"Well, we know it's not Miles, since you're not really his type, and we know it's not Haven since she's not really your type, which leaves me with-" She slips right through the closed and locked car door and onto the front seat while I try not to cringe. "Well, I guess that's pretty much it for your circle of friends, so tell me, I give up."
I open the garage door and climb in my car the old-fashioned way, then rev up the engine to drown out her voice.
"I know you're up to something," she says, talking over the roar. "Because excuse me for saying so, but you're acting just like you did right before you hooked up with Brandon. Remem ber how nervous and paranoid you were? Wondering if he liked you back, and bippidy-blah blah. So come on, tell me. Who's the unlucky guy? Who's your next victim?"
And the second she says that, an image of Damen flashes before me, looking so gorgeous, so sexy, so smoldering, so palpable, I'm tempted to reach out and claim it. But instead I just clear my throat, shift into reverse, and say, "No one. I don't like anyone. But trust me, that's the last time I'll ever ask you to help."
By the time I get to English, I'm as giddy; nervous, sweaty palmed, and anxious as Riley accused me of being. But when I see Damen talking to Stacia, I add paranoid to the already long list.
"Urn, excuse me," I say; blocked by Damen's gloriously long legs, which are taking the place of her usual booby trap.
But he just ignores me and remains perched on her desk, and I watch as he reaches behind her ear, and comes away with a rosebud.
A single white rosebud.
A fresh, pure, glistening, dewy; white rosebud.
And when he hands it to her, she squeals so loud you'd think he just gave her a diamond.
"Oh-my-gawd! No way! How'd you do that?" She shrieks, waving it around so everyone can see.
I press my lips and gaze down at the ground, fiddling with my iPod and cranking the sound until I can no longer hear her.
"I need to get by;" I mumble, my eyes meeting Damen's, catching the briefest flash of warmth before his gaze turns to ice and he moves out of my way.
I storm toward my desk, my feet moving like they're supposed to, one in front of the other, like a zombie, a robot, some dense numb thing just going through its preprogrammed motions, unable to think on its own. Then I settle onto my chair and continue the routine, retrieving paper, books, and a pen, pretending I don't notice how reluctant Damen is, how he drags his feet when Mr. Robins makes him return to his seat.
"What the Jug?" Haven says, moving her bangs to the side and staring straight ahead, her profanity ban the only New Year's resolution she's ever been able to keep, but only because she thinks
Jug is funny.
"I knew it wouldn't last." Miles shakes his head and gazes at Damen, watching him wow the A-list with his natural charm, magic pen, and stupid fugging rosebuds. "I knew it was too good to be true. In fact, I said exactly that the very first day. Remember when I said that?"
"No," Haven mumbles, still staring at Damen. "I don't re member that at all."
"Well, I did." Miles swigs his Vitamin Water, and nods. "I said it. You just didn't hear me."
I gaze down at my sandwich and shrug, not wanting to get into the whole "who said what when"· debate, and definitely not willing to look anywhere near Damen, Stacia, or anyone else at that table. I'm still reeling from English, when Damen leaned toward me, right in the middle of roll call, so he could pass me a note.
But only so I could pass it to Stacia.
"Pass it yourself," I'd said, refusing to touch it. Wondering how a single piece of notebook paper, folded into a triangle, could possibly cause so much pain.
"Come on," he said, flicking it toward me so it landed just shy of my fingers. "I promise you won't get caught."
"It's not about getting caught." I glared at him. "Then what is it about?" he asked, dark eyes on mine.
It's about not wanting to touch it! Not wanting to know what it says! Because the moment my fingers make contact, I'll see the words in my head-the whole, sexy, adorable, flirty, unfiltered message. And even though it'll be bad enough to hear it in her thoughts, at least then I can pretend that it's compromised, diluted by her dimwitted brain. But if I touch that piece of paper, then I'll know the words are trueand I just can't bear to see them
"Pass it yourself," I finally said, tapping it with the tip of my pencil and sending it off the edge of my desk. Hating the way my heart slammed against my chest as he laughed and bent down to retrieve it.
Hating myself for the flood of relief when he slid it into his pocket instead of passing it to her.
"Um, hel-lo, earth to Ever!"
