““It was long past time to change the subject. “The boy playing the bagpipes is really good,” Prudie said. If only she’d said it in French! Trey made a delighted noise. “Nessa Trussler. A girl. Or something.” Prudie looked at Nessa again. There was, she could see now, a certain plump ambiguity. Maybe Trey wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d said. Maybe Nessa was perfectly comfortable with who she was. Maybe she was admired throughout the school for her musical ability. Maybe pigs could jig.””
