That night, long after the party had ended and all of our guests were gone, I was lying in bed, thinking about Ava, what she said about Riley being stuck, and how I was to blame. I guess I'd always assumed Riley had moved on and was choosing to visit on her own free will. Since it's not like I ask her to drop by all the time, it's just something she chooses to do. And the times she's not with me, well, I figure she's kicking it somewhere in Heaven. And even though I know Ava's only trying to help, offering to stand in as some sort of psychic big sister, what she doesn't realize is that I don't want any help. That even though I yearn to be normal again, go back to the way things were before, I also know that this is my punishment. This horrible gift is what I deserve for all the harm that I've caused, for the lives I cut short. And now I just have to live with it—and try not to harm anyone else.
When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt of Damen. And everything about it felt so powerful, so intense, so urgent, I thought it was real. But by morning, all I had left were fragmented pieces, shifting images with no beginning or end. The only thing I could clearly remember was the two of us running through a cold.
"What's your problem? Why so grumpy?" Riley asks, perched on the edge of my bed, dressed in a Zorro costume identical to the one Eric wore to the party.
"Halloween's over," I say; staring pointedly at the black leather whip she slaps against the floor.
"Duh." She makes a face and continues to punish the carpet.
"So I like the costume, big deal. I'm thinking about dressing up every day." I lean toward the mirror, insert my tiny diamond-chip studs, and scrape my hair into a ponytail.
"I can't believe you're still dressing like that," she says, her nose crinkling in disgust.
"I thought you bagged yourself a boyfriend?" She drops the whip and grabs my iPod, her fingers sliding around the wheel as she scrolls through my playlist.
I turn, wondering what exactly she saw.
"Hello? At the party? By the pool? Or was that just a hookup?" I stare at her, my face flushing crimson.
"What do you know about hookups? You're only twelve! And why the heck are you spying on me?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please, like I'd waste my time spying on you when there's way better stuff I can see. For your information, I just so happened to go outside at the exact same moment you shoved your tongue down that Damen guy's throat. And trust me, I wish I hadn't seen it."
I shake my head and ransack my drawer, transferring my annoyance at Riley onto my sweatshirts. ' Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but he's hardly my boyfriend. I haven't talked to him since," I say, hating the way my stomach just curled in on itself when I said that. Then I grab a clean gray sweatshirt and yank it over my head, completely destroying the ponytail I just made.
"I can spy on him if you want. Or haunt him." She smiles.
I look at her and sigh. Part of me wanting to take her up on it, the other part knowing it's time to move on, cut my losses, and forget it ever happened.
"Just stay out of it, okay?" I finally say. "I'd like just one normal high school experience, if you don't mind."
"Up to you." She shrugs, tossing me the iPod. "But just so you know, Brandon's back on the market."
I grab a stack of books and stuff them into my backpack, amazed at how that bit of news doesn't make me feel any better.
"Yup, Rachel dumped him on Halloween when she caught him making out with a Playboy bunny. Only it wasn't really a Playboy bunny, it was Heather Watson dressed as one."
"Seriously?" I gape. "Heather Watson? You're joking." I try to picture it in my mind, but it doesn't add up.
"Scouts honor. You should see her, she lost twenty pounds, ditched the headgear, got her hair straightened, and she looks like a totally different person. Unfortunately, she also acts like a totally different person. She's kind of a, well, you know, a B with an itch," she whispers, going back to whipping the floor, as I let that bizarre piece of news sink in.
"You know, you really shouldn't be spying on people," I say, more concerned with her spying on me than any of my old friends. "It's kind of rude, don't you think?" I leave my bag onto my shoulder and head for the door.
Riley laughs. "Don't be ridiculous. It's good to keep up with people from the old neighborhood."
'Are you coming?" I ask, turning impatiently.
"Yup, and I call shotgun!" she says, slipping right past me and hopping onto the banister, her black Zorro cape floating on air as she slides all the way down.
By the time I get to Miles's, he's waiting outside, thumbs tapping his Sidekick. "Just—one—second okay, done!" He slips onto the passenger seat and peers closely at me. "Now—tell me everything! Start to finish. I want all the dirty details, leave nothing out!"
"What're you talking about?" I back out of his driveway and onto the street, shooting a warning glance at Riley who's perched on his knee, blowing on his face and laughing when he tries to adjust the air vent.
Miles looks at me and shakes his head. "hello? Damen? I heard you guys were macking in the moonlight, making out by the pool, hooking up under the moon's silvery—"
"Where are you going with this?" I ask, even though I already know, but hoping there's some way to stop him.
