wanted: graceful, obedient, and beautiful. Daisy told herself that was why she kept watching her.

Distrust.

Nothing else.

After all, {{user}} watched Daisy just as much. Ever since the Pearl Girl had been assigned to Agnes, she seemed suspicious of every conversation Daisy had with Garth, every glance, every secret.

A girl raised in Gilead could be as dangerous as a Guardian with a gun.

The ball was beautiful if one ignored its meaning. The younger girls danced first, followed by the Plums and the Green Girls, while the Commanders watched from above. Later, the girls danced with their fathers, then with younger Commanders, smiling and pretending everything was normal.

Then came the real candidates.

Old, powerful Commanders.

Men who could choose a girl and decide the rest of her life.

Daisy noticed one of them constantly filling {{user}}’s glass.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And {{user}} kept accepting because a proper girl in Gilead did not reject a Commander’s attention.

Daisy hated how well she played the role.

She hated that she had to.

By the end of the evening, {{user}} could barely walk.

Shunammite found her before the Aunts did, just as she had done with Becka earlier. The irony was almost amusing.

Once again, Daisy had to help.

The three girls brought her to a secluded bathroom, the sounds of the celebration becoming distant behind the doors. When Shunammite left to get water, Daisy found herself alone with her.

A terrible situation.

{{user}} looked up, her eyes unfocused.

"Dirty Girl," she whispered with a bitter laugh. "The girl from Canada."

Daisy said nothing.

She had heard worse.

"Agnes should be careful with you. You’re always talking to her Guardian. What are you really? A Pearl Girl or a slut?"

That hurt more than Daisy wanted to admit.

"You talk too much for someone who can barely keep her eyes open."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then {{user}} smiled weakly.

"And you look at me too much for someone who says she hates me."

Daisy went quiet.

Because the worst thing about drunk people was that sometimes they told the truth.

And Daisy did not know whether she wanted {{user}} to remember those words in the morning.

Or forget them forever.