I shake my head and squint at Miles.
"I asked what happened? I mean, not to point fingers or anything, but you are the last one who saw him today "
I gaze at Miles, wishing I knew: Remembering yesterday in art, the way Damen's eyes sought mine, the way his touch warmed my skin, so sure we'd shared something personal-magical even.
But then I remember the girl before Stacia, the gorgeous haughty redhead at the St. Regis, the one I conveniently managed to forget. And I feel like a fool, for being so naive, for thinking he just might've liked me. Because the truth is, that's just Damen. He's a player. And he does this all the time.
I gaze across the lunch tables, just in time to see Damen compile an entire bouquet of white rosebuds from Stacia's ear, sleeve, cleavage, and purse. Then I press my lips and avert my gaze, sparing myself the gratuitous hug that soon foll.ows.
"I didn't do anything," I finally say; as confused by Damen's erratic behavior as Miles and Haven, only far less willing to admit it.
I can hear Miles's thoughts, weighing my words, trying to decide if he should believe me.
Then he sighs and says, "Do you feel as dejected, jilted, and heartbroken as me?"
I look at. him, wanting to confide, wishing I could tell him everything, the whole sordid jumble of feelings. How just yesterday I was sure something significant had passed between us, only to wake up today and be presented with this. But instead I just shake my head, gather my things, and head off to class, long before the bell even rings.
All through fifth-period French, I think of ways to get out of art. Seriously. Even as I'm participating in the usual drills, lips moving, foreign words forming, my mind is completely obsessed with faking a stomachache, nausea, fever, a dizzy spell, the flu, whatever. Any excuse will do.
And it's not just because of Damen. Because the truth is, I don't even know why I signed up for that class in the first place. I have no artistic ability; my project's a mess, and it's not like I'm going to be an artist anyway. And yeah, I guess if you throw Damen into that already full mix, you end up not only with a seriously compromised GPA, but fifty-seven minutes of awkwardness.
But in the end, I go. Mostly because it's the right thing to do.
And I'm so focused on gathering my supplies and donning my smock, that at first I don't realize he's not even there. And as the minutes tick by with still no sign of him, I grab my paints and head for my easel.
Only to find that stupid triangle note.balanced on the edge.
I stare at it, focusing so intensely that everything around me grows dark and out of focus.
The entire classroom reduced to one single point. My entire world consisting of a triangleshaped letter resting on a thin wooden ledge, the name Stacia scrawled on its front. And even though
I've no idea how it got there, even though a quick survey of the room reaffirms Damen's not there ,
I don't want it anywhere near me. I refuse to participate in this sick little game.
I grab a paintbrush and flick it as hard as I can, watching as it soars through the air before tumbling to the ground, knowing I'm acting childish, ridiculous, especially when Ms. Machado comes by and swoops it up in her hand.
"Looks like you dropped something!" she sings, her smile bright and expectant, having no idea that I put it there on purpose.
"It's not mine," I mumble, rearranging my paints, figuring she can get it to Stacia herself, or better yet, throw it away.
"So there's another Ever I'm not aware oft" She smiles. What?
I take the note she dangles before me, Ever clearly scrawled across its front, and written in Damen's unmistakable hand. Having no idea how this happened, no logical explanation. Because I know what I saw.
My fingers tremble as I begin to unfold it, opening all three corners and smoothing the crease, gasping when a small detailed sketch is unveiled-a small detailed sketch of one beautiful red tulip.
Eleven
Halloween is just a few days away and I'm still working on the final touches for my costume.
Haven's going as a vampire (duh), Miles is going as a pirate-but that's only after I talked him out of going as Madonna in her. cone-breast phase, and I'm not telling what I'm going as. But only because my once great idea has morphed into an overly ambitious project I'm quickly losing faith in.
Though I have to admit I was pretty surprised Sabine even wanted to throw a party to begin with. Partly because she never really seems interested in stuff like that, but mostly because I figured that between the two of us we'd be lucky to come up with five guests max. But apparently Sabine's a lot more popular than I realized, as she quickly filled two and a half columns, while my list was pathetically shorter-consisting of my only two friends and their possible plus ones.
