Breaking Beautiful (28 page)

My scar throbs and cold runs the length of my back. I can’t say anything as he pushes the frame into my hands. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what I like about the ocean. It returns things you thought were lost.”

Chapter
39

I stumble back to the ballroom with the picture clutched against my chest, like it was precious, instead of something I loathe. I’m afraid to see Blake, but he isn’t around. I’m not sure what I should do with the picture. I can’t just lay it down on the table and get back to work.

Caitlyn crosses the room to me. She’s grinning like there isn’t anything wrong in the world. “C’mon, Cinderella, time to get ready for the ball.”

I look around the room. “I can’t—”

Mom, right behind her, looks firm, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. “I called in a few favors. A group of people from town are going to finish the decorations so you guys can get ready to go. Blake’s already gone.”

My heart feels heavy when I think of Blake leaving without coming to find me first. Maybe it’s better if he’s mad at me. Maybe it’s better if he stays away.

A limo waits for us outside. “Dad’s, from the mortuary,” Caitlyn explains. Mom and I climb in after her.

Mel is driving. “We need to get going,” she says, and looks at her watch. “The dance starts in a little over an hour and you still have to do costumes and makeup.”

“And eat,” Caitlyn says. “Mom sent the dinner she was making down with us when we found out you guys weren’t going to make it to Hoquiam.”

When we get home, Mom hustles me through the door. “I’ll start the tub for you. Grandma Joyce brought by some bath stuff.”

“Just a second,” I say. So far no one has noticed the picture in my arms.

“Be quick,” Mom answers, “or the water will be cold.”

I hesitate in the doorway to my room, looking around to see where I can leave the picture. I’m afraid that Trip’s dad will ask me what I did with it when he sees me at the dance. I decide on its previous location, on top of my hutch. I balance on my desk chair and reach to put it there.

A sharp knock on the door makes me lose my balance. I fall backward, pulling the top of my hutch with me. The corner of the picture frame glances across my shoulder as it falls, slicing into my skin. The hutch steadies itself, but I fall hard onto the floor. The frame breaks and the glass shatters.

“Allie,” Mom yells through the door. She wiggles the handle, but I locked it. “Allie, are you okay?”

“Fine,” I call back, but my voice is shaking. “I just tripped and broke a glass.”

“Let me clean it up for you.” She wiggles the handle again. “You go take your bath.”

“It’s okay,” I yell back. “I’ve got it.”

A line of blood appears where the picture hit my shoulder. There’s a red mark around it that will turn into a bruise soon. I wrap a T-shirt from the floor around my hand so I don’t get cut when I pick up the broken frame. The print slides out and lands face-down on the floor. I gasp and nearly fall again. On the back, in Trip’s sharp handwriting, are four words.

You belong to me.

I don’t want to touch it, but I lean forward and run my fingers over the edge. It’s another piece of a note, glued onto the back of the picture. I close my eyes and remember what the whole thing said.

I’m sorry I got so mad. I hate the thought of you ever being with anyone else. You belong to me.

The piece wasn’t cut from one of Hannah’s notes; it’s from one of the notes Trip gave me.

.........

I deserve this.

The water slides over my body and makes the cut on my shoulder sting. I shouldn’t go to the dance. I should stay home. I should stay away from Blake. My hands are shaking, not from the cold water.

I’m numb as I dress for the dance. Caitlyn has enough enthusiasm for both of us anyway. Mel has to keep telling her to sit
still while she shapes her hair into a forties twist with pin curls at the side.

Mel evens out Caitlyn’s blotchy complexion with pink makeup. When she turns around, she’s breathtakingly beautiful, like an old movie star. I finally know what era she belongs to.

Then Mel starts on me. She tightens and sprays the natural curls around my head so they’re still soft but can’t possibly move out of place. Then she works her magic and makes the scar over my eye disappear. I only wish that she had some magic makeup to cover the scars on the inside. That she could erase the last three years and I could go back to the day when Blake kissed me in the cave, knowing what I know now.

