Poison (24 page)

“Your ring?”

“Oh.” For a moment I’d thought that maybe it was invisible.

“Sure,” she said. “Nice. Did Peter give it to you?”

“Uh . . . yes,” I lied.

“Cute.”

Cute?
That seemed like an odd word to describe a dimesize glowing blue stone in a gold rococo setting.

“You’re not going to wear it with that dress, though, are you?”

I frowned. “Why not?” Nothing, I knew, could possibly be more appropriate. Nothing. In the fading light from my window, the stone began to glow.

“No reason,” Becca said. “Just different tastes. I’m sure it’ll look great. Well, I’ve got to get myself together.” She waved to me at the door. “See you.”

“Thanks, Becca,” I said.

I turned off the lamp on my vanity. It was dark outside, and my ring suffused the room with its eldritch blue light.

Perfect
, I thought.

•  •  •

The Winter Frolic decorations committee had done a good job, considering that no magic had been used. All of Ainsworth’s dances were held in the theater, since it had been designed to have no permanent chairs. This was far preferable to the gym, with its basketball hoops and foul lines painted on the floors. The result was a pretty good illusion of a snowy fantasyland. The stage, where the band played, was done up like Santa’s workshop. The musicians—who, I understand, had objected
strenuously—were dressed and made up to look like mechanical toys. Drink stations resembling ice floes were scattered around the walls, and white snowlike confetti dropped languidly from a silk aurora borealis that stretched across the ceiling.

The only awkward thing was the entryway, where Mr. Levy, the football coach, was announcing everyone who came in. He was dressed up like Santa Claus. On either side of him two freshman girls in elf outfits handed out decorated candy cane favors, while a photographer from Snappy Shots took pictures of the couples as they strolled in, arm in arm.

When I saw what was going on, I was tempted to get out of line and go home, but I figured that a sudden flight would brand me as a coward in addition to being a loser who’d had to go to the dance alone. So I gritted my teeth and climbed the three steps to the platform that had been erected to ensure that everyone at the dance could witness my solitary entrance.

“Miss Katy Ainsworth,” Santa intoned, while a giggling elf handed me a candy cane and a flashbulb popped in my face.

“I’ll come by later,” the photographer said, “to show you the picture.”

“Don’t bother,” I answered as I climbed down the steps onto the dance floor, where I hoped I’d be swallowed up by the crowd.

Becca, resplendent in a white one-shoulder silk dress that looked as if it were made of rain, made her way over to me and basically forced me to dance with her, even though I felt weird about it. Bryce caught up to her a minute later. I felt jealous watching the two of them together, but at least I wasn’t sitting by myself in a corner.

We all danced together, along with a few other people who felt more comfortable dancing in a group. Verity and Cheswick came over too, doing their unrhythmical version of the dance in Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” video. And Becca had been right: Verity’s hair looked like an ad for Dairy Queen.

Soon a whole bunch of us, witches and Muffies alike, were dancing together. Even Miss P joined in, dancing with Mr. Dominic, the geography teacher. He was short and fat and sweaty, and was hauling Miss P around the floor like she was a sack of potatoes.

“Go, Dominator!” one of the boys shouted. That was their sarcastic name for Mr. Dominic. I don’t think he could have cared less what his students were thinking about him at the moment. He just seemed to be enraptured with Miss P, who had this frozen smile plastered on her face as the Dominator squashed her closer to his sweaty chest.

“We need to find her a boyfriend,” Becca said, shaking her head.

Santa Claus struck a giant candy cane on the floor. “Mr. Peter Shaw,” he announced from the platform. “And Miss Fabienne de la Soubise.” An audible “Ooh” rose up from the crowd like a vapor. I glanced over, my heart racing involuntarily.

She was about a hundred times more gorgeous than she’d been that day in the library, and she’d looked pretty good then. And by “gorgeous,” I mean fabulously, indescribably, makes-me-look-like-I’m-wearing-a-feed-bag gorgeous. Worse yet, Peter was grinning like an idiot beside her.

“Like I said, she’s got a big butt,” Becca said.

“Oh, shut up,” I told her.

•

That was when the nightmare began.