So while Sabine hired a caterer to handle the food and drink, I put Miles in charge of audio/visual (which means he'll dock his iPod and rent some scary movies), and asked Haven to provide the cupcakes. Which pretty much left Riley and me as the sole members of the decorations committee. And since Sabine handed me a catalog and a credit card with specific instructions to "don't hold back," we've spent the last two afternoons transforming the house from its usual look of semicustom Tuscan track home to spooky, scary, crypt-keeper's castle. And it's been so much fun, reminding me of when we used to decorate our old house for Easter, Thanksgiving; and Christmas. Not to mention how staying busy and focused has really helped curb some of our bickering.
"You should go as a mermaid," Riley says. "Or as one of those kids from those OC reality shows."
"Oh jeez, don't tell me you still watch that stuffY I say; balancing precariously on the second to last rung, so I can string up yet another faux spiderweb.
"Don't blame me, Tivo's got a mind of its own." She shrugs. "You have Tivo?" I turn, desperate for any information I can get since she's always so stingy with the afterlife details.
But she just laughs. "I swear, you are so gullible-the things you believe!" She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, reaching into a cardboard box· and retrieving a string of fairy lights. "Wanna trade?" she offers, unraveling the cord. "I mean, it's ridiculous the way you insist on climbing up and down that ladder when I can just levitate and get the job done."
I shake my head and frown. Even though it might be easier, I still like to pretend my life is somewhat normal.
"So what are you going as?"
"Forget it," I say; attaching the web to the corner, before climbing down the ladder to get a good look. "If you can have secrets, then I can too."
"No fair." She crosses her arms and pouts in the way that always worked on Dad, but never on Mom.
"Relax, you'll see it at the party;" I tell her, picking up a glowin-the-dark skeleton and untangling the limbs.
"You mean, I'm invited?" she asks, her voice squeaky, eyes wide with excitement.
"Like I could stop you?" I laugh, propping Mr. Skeleton near the entryway so he can greet all our guests.
"Is your boyfriend coming too?"
I roll my eyes and sigh. "You know I don't have a boyfriend,"
I say, bored with this game before it's even begun.
"Please. I'm not an idiot." She scowls. "It's not like I've forgotten the great sweatshirt debate.
Besides, I can't wait to meet him, or I guess I should say; see him, since it's not like you'd ever introduce me. Which is really pretty rude if you think about it. I mean just because he can't see me doesn't mean-'-"
"Jeez, he's not invited, okay?" I shout, not realizing I've stumbled into her trap until it's too late.
"Ha!" She looks at me, eyes wide, brows raised, lips curving with delight. "I knew it!" She laughs, tossing the fairy lights and jumping in glee, spinning and thrusting and pointing at me.
"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" she sings, punching her fists in the air. "Ha! I knew it!" She twirls.
I close my eyes and sigh, chiding myself for falling into her poorly concealed trap. "You don't know anything." I glare at her and shake my head. "He was never my boyfriend, okay? He-he was just some new kid, who at first I thought was kind of cute, but then, when I realized what a total player he is, well, let's just say that I'm overit. In fact, I don't even think he's cute anymore.
Seriously, it lasted like ten seconds, but only because I didn't know any better. And it's not like
I'm the only one who fell for his game, because Miles and Haven were practically fighting over him. So why don't you just stop with all the air punching and hip thrusts, and get back to work, okay?"
And the moment I stop, I know I sounded way too defensive to ever be believed. But now that it's out there I can't take it back, so I just try to ignore her as she hovers around the room singing, "Yup! I so so knew it!"
By Halloween night the house looks amazing. Riley and I taped webs in all of the windows and corners, and stuck huge black widow spiders in their middles. We hung-black rubber bats from the ceiling, scattered bloodied, severed (fake) body parts all around, and set up a crystal ball next to a plug-in raven whose eyes light up and roll around when he says, "You'll be sorry! Squawk!
You'll be sorry!" We dressed zombies in 'blood" covered rags and placed them where you'd least expect to find them. We put steaming cauldrons of witches' brew (really just dry ice and water) in the entry, and scattered skeletons, mummies, black cats and rats (well, fake ones, but still creepy), gargoyles, coffins, black candles, and skulls pretty much everywhere. We even decorated the backyard with jack-o'-lanterns, floating pool globes, and blinking fairy lights. And oh yeah, we placed a life-sized grim reaper out on the front lawn.