"Listen, word's out so don't even try to deny it. And I would've called you yesterday but my dad confiscated my phone and dragged me to the batting cages, so he could watch me swing like a girl." He laughs.
"You should've seen me, I totally camped it up and he was horrified! That'll teach him. But anyway, back to you. Come on, the divulging starts now. Tell me everything," he says, turning toward me and nodding impatiently. "Was it as awesome as we all dreamed it would be?"
I shrug, glancing at Riley and warning her with my eyes to either cease and desist or disappear. "Sorry to disappoint you," I finally say. "But there's nothing to tell."
"That's not what I heard. Haven said. I press my lips and shake my head. Just because I already know what Haven said doesn't mean I want to hear it spoken out loud. So I cut him off when I say, "Okay fine, we kissed. But just once." I can feel him looking at me, brows raised, lips smirked in suspicion. "Maybe twice. I don't know, it's not like I counted," I mumble, lying like a red-faced, sweatypalmed, shifty-eyed amateur, and hoping he doesn't notice. Because the truth is I've replayed that kiss so many times it's tattooed on my brain.
"And?" he says, impatient for more.
"And—nothing," I say, relieved when I glance at him and see Riley's gone.
"He didn't call? Or text? Or e-mail? Or drop by?" Miles gasps, visibly upset, wondering what it means not only for me, but the future of our group.
I shake my head and stare straight ahead, angry with myself for not dealing with it better, hating the way my throat's gone all tight as my eyes start to sting.
"But what did he say? When he left the party, I mean? What were his very last words?" Miles asks, determined to find some ray of hope in this bleak and bitter landscape.
I turn at the light, remembering our strange and sudden good bye at the door. Then I face Miles, swallow hard, and say, "He said, 'souvenir?''
And the moment it's out, I know it's a really bad sign. Nobody takes a souvenir from a place they plan to frequent. Miles looks at me, his eyes expressing the words his lips have refused.
"Tell me about it," I say, shaking my head as I pull into the lot.
Even though I'm fully committed to not thinking about Damen, I can't help but feel disappointed when I get to English and see he's not there. Which, of course, makes me think about him even that much more, until I'm teetering on the edge of obsession.
I mean, just because our kiss seemed like something more than just a random hookup doesn't mean he felt the same way. And just because it felt solid and true and transcendent to me doesn't mean he was in on it too. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the image of him and Drina standing together, a perfect Count Fersen with an idyllic Marie. While I stood on the sidelines all shiny and poufy like the world's biggest wannabe.
I'm just about to click on my iPod when Stacia and Damen burst through the door. Laughing and smiling, shoulders nearly touching, two single white rosebuds clutched in her hand. And when he leaves her at her desk and heads toward me, I fumble with some papers and pretend I didn't see.
"Hey," he says, sliding onto his seat. Acting like everything's perfectly normaI. Like he didn't pull a grope-and-run less than forty-eight hours before.
I plate my cheek on my palm and force my face into a yawn, hoping to come off as bored, tired, worn out from activities he couldn't begin to imagine, doodling on a piece of notebook paper with fingers so shaky my pen slips right out of my hand. I bend down to retrieve it, and when I come back up I find a single red tulip on top of my desk.
"What happened? You run out of white rosebuds?" I ask, flipping through books and papers, as though I've something important to do.
"I would never give you a rosebud," he says, his eyes searching for mine.
But I refuse to meet his gaze, refuse to get sucked into his sadistic little game. I just grab my bag and pretend to search for something inside, cursing under my breath when I find it stuffed full of tulips.
"You're strictly a tulip girl—a red tulip girl." He smiles.
"How exciting for me," I mumble, dropping my bag to the ground and scooting to the farthest part of my seat, having no idea what any of it could possibly mean.
By the time I get to our lunch table, I'm a sweaty mess. Wondering if Damen will be there, if Haven will be there because even though I haven't seen or spoken to her since Saturday night, I'm willing to bet she still hates me. But despite spending all of third period chemistry practicing an entire speech in my head, the second I see her, I've lost all the words.
"Well, look who's here," Haven says, gazing at me. I slide onto the bench beside Miles who's far too busy texting to even notice my existence, and I can't help but wonder if I should try to find some new friends—not that anyone would have me. "I was just telling Miles how he totally missed out on Nocturne, only he's determined to ignore me." She scowls.
"Only because I was forced to listen to it all through history, and then you still weren't finished and you made me late to Spanish." He shakes his head and continues thumb thumping.