“Oh, Allie, you look beautiful.” Mom leans against the doorway to her bedroom. “It makes me feel old to think you’re a senior now.” Mel and Caitlyn go past her and down the hall, but Mom stops me. She puts her arms around me and hugs me against her chest. When I pull away she has tears in her eyes. “I want you to know I feel bad about what I said about Blake, and about all of our fights. And about everything I missed last year.”

I study her expression, wondering what she means by “everything.”

She wipes the tears away. “Work has been kind of all-consuming. There has been so much pressure—”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, but I can’t make my voice sincere, I’m so tired of her excuses about work.

“I’ll try to do better. I promise.” She sighs and brushes her hand across her eyes one more time. She smudges away some of her foundation, and I notice dark blotches under her eyes. She forces a smile. “Wait until you see Andrew.”

Andrew in the vintage World War II uniform is dashing. There’s no other way to describe him. He looks so much the part of a soldier that Dad is getting choked up—Dad. Caitlyn’s Red Cross armband makes it look like Andrew’s wheelchair is part of the costume. I’ve never seen him so happy. For his sake I plaster a smile on my face and vow to keep it there the whole evening.

Andrew can’t take his eyes off Caitlyn. He kisses her in front of our parents. She sits on his lap for pictures. Then she kisses him.

Blake hates his costume. I can tell. I should have chosen something more casual for him. He keeps fidgeting, pulling at the collar. He looks like someone stuffed him into a suit without his permission, which I guess I did. He stands next to me as Dad takes his picture, stiff and trapped, the way I look in the picture from cotillion. He doesn’t touch me at all.

Dad follows us in the van with Andrew’s chair so he can ride in the limo with us. Caitlyn sits on Andrew’s lap and they kiss the whole way to the dance. Through the rearview mirror, Mel rolls her eyes.

Blake sits by the door and looks out the window. A good six inches separates his left hip from my right one. He doesn’t even hold my hand. Maybe he’s finally figured out that I am poison, just like Hannah said. I feel the barrier creeping in between us again. As much as it hurts, I’m grateful. The less Mr. Phillips sees of Blake and me together, the better—for Blake.

At the dance, around everyone else, Blake acts normal. He has friends now: Marshall whose band will not be playing, now that we’re at the inn; Randall and Angie; and even Kasey. I
fight against a wave of jealousy, because this is what I wanted, for them to accept Blake. But more and more it seems like he doesn’t need me.

Ms. Flores catches us before we even have the chance to dance. “One of the members of the city council is here,” she says. “I hate to interrupt your evening, but he wanted to ask Blake about the condition of his paintings.”

“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll wait over at a table in the corner until you’re done.”

I’m hoping for an invitation to join them, but Blake nods to me and follows Ms. Flores to the other side of the room. I flop down at a table in a dark corner and watch everyone else dancing.

Andrew and Caitlyn are in the middle of the floor, oblivious to the rest of the world, making slow circles in his chair. She’s perched on his lap with her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. I look away. At least someone is having a good time tonight.

I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, being a baby, selfish—acting like Hannah because all of the attention isn’t on me. Blake worked hard for this dance and no one even gets to see his paintings. It would be great if he could fix them enough so the city would still want them.

I trace the edges of the tigereye through my little beaded purse. It reminds me of something else. The little purse I carried with me to cotillion. I trace the tigereye again. I had it in my purse that night, but if I kept it in my purse, how did it fall out? How did Blake end up with it?

I watch him from across the room and push that thought
away. It falls under “questions I’m afraid to ask.” I’m too tired to let my memories get to me tonight.

A chair scrapes across the floor on the other side of the table. I look up and see James sit down. I look around for Hannah, expecting a joint assault. Angie told me they were coming to the dance together. But James is alone.

“Hey, Allie.” His voice is low and friendly, probably softened with alcohol.

I ignore him and keep my attention on Blake, Ms. Flores, and the city council guy.

“Are you having a good time tonight?” He leans closer to me.

I smell beer. I give him a disgusted look and slide my chair back to leave. He puts his hand on my arm, covering the scar that was his fault. “What’s your hurry? Juvie doesn’t even know you’re gone, and Hannah’s pissed off at me for some reason. We could leave together.”