"How do I look?" Riley asks, gazing down at her purple shellcovered chest and red hair as she swishes her sparkly, metallic, green fish tail around.
"Like your favorite Disney character," I say, powdering my face until it's very pale, trying to think of a way to get rid of her so I can change into my costume and maybe surprise her for a change.
'Tll take that as a compliment." She smiles.
"As you should." I brush my hair back and pin it close to my head, preparing for the big, blond, towering wig I'll wear.
"So who are you going as?" She gazes at me. "I mean, would you just tell me already, because the suspense is really killing me!" She clutches her stomach in a fit of laughter, rocking back and forth, and nearly falling off the bed. She loves making death puns. Thinks they're hysterical. But mostly they just make me cringe.
Ignoring the joke, I turn to her and say, "Do me a favor? Sne~ down the hall and check out Sabine's costume, and let me know if she tries to wear that big rubber nose with the hairy wart on the end. I told her it's a really great witch's costume, but she needs to ditch the nose.
Guys don't usually go for that sort of thing."
"She's got a guy?" Riley asks, clearly surprised.
"N ot if she wears the nose," I say, watching as she slips. off the bed and heads across the room, mermaid tail dragging behind her. "But don't make any noise, or do anything to scare her, okay?" I add, cringing as she slinks through my closed bedroom door, not even bothering to open it. I mean, just because I've witnessed that like a gazillion times doesn't mean I've gotten used to it.
I head into my closet and unzip the bag I've hidden in the back, removing the beautiful plack gown with the low square neckline, the sheer three-quarterIength sleeves, and the super tight bodice that swells into shiny, loose folds-just like the one Marie Antoinette wore to the masked ball (well, as portrayed by Kirsten Dunst in themovie).
And after struggling with the zipper in the back, I slip on my very tall platinum blond wig (because even though I'm already blond, I could never get my hair to go that high), apply some red lipstick, fasten a filmy black mask over my eyes, and insert some long, dangly, rhinestone earrings.
And when my costume's complete I stand before my mirror twirling and spinning and smiling as my shiny black dress sways all around, and I'm thrilled w~th how good it turned out.
The second Riley pops back in she shakes her head and says,
'llli clear-finally! I mean, first she put the nose on, then she took it off, then she put it back on and turned to check out her profile, only to take it back off again. I swear it took all of my will not to just snatch it off her face and chuck it out the window."
I freeze, holding my breath, hoping she didn't do any such thing, because with Riley you just never know.
She plops herself onto my desk chair and uses the tip of her sparkly green fin to propel herself around. "Relax," she says. "Last I saw; she left it in the bathroom, next to the sink. And then some guy called needing directions, and she went on and on about what a great job you did on the house, and how she can hardly believe you handled it all by yourself, and bippidy-blah-blah."
She shakes her head and frowns. "You must really love that, huh? Taking all the credit for our hard work." She stops spinning and gives me a long, appraising look. "So, Marie Antoinette," she finally says, her eyes taking a tour of my costume. "I never would've guessed. I mean, it's not like you're all that big on cake."
I roll my eyes. "For your information, she never said that about the cake. It was a vicious tabloid rumor, so don't you believe it," I tell her, unable to stop mirror gazing, as I recheck my makeup and pat my wig, hoping it will all stay where it's supposed to. But when I catch Riley's reflection, something about the way she looks makes me stop and move toward her. "Hey, you okay?"
She closes her eyes and bites her lip. Then she. shakes her head and says, 'Jeez, would you look at us? You're dressed as a tragic teen queen, and I'd do anything just to be a teen."
I start to reach for her, but my hands fumble at my sides. I guess I'm so used to having her around that I sometimes forget how she's not really here, how she's no longer part of this world, and how she'll never grow any older, never get the chance to be thirteen. And then I remember how it's all my fault to begin with, and I feel a million times worse. "Riley, I-"
But she just shakes her head and waves her tail around. "No worries." She smiles, floating up from the chair. "Time to greet the guests!"
