Heart's Reflection (12 page)

Dragging my
attention from the hottie, I turned back to my date. "I don't have a red
dragon. And I find you extremely gross."

Mrs. Gazardi, the
school's guidance counselor who was chaperoning the dance, approached us and
spoke.

"Everything
okay here, Eve?"

Wanting with every
fiber of my being to rat out Quinn for his bad behavior, I nevertheless said
"I'm fine, Ma'am."

My date examined
his feet and mumbled something unintelligible.

Mrs. Garzardi must
be old— at least fifty by my estimation— and she didn't possess
particularly beautiful features. But she was striking and unusually graceful.
The way she wore her silvery hair pulled back into a chignon and the long
flowing robe dresses she favored, accentuated the fluidity with which she
moved.

For a few moments
she examined me with a penetrating thoroughness. Her perusal gave me the
feeling she could see the handprints on my dress from Quinn's groping. Mrs.
Gazardi's lips compressed in an angry line and her brows knitted as she turned
to cast a disapproving glare on Quinn.

What I saw next
caused me to start in surprise. It was as if a light bulb switched on inside
her, illuminating her skull so that it became faintly visible under her skin.

The spotlights in the otherwise dark gym
must be shining on her face in a funky way to cause such an eerie effect,
I
thought.

After a few rapid
blinks, the illusion faded as quickly as it had come.

Mrs. Gazardi
turned back to me with a placid smile. "Have fun you two." Then she
addressed Quinn. "But not too much fun."

She spun on her
heel and started away and as she moved the lighting had more tricks for me.
Along her shoulder blades there seemed to be a ripple of movement under her
dress, as if she'd trapped birds in that voluminous garment and they were
struggling to break free.

Ridiculous.
Could someone have slipped
me a roofie? No. Impossible. Not that I'd put it past Quinn, but I hadn't had
anything to drink that night.

Quinn muttered,
"Nosey biddie."

"She's very
nice," I defended. "And if you pull any more crap on me, I'll report
it to her."

"Whatever."
With a pfffffffft sound Quinn waved a hand and rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna
go get some punch and give you time to remember you're here with a star of the
football team. Maybe when I get back you'll be less agro and more with the
gratitude and appreciatin'."

"Starting
your Christmas wish list early, are you?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind.
Go get the punch."

As soon as he
walked away, Lashonda hurried over from across the dance floor. Well, she
hurried as fast as someone could as she teetered on six-inch stiletto heels.

"How's it
going?" she asked, clapping her hands and giving an excited wiggle in her
skin-tight, spandex, purple mini-dress.

I wasn't the DUFF
in our friendship, but Lashonda was definitely the more gorgeous of the two of
us with her cocoa skin and dark eyes. By contrast my skin was pale and my hair
a feathery, flyaway brown mess unless trapped in a ponytail. My frame was
slight where Lashonda had curves in all the right places. I was a pre-makeover
version of Cinderella to her Nubian princess or a wren to her peacock. Like
tonight for instance. My flouncy-skirted cream dress paired with ballet
slippers washed out in comparison to her flamboyance.

 
I'd long ago gotten used to the way guys
drifted from me to her almost as if I'd turned invisible.

So when she
wiggled, Lashonda drew the lustful gaze of every guy within fifty
feet—and some gals—except, that is, the gaze of the guy I thought
of as Holden. He still had his attention firmly on me.

A zing of pleasure
began as a spot in my stomach, then blossomed into a warm blush up my neck and
into my face.

"You're
having a great time. Admit it," she said.

 
Fixing her with my most dagger-like,
arch-browed, condemning expression possible, I answered, "I can't believe
I let you talk me into this date. Quinn's a creep."

"He's a
running back," she defended.

"The two
aren't mutually exclusive," I observed.

"I can't
believe it," Lashonda said. "Quinn told Billy, and Billy told
Juliette, and Juliette told me that he really likes you. And she wouldn't lie
to me. Cheerleading sisters' code."

"Yeah, he
really likes me all right. He's used all fifty snaky hands on me plus his
forked tongue to prove it."

"Snakes have
no hands, Eve."