“What kind of game are you playing?” I snap back at him.

I glance at Blake. He’s still talking to the guy from the city council.

“Don’t embarrass me, Allie.”

I pull away and walk to another table, away from James and closer to the rest of the crowd. I hope that will discourage him, but he follows me. He sits down and slides his chair so it’s against mine. I’m trapped between his chair and the table. He puts his hand on my knee and looks down. “Those shoes are nice, but I think I like the ones you wore to cotillion better.”

My heart stops.

“So Cinderella goes to the ball and leaves her shoe behind—evidence against her.” He inches his hand up my fringy skirt.

“Stop it,” I whisper, and try to push his hand away.

He moves his hand higher on my leg. “Maybe I don’t have to show that cop what I found.”

“I said, Stop.” I say it a little louder. Some of the couples on the edge of the dance floor look over at us.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch.” He clamps his fingers down on my leg and leans into my ear. “I could make it all go away. If you ask nicely.” He turns and presses his lips against my neck.

I jump up and backhand him—hard. My chair clatters to the floor behind me. The song ends and the dance floor is quiet, so everyone can hear him when he starts swearing at me and holding his nose. Blake and the city council guy are staring at me across the room. Andrew and Caitlyn are staring at me from the middle of the floor. Everyone is staring. I want to crawl under the table. I want to run, but Randall walks over and stands in front of me, all six foot four of him.

“What’s the problem?” he says.

“He—” but I can’t finish. Randall isn’t going to believe me over James no matter what I say.

Randall steps past me and claps his hand on James’s shoulder, to congratulate him, I guess, for humiliating me, but he says, “You’ve had too much to drink, my friend. It’s time for you to go home.”

James takes his hand away from his nose, which isn’t even bleeding, and sputters while Randall directs him toward the door. I’m almost as shocked as James at Randall’s reaction. So shocked I can’t move.

“Murderer!” James turns bloodshot eyes on me. “She killed
Trip.” He turns toward the crowd like he’s pleading his case. “We all know she killed him!”

“No!” Andrew is almost as loud as James. I don’t remember him crossing the room, but his chair is in front of me, blocking James from coming closer.

Randall and James stop struggling, for a second as shocked as the rest of us at Andrew’s outburst.

Andrew turns his chair to face him. “Don’t touch her—” He’s struggling for control, his whole body shaking with anger. “Stay away—” His real voice fails him. He slams his hand over his communicator so hard that it comes free of the strap and crashes to the floor. It emits a high-pitched squeal and then goes silent. After what seems like forever, Mr. Barnes steps in and helps Randall manhandle James. They disappear through the door. Blake picks up the communicator and sets it on the table. The music starts up again and the crowd drifts away, sending semihushed comments and glances in our direction.

“I’m sorry,” I say without looking up. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. Didn’t mean to embarrass everyone.” I look around for the city council guy but can’t find him. He probably left as soon as he realized Blake’s girlfriend was a freak and probably a murderer. “I’m sorry, Andrew, I didn’t mean for your communicator to get broken.” My voice trembles and I reach for the tigereye inside my purse. “Can we leave?”

“No.” Andrew is still struggling to get control over his body. “Not your fault.”

“You can’t let a guy like that ruin your night,” Caitlyn says gently. She’s holding Andrew’s bad hand, trying to keep it still. “You worked too hard.”

“They’re right,” Blake says. “We worked hard for this and we aren’t going to let James ruin it. Let’s go dance.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. His eyes snap with anger. It makes me want to shrink away from him, but I follow him onto the floor.

Blake’s arms and chest feel stiff and hard against me—like Trip’s. There’s no comfort and no melting into his embrace. He won’t look me in the eye. He looks away, over my shoulder. Like everyone else. My fault. Always my fault.

James’s accusation still rings in my ears.

“Murderer.”

A thought that I’ve kept buried, even from myself, rises to the front of my mind, where I can’t push it away.

What if James is right? What if I did kill Trip?