Haven came with Evangeline, her codependent donor friend, who, big surprise, is dressed like a vampire too, and Miles brought Eric, some guy he knows from his acting class who looks like he might actually be pretty cute beneath that black sat;in Zorro mask and cape.
"I can't believe you didn't invite Damen," Haven says, shaking her head and skipping right past hello. She's been mad at me all week, ever since she learned he didn't make the list.
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, tired of defending the obvious, of having to point out yet again how he's clearly ditched us, becoming a permanent fixture not just at Stacia's lunch table but also her desk. Procuring rosebuds from all manner of places, and how his art project, Woman with Yellow Hair is beginning to look suspiciously like her.
I mean, excuse me for not wanting to dwell on the fact of how despite the red tulips, the mysterious note, and the intimate gaze we once shared, he hasn't spoken to me in almost two weeks.
"It's not like he would've come anyway," I finally say, hoping she won't notice how my voice just cracked in betrayal. ''I'm sure he's out somewhere with Stacia, or the redhead, or-" I shake my head, refusing to continue.
"Wait-redhead? There's a redhead too?" She squints at me.
I shrug. Because the truth is, he could be with just about anyc. one. All I know is that he isn't here with me.
"You should see him." She turns to Evangeline. "He's amazing. Gorgeous like a movie starsexy like a rock star-he even does illusions." She ~ighs.
Evangeline raises her brows. "Sounds like he is an illusion.
No one's that perfect."
"Damen is. Too bad you can't see for yourself." Haven frowns at me again, her fingers fiddling with the black velvet choker she wears around her neck. "But if you do happen to meet him, don't forget that he's mine. I called it way before I knew you."
I gaze at Evangeline, taking in her dark murky aura, fishnet stockings, tiny black boy shorts, and mesh T-shirt, knowing she has no intention of keeping any such promise.
"You know I could lend you some fangs and fake blood for your neck and you could be a vampire too," Haven offers looking at. me, her mind flip-flopping back and forth, wantin~ to be my frIend, convinced I'm her foe.
But I just shake my head and steer them to the other side of the room, hoping she'll move on to something else and soon forget about Damen.
Sab~ne's. talking to her friends, Haven and Evangeline are spiking theIr dnnks, Miles and Eric are dancing, while Riley plays with the tail of Eric's whip, swinging the fringe up and down and back and forth, then looking around to see if anyone notices. And just as I'm about to give her the signal, the one that means she better cut it out if she wants to stick around, the doorbell rings, and we race each other to get it.
And even though I beat her to it, when I open the door I forget t~ gloat, because Damen is there. Flowers in one hand, goldtipped hat in the other, with his hair gathered into a low ponytail, his usual sleek black clothes replaced with a frilly white shirt, a coat with· gold buttons, and what can only be described as breeches, tights, and pointy black shoes. And just as I'm thinking how Miles is going to be completely envious of that costume, I realize who he's dressed as, and my heart skips two beats.
"Count Fersen," I mumble, barely managing the words. "Marie." He smiles, offering a deep, gallant bow:
"But it was a secret and you weren't even invited," I whisper, peering past his shoulder, searching for Stacia, the redhead, anyone at all, knowing he couldn't possibly be here for me.
But he just smiles and hands me the flowers. "Then it must be a lucky coincidence."
I swallow hard and turn on my heel, leading him through the entry, past the living and dining rooms, and into the den, my cheeks burning as my heart beats so hard and so fast I fear it might burst through my chest. Wondering how this possibly could've happened, searching for some logical explanation for Darnen's showing up at my party dressed as my perfect other half.
"Omigod, Damen's here!" Haven squeals, arms waving, face all lit up-well, as much as a heavily powdered, fang-wearing, blood-dripping, vampire face can light up. But the moment she sees his costume, realizing he came as Count Axel Fersen, the notso-secret lover of Marie Antoinette, her entire face dims, and her eyes turn to me, glaring accusingly.
"So, when'd you two arrange it?" she asks, advancing on us, trying to keep her voice light, neutral, but more for Damen's benefit than mine.
"We didn't," I say, hoping she'll believe it, yet knowing she won't. I mean, it's such a bizarre coincidence I'm beginning to doubt it myself, wondering if I somehow let it slip, even though
I know that I didn't.
