Wanna have a party?” “A party? Not at my house we’re not!” I said. Elsie shrugged her shoulders. “Oh I know that, not mine either. But… you know a guy named Timothy Meadows?” I did happen to know him. He was a nerd, who was tall and skinny with the worse case of acne I’d ever seen. And of course I readily agreed to go. I mean, it was my graduation, everyone parties that night, don’t they?” Graduation was nothing to write home about. Stephanie Crabgrass was Valedictorian, Marie Gambetta had top honors; you know, nothing special that is until I got a peek at JoAnn Childress, who wore nothing under her gown. Elsie, me and Tammy Wheatland got a glimpse of her after the ceremonies. Apparently she had been boffing Big Milton, the star black basketball player who was going off to Cornell just before the guys had to line up for the presentations, and didn’t have time to get dressed. So she brazenly ambled up, accepted her diploma and hoped to hell no one saw the state she was in. But as we. The King’s water wench . The term itself was a contradiction. Kings did not fire, so there could be no kreem to swallow, and thus ‘king’s water wench’ was a concept that simply did not exist in the minds or spoken word of the realm. She thought of how she first met the King. It had been a chance encounter, really. If she had paused but one moment to take an extra sheet from the wash pan, she would not have crossed the courtyard at the moment the King passed her gate. Rivasor is a small cluster, but paths can go uncrossed for quite some time, and if one is the King, rushing hither and yon on all manner of mission and mayhem, paths may not cross for many seasons. At that moment, however, as he and Aimshur, the master archer and king’s right arm, passed through the cobbles, the King glanced towards her gate, and something about her visage held his gaze. It might have been the purse of her lips or the form of her bare feet. In one of life’s eternal mysteries, no one can predict what mix.
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