For an instant, there, Antonia actually stopped walking, and could only look at Wendy at a loss of words, dumbfounded. Had she heard right? “Did you just say race them?” And as she confirmed, then, that her understanding was right, the gape in her mouth gave way to a satisfied, wide smile. “Wendy Fucking Lestrange, illegal broom racer,” she made no effort to say it quietly as she burst into laughter, then. Not a mocking laugh, but an entirely pleased, wholesome one. The type she hadn’t been capable of mustering in ages.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it, or that she thought anything about this was ridiculous. It was only, well, Wendy. She couldn’t have said she could picture this girl, so giddy and precious, doing anything illegal, let alone something as dangerous as broom racing. This was precisely the type of thing people would expect from her. And, sure enough, this idea would, from now on, be stuck onto her brain like glue. “Well, it’s settled then. You’ll have to show it to me,” she spoke, eagerly, encouraging hand on her back as she started walking again.
What one might have mistaken for a bashful smile graced Wendy’s lips---but there was nothing so bashful about it. Rather, Wendy felt smug---so rare an emotion for her, at least that she was conscious of or purposeful with. She enjoyed the racing, yes, and she knew that she was good at it, of course, but what brought that smug smile to her face was the surprise. It was always a surprise, that sweet little Wendy did something illegal and dangerous. She liked to know that she was capable of such surprise---that, out of everyone in the world, it was her who knew herself best.
“I’d be glad to,” she told Antonia. After all, Wendy liked company, and Antonia seemed the type to enjoy something like this. Above all else, though, it was an excuse to give herself for going back. “I’ll let you know next I hear of one.”