"Complete fluke," Damen says, hooking his arm around my waist. And even though he only keeps it there for a moment, it's still long enough to leave my whole body tingling.
"You've got to be Damen," Evangeline says, slinking up beside him, fingers plucking at the ruffles on his shirt. "I thought for sure Haven was exaggerating, though apparently not!" She laughs. 'And who're you dressed as?"
"Count Fersen," Haven says, voice hard and brittle, eyes narrowed on mine.
"Whoever." Evangeline shrugs, stealing his hat and perching it on top of her head, smiling seductively from under the brim before grabbing his hand and leading him away.
The moment they're gone, Haven turns to me and says, "I can't believe you!" Her face is angry, fists clenched, but that's nothing compared to the horrible thoughts that swirl through her head. "You know how much I like him. I confided in you, I trusted you!"
"Haven, I swear, it wasn't planned. It's just some freaky coincidence. I don't even know what he's doing here, and you know I didn't invite him," I say, wanting to convince her, yet knowing it's useless, she's already made up her mind. 'And I don't know if you noticed, but your good friend Evangeline is practically humping his leg over there."
Haven glances across the room then turns back to me, shrugging when she says, "She does that with everyone, she's hardly a threat. Unlike you."
I take a deep breath, striving for patience and trying not to laugh as Riley stands beside her, mimicking every word, reenacting every move, mocking her in a way that's definitely funny though not at all kind. "Listen," I finally say. "I don't like him! I mean, how can I convince you of that? Just tell me and I'll do it!"
She shakes her head and looks away, shoulders sinking, thoughts turning dark, redirecting all of that anger back on herself. "Don't." She sighs, blinking rapidly, staving off tears. "Don't say a word. If he likes you then he likes you, and there's nothing I can do. I mean, it's not your fault you're smart and pretty and guys are always going to like you better than me. Especially once they see you without your hood." She tries to laugh, but doesn't quite make it.
"You're making something out of nothing," I say, hoping to convince her, hoping to convince myself. "The only thing Damen and I have in common is our taste in movies and costumes. That's it, I swear." And when I smile, I'm hoping it plays more real than it feels.
She gazes across the room at Evangeline who's taken hold of Zorro's whip and is demonstrating the proper way to use it, then she turns back to me and says, "Just do me a favor."
I nod, willing to do just about anything to put an end to all this. "Stop lying. You really suck at it."
I watch as she walks away, then I turn to Riley who's jumping up and down, shouting, "Omigod, this has got to be your best party ever! Drama! Intrigue! Jealousy! An almost-cat fight!
I am so glad I didn't miss this!"
And I'm just about to tell her to shush when I remember how I'm the only one who can actually hear her and how it might look a little strange for me to do that. And when the doorbell rings again, despite the fish tail flopping behind her, this time, she beats me to it.
"Oh my," says the woman standing on the porch gazing between Riley and me.
"Can I help you?" I ask, noticing how she's not dressed up, unless California casual counts as a costume.
She looks at me, her brown eyes meeting mine when she says, "Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bite-well you know:" She' nods at Riley as though she can actually see her.
Are you a friend of Sabine's?" I ask, thinking maybe it's some " weird nervous tic that keeps her eyes darting to where Riley is standing, because even though she has a nice purple aura, for some reason, I can't read her..
'Tm Ava. Sabine hired me."
"Are you one of the caterers?" I ask, wondering why she's wearing a black off-the-shoulder top, skinny jeans, and ballet flats instead of a white shirt and black pants like the rest of the team.
But she just laughs and waves at Riley, who's hiding behind " the folds of my dress, like she used to do with our mom whenever she felt shy. 'Tm the psychic," she says, brushing her long auburn hair off her face, and kneeling down beside Riley. "And I see you have a little friend with you."
Twelve
Apparently Ava the psychic was supposed to be this fun surprise for everyone. But trust me, no one was more surprised than me. I mean, how did I not see it coming? Was I so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot to poke around in Sabine's?
And it's not like I could just send her away, even though I was tempted. But before I could even react to the shock of her seeing Riley, Sabine was at the door, inviting her in.