"Okay, but he
has no neck just like a snake and—anyway, you get my point. Besides, I
could be studying like my dad wanted. Then at least one of us would be happy
tonight."

I had the SATs
tomorrow and Dad was so not happy I'd decided to go to this dance.

"Ackk,"
Lashonda said. "The dance is so dismal that studying would be
better?"

When I nodded, she
put an arm around my shoulder. "Sorry, sweetie. But at least you gave it a
try. You've acted like you were afraid to try romance. It's unnatural."

"Afraid?"
I scoffed. "Hardly." Even as the words escaped I knew I was lying.

"Really?
'Cause this is the first date you've had since I've known you."

"And it might
be my last, girlfriend, if this is what I've got to look forward to."

"I told you a
million times, don't call me girlfriend," Lashonda said. "It just
sounds so damn lame when a white girl uses it. You make my ears bleed."
Lashonda always seemed to sound more urban when riled.

"Okay,"
I said, conceding with a toss of my hands into the air. "I don't want to render
you deaf."

She chuckled.
"You gotta put yourself out there. Life is short."

That's what
everybody at Double Dick had been saying ever since little Franky Abbot died so
suddenly just a month before.

"Just ditch
Quinn and go after someone else at the dance," Lashonda said.

My eyes darted to
Holden and then back to my friend. "I can't do that."
Could I?

"Yes you can.
I'm going to," she said. "My 'date' may be Ronny but I'm going home
with someone else if I have anything to say about it."

She tilted her head
toward the dance floor where the object of her nod— Chase —was
doing a variation of the white guy overbite moves.

"Ooooh, girl.
He has a great booty." Lashonda held up two hands grasping mounds of air.
"Chase's butt looks like two hard, denim-encased cantaloupes in those
jeans."

She made a
smacking sound with her mouth. "I could just take a bite outa those
delicious melons."

A laugh burst from
me.

"What can I
say," she continued. "My heart hums when I see yummy buns."

"You should
put those lyrics to music."

She licked her
lips. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance."

Just then Chase,
the epitome of surfer-dude, scuttled to the side and gave me a view of his
dance partner.

"I don't
think you wanna do that," I told her. "He's with Petra."

Lashonda's face
fell into a pout. "Petra's a witch. She tried to tear out my hair last
week."

"Understandable
since you
are
trying to steal her
boyfriend."

"You can't
steal something that don't want to get taken."

"That's
ridiculous." My eyes went to the corner again where Holden hid a smirk
almost as if he heard us talking.

"No it's not.
It's Zen."

"That's you.
Lashonda. The second coming of Confucius."

"Zen is
Buddhism, not Confucianism."

"Oh," I
said. "Excuuuuuse me for mistaking the philosophical basis for your
psychological rationalization."

"Whatever,"
Lashonda said with a wave of her hand. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance and
really freak Petra."

"That's not
smart."

"To hell with
smart. Touching a black girl's hair is like launching a nuclear bomb. It takes
the warfare to a whole new level."

"Good to
know," I muttered.

"Anyway, pick
out somebody and go for them, just like I'm gonna go for Chase."

My eyes flickered
and found Holden again.

"How about
the guy you can't keep your eyes off," Lashonda continued.

"What?"
I sputtered, blinking.

"Yeah. I've
conducted this entire conversation to the side of your face." She frowned
putting a hand on one hip. "I hope he's cute, at least."

Trying to keep
myself from gushing, I left it at, "He's kinda Nordic looking."

Lashonda smiled
knowingly.

"I gotta see
this Viking God." She made a move to glance to her right.

"Don't
look." I leaned forward, stopping her with a hand on her arm. Mortified,
my whisper was furious. "He'll know I'm talking about him."

"Shocker!"
 
My friend said slapping her hands
against both cheeks mimicking a famous movie moment. "Like he won't know
by the way you're staring at him."

"He's the one
staring at me," I defended in my best impression of affronted pride.
"I'm just noticing that he's staring. I'm not doing any staring of my
own."

"Uh
huh." Lashonda's lips twisted in smirk.