Haven shrugs. "You're just jealous you missed out." Then looking at me, she tries to retreat. "Not that your party wasn't cool or anything, because it was, totally cool. It's just—this was more my scene, you know? I mean, you understand, right?"
I polish my apple against my sleeve and shrug, reluctant to hear any more than I already have about Nocturne, her scene, or Drina. But when I finally do look at her, I'm startled to see how her usual yellow contacts have been swapped for a brand-new green. A green so familiar it robs me of breath. A green that can only be described as—Drina green.
"You should've seen it, there was this huge long line out front, but the second they saw Drina, they let us right in. We didn't even have to pay! Not for anything, the whole night was complete! I even crashed in her room. She's staying in this amazing suite at the St. Regis until she finds a more permanent place. You should see it: ocean view, Jacuzzi tub, rocking mini-bar, the works!" She looks at me, emerald eyes wide with excitement, waiting for an enthusiastic response I just can't provide.
I press my lips together and take in the rest of her appearance, noticing how her eyeliner is softer, smokier, more like Drina's, and how her blood red lipstick has been swapped for a lighter, rosier, Drina-like shade. Even her hair, which she's ironed straight for as long as I've known her, is now soft and wavy and styled like Drina's. And her dress is fitted, silky, and vintage, like something Drina might wear.
"So where's Damen?" Haven looks at me as though I should know. I take a bite of my apple and shrug.
"What happened? I thought you guys hooked up?" she asks, refusing to let it go. And before I can answer, Miles looks up from his Sidekick and shoots her the look—the one with the direct translation of: Caution all ye who enter.
She glances from Miles to me, then shakes her head and sighs."Whatever. I just want you to know that I'm totally cool with it, so no worries, okay? And I'm sorry if I got a little weird on you." She shrugs. "But I'm totally over it now. Seriously. Pinky-swear."
I reluctantly curl my pinky around hers and tune into her energy. And I'm completely amazed to see that she really does mean it. I mean, just this weekend she'd pegged me as Public Enemy #1, but now she's clearly not bothered, though I can't really see why.
"Haven—" I start, wondering if I should really do this, but then figuring, oh, what the hell, I have nothing to lose. She looks at me, smiling, waiting.
"Um, when you guys went to—Nocturne, did you maybe by chance—happen to run into Damen?" I press my lips and wait, feeling Miles give me a sharp look, while Haven just stares at me, clearly confused. "Because the thing is, he left shortly after you guys—so I thought maybe—"
She shakes her head and shrugs. "Nope, never saw him," she says, removing a dab of frosting from her lip with the tip of her tongue.
And even though I know better, I choose that moment to take a visual journey through the lunch table caste system, the alphabetical hierarchy, starting with our lowly table Z and working toward A. Wondering if I'll find Damen and Stacia frolicking in a field of rosebuds, or engaging in some other sordid act I'd rather not see. But even though it's business as usual over there, with everyone up to the same old antics, for today at least, it's flower free. I guess because Damen's not there.
I'd just fallen asleep when Damen calls. And even though I'd spent the last two days convincing myself not to like him, the second I hear his voice, I surrender.
"Is it too late?"
I squint at the glowing green numbers on my alarm clock, confirming it is, but answering,
"No, it's okay."
"Were you asleep?"
"Almost." I prop my pillows against my cloth-covered headboard, then lean back against them.
"I was wondering if I could come over?"
I gaze at the clock again, but only to prove his question is crazy. "Probably not such a good idea," I tell him, which is followed by such a prolonged silence I'm sure he's hung up.
"I'm sorry I missed you at lunch," he finally says. "Art too. I left right after English."
"Um, okay," I mumble, unsure how to respond, since it's not like we're a couple, it's not like he's accountable to me.
"Are you sure it's too late?" he asks, his tone deep and persuasive. ' I'd really like to see you. I won't stay long."
I smile, thrilled with this tiny shift in power, to be calling the shots for a change, and allowing myself a mental high-five when I say, "Tomorrow in English works for me."
"How about I drive you to school?" he asks, his voice nearly convincing me to forget about Stacia, Drina, his hasty retreat, everything—just clean the slate, let bygones be bygones, start all over again. But I haven't come this far to give up so easily. So I force the words from my lips when I say, "Miles and I carpool. So I'll just see you in English." All tell knowing better than to risk his changing my mind, I snap my phone shut and toss it across the room.
The next morning when Riley Pops in, she stands before me and says, "Still cranky?"
