Bess/Noah
Noah frowned at the third year, squirming in his chair. She had quite the intimidating expression, and he wondered what on earth he'd done to deserve to be the recipient of such a glare.
"What?"
"You should take me to the ball," Bess Zeller said smoothly, sitting in the seat across from him. "I will buy your cloak and the corsage."
Noah's eyes widened, and he looked around to see if Martin was pulling some sort of trick, "Er---wait, you're kidding, right?"
Bess' eyes narrowed, and Noah gulped.
"I can't take you! Third years aren't---I can't go with a third year."
"Third years are allowed to go if they have an older date," Bess snapped quickly, "And, do you even have a date?"
His lips pursed greatly, and Noah felt himself slouching low into his seat. Fucking hell. Well. At least she was pretty.
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