Just then Quinn
returned with Ronny tagging along behind him.

"Girls,"
Quinn greeted us. He took a sip from his glass.

"I thought
you were getting punch," I said.

"I did."
He held up the glass....the
one
glass.

Not that I trusted
him to get me a drink but he could have had the courtesy to try.

Quinn ogled my
friend up and down and then issued a long wolf whistle while shaking one hand
as if burned. "Lashonda, you are so smokin' hot tonight I need a fire
extinguisher."

"How about
using the punch instead." I swiped at the hand holding the glass, tipping
it back and into his chest where the red fruity concoction spilled like blood
soaking his shirtfront.

"Hey,"
he screeched.

Not stopping to
get a further reaction, I pushed past him.

"Crazy
whacked out bitch." Quinn shouted over Lashonda's laughter as I strode
off.

Chapter Two

Now was the time
to find out if I was, in fact, whacked out crazy or whether I did know the cute
Viking.

As I walked toward
him, the music changed to a slow song: "No Air." The lyrics drifted
over me:
Tell me how I'm supposed to
breathe with no air.

What had started
as bold strides slowed to regular steps. Cowardice the size of a boulder
suddenly lodged itself in my throat and I had no air to breathe. Trying to
swallow it down, I forced myself forward. Holden, who'd been leaning against
the wall, straightened, and a smile—or was it a smirk—turned up the
right side of his lips. The boulder shifted, plopping directly into the bottom
of my stomach. I had air, but vomiting seemed a distinct possibility.

What if he laughed
in my face? "You?" he would say. "Why would I be looking at you?
You're nothing special."

Maybe a detour to
the punch bowl would be a good idea, instead. Making a sharp right turn
wouldn't seem weird to anyone.
Na
, I
assured myself.
Perfectly normal.
So
I went for it—the punch bowl that is.

Out of the corner
of my eye, a movement. Holden was following me. The boulder in my stomach
bounced up into my lungs. Suddenly, the punch bowl wasn't a good idea. Escaping
to the girls' room seemed a much better option. He couldn't follow me in there
and no confrontation of my insecurities would be necessary.

 
I made it into the hall just outside the
gym before Holden caught up with me.

"Eve."
His deep voice called from behind me. "Why are you running away?"

A hesitation
hitched my step then I spun around to face him.

"You know my
name," I exclaimed.

"And you know
mine is Holden."

He stepped closer.
He had to be at least five foot ten to my five foot five. But it was his eyes
that really got me. I'd taken enough art classes to know you couldn't find this
color straight from the tube. A special mixture with cerulean and a bit of
umber
might
achieve the color. But the mixture would probably need a
topping of a lapis glaze.

"When did we
meet?" I asked.

A smile quirked
the right edge of his lips. "A long time ago," he answered, edging
even closer so there was barely a foot between us.

"Why can't I
remember?"

"You
will," he said. "But that doesn't matter as much as our dance."

"What
dance?" I forced out the question past that persistent boulder.

His smile widened,
showing a beautiful row of white teeth. "The one you were going to ask me
for before you chickened out."

"Oh," I
whispered into his chest, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "That
one."

Holden took my
right hand in his and lifted it. Turning it palm up, he traced the lifeline
with his thumb. "Won't you dance with me, Eve?"

"Here?"
I glanced around me.

"Why
not?"

Yes. Why not? We
were alone in the darkened hall. The music poured through the open doors of the
gym and was almost as loud as it was inside its confines.

I'd barely nodded
before Holden tugged my hand and brought me against him. Our eyes locked. My
right palm molded against his left with our fingers intertwined. With his arm
around my waist, mine around his shoulders, we swayed in time to the slow beat.
Neither of us spoke. I couldn't know exactly what he was feeling, but he looked
at me as if I were the most important person in his world.

That pesky boulder
exploded and the fragments transformed to fizzy soda pop in my stomach. I never
wanted to go back to the ordinary me. I wanted to bask in the specialness
forever. Luckily, the next song was also a slow one and one dance became two. I
think a third one came and went also. That might have been a J-Lo upbeat disco
mix but we treated it like a ballad.