I roll my eyes.
"I'll take that as a yes." She laughs, hopping on top of my dresser and kicking her heels against the drawers.
"So, who are you dressed as today?" I toss a pile of books into my bag and glance at her tight bodice, full skirt, and cascading brown hair.
"Elizabeth Swann." She smiles.
I squint, trying to remember that name. "Pirates?"
"Duh." She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "So what's up with you and Count Fersen?"
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, determined to ignore the question when I call, "Coming?"
She shakes her head. "Not today. I have an appointment."
I lean against the doorjamb and squint. "What do you mean by 'appointment'?"
But she just shakes her head and hops off the dresser.
"None of your beeswax." She laughs, walking straight through the wall and disappearing.
Since Miles was funning late, I end up running late too, and by the time we make it to school, the parking lot is completely full. All except for the very best, most soughtafter space.
The one on the very end. The one closest to the gate.The one that just happens to be right next to Damen's.
"How did you do it?" Miles asks, grabbing his books and climbing out of my tiny red car, gazing at Damen like he's the world's sexiest magic act.
"Do what?" Damen asks, gazing at me.
"Save the spot. You have to get here like, way before the school year even begins to snatch this one."
Damen laughs, his eyes searching mine. But I just nod like he's my pharmacist or mailman, not the guy I've been obsessing over since the moment I saw him,
"Bell's gonna ring," I say, rushing past the gate and heading toward class, noticing how he moves so quickly he beats me to the door with no visible effort.
I storm toward Honor and Stacia, purposely kicking Stacia's bag when she gazes at Damen and says,
"Hey, where's my rosebud?"
Then regretting it the second he answers, "Sorry, not today." He slides onto his seat and gives me an amused look. "Someone's in a foul mood." He laughs.
But I just shrug and drop my bag to the floor.
"What's the rush?" He leans toward me. "Mr. Robins stayed home."
I turn. "How'd you—" but then I stop before I can finish. I mean, how can Damen possibly know what I know—that Mr. Robins is still at home, still hung over, still grieving the wife and daughter who recently left him?
"I saw the substitute while I was waiting for you." He smiles.
"She looked a little lost, so I escorted her to the teachers' lounge, but she seemed so confused she'll probably end up in the science lab instead."
And the second he says it I know that it's true, having just seen her entering the wrong class, having mistaken it for our room.
"So tell me. What have I done to anger you so?"
I glance up as Stacia whispers in Honor's ear, watching as they shake their heads and glare at me.
"Ignore them, they're idiots," Damen whispers, leaning toward me and placing his hand over mine. ' I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I had a visitor. I couldn't get away."
"You mean Drina?" And the moment it's out, I cringe at how awful and jealous I sound. Wishing I could be cool, calm, and collected, act as though I didn't even notice how everything changed the moment she appeared. But the truth is, that's pretty much impossible for me, since I'm much closer to paranoid than naive.
"Ever—" he starts. But since I've already started, I may as well continue.
"Have you seen Haven lately? She's like a Drina Mini-Me. She dresses like her, acts like her, even has the same eye color. Seriously, stop by the lunch table sometime, you'll see." I glare at him, as though he's responsible, as though it's his fault. But the moment our eyes meet, I'm right back under his spell, a helpless hunk of steel to his irresistible magnet.
He takes a deep breath then shakes his head as he says,
"Ever, it's not what you think."
I pull away and press my lips together. You have no idea what I think.
"Let me make it up to you. Let me take you out, somewhere special, please?"
I can feel the warmth of his gaze on my skin, but I won't risk trying to meet it. I want him to wonder, to doubt. I want to drag it out for as long as I possibly can. So I shift in my seat, glance at him briefly, and say, 'We'll see."
When I exit fourth-period history, Damen is waiting outside the door. And assuming he just wants to walk me to the lunch table, I say, "Let me just drop my bag in my locker before we head over."
"No need." He smiles, securing his arm around my waist.
"The surprise starts now"
"Surprise?" And when I look into his eyes, the whole world shrinks, until it's just me and him, surrounded by static.
He smiles. "You know, I take you somewhere special—so special you forgive my transgressions."
"And what about our classes? We just blow off the rest of the day?" I fold my arms across my chest, though it's mostly for show He laughs and leans toward me, his lips grazing the side of my neck as they form the word—Yes. And as I pull away I'm amazed to hear myself answer with how instead of no.
"No worries." He smiles, squeezing my hand as he leads me through the gate. "You'll always be safe with me."