It wasn’t Fabienne’s fault, really, although I thought so at the time. Despite her great beauty, she was just kind of scared, the way any fourteen-year-old who didn’t speak English would be. I tried out my third-year French with her, which helped a little, although it wasn’t easy to make conversation at a dance, in any language. But before long some younger girls came over to our table with their dates. The dates were freshmen—the sort of freshman boys who leered at all the girls, even though they didn’t have the nerve to talk to any of them. Instead they shared private jokes with one another, leaving the girls they’d escorted to fend for themselves. No wonder Fabienne’s dad had insisted that Peter take his daughter to the dance, I thought. I wouldn’t trust those fools with a day-old sandwich.

Then the band took a break, and recorded music came through the speakers. An old song was playing, Whitney Houston singing “I Will Always Love You.” I didn’t want to
look at Peter—our arrangement at the dance was, to say the least, awkward—but my eyes sort of wandered his way. He was looking straight at me.

We both blushed. Then Peter said something to Fabienne, and she nodded, giving me a wink. Peter came over to me and held out his hand. “Dance?” he asked.

And I floated into his arms, as if that were where I belonged. The music rose around us like a shield. Inside it nothing in the universe existed except for the two of us, holding on to each other.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“It won’t be forever.”

He pulled me closer to him and pressed his lips against my forehead while the song expressed the real words that were in my heart.

Then the freshman boys started making a scene over something stupid—cars, I think. Anyway, there was a lot of shoving and shouting, and then one guy grabbed another, and a pint bottle of Wild Turkey fell out of his jacket and smashed onto the floor.

Across the room Coach Levy must have seen all the action from his perch near the door, because he blew a whistle as if he were calling a penalty at the ten-yard line, but the freshman boys weren’t paying any attention to him because it was pretty clear by that time that they’d all been drinking, apparently for some time before the dance had even started. The one who’d been carrying the bottle was the worst. Whenever someone tried to get him to quiet down, he’d slap them away, cursing loudly.

Still dressed like Santa Claus, Coach Levy climbed down
the stairs and was walking purposefully toward our table, where the boys were skidding on the spilled whiskey and broken glass as they argued among themselves. Then one of them—the drunkest one—lurched over to Fabienne and latched on to her arm. She gave a little shriek and tried to pull away, but the little creep just hung on tighter, grabbing her hair for good measure.

“I’ve got to stop him,” Peter said, disengaging from me.

“Mr. Levy’s . . . ” I began, but Peter was already walking into the fray. He came up behind the drunken freshman and forced the guy’s arms behind his back. This probably wasn’t that hard to do, since Peter was at least a foot taller than the freshman.

What neither of them seemed to notice was that they were sliding around in a rapidly widening smear of liquor. On rubber legs the drunken freshman managed to twist around enough to throw Peter off balance. At the same time one of the freshman’s buddies shoved Peter, and all three of them fell to the floor.

Things happened fast after that. Fabienne screamed. Mr. Levy slipped on the wet floor just as he approached the scene, and went down. Drunk Freshman’s buddy scrambled to his feet and ran with his friends toward the exits, leaving Drunk Freshman to fend for himself. Peter sat up on the floor, his tuxedo studded with pieces of broken glass. A gash across his forehead was pouring blood over his eyes.

“Peter!” I ran over to him.

“Stay where you are, Katy!” Peter shouted. He was probably afraid I’d fall too, but I didn’t care about that. I just needed to get to him. I wasn’t giving a thought to the drunken freshman,
who chose that moment to use my dress like a rope to hoist himself to a standing position.

The dress tore right above the knee, where I could still feel the imprint of Drunk Freshman’s hot little wet hand. “Get away from me!” I yelled, pushing him straight into Mr. Levy, who dragged him by the collar toward the exits.

Peter was getting to his feet and wiping the blood from his eyes. I was walking toward him when Fabienne scampered up and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, Pee-
tair
,” she gushed, dabbing at his face with a dainty lace handkerchief. “How brave you are!” She burst into tears. “You
deed
this for me, I know.”

“Yeah, dude. Awesome!” Cheswick shouted, offering Peter a high five. Other guys gathered around, slapping him on the back and congratulating him. Peter was drinking it in like lemonade on a hot day.

Then, in a moment of abandon—maybe—Fabienne lifted her head, gave Peter her finest imitation of a French deer, and
kissed him on the mouth.

Oh, God, yes. That really happened.

While my world crumbled, the guys around him cheered. Someone yelled “Score!”

I couldn’t believe it. I felt my fingernails cutting half-moons into the palms of my hands while my knees shook beneath my torn Albert Nipon dress like leaves in the wind.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Verity pull away from Cheswick and move toward me. She looked as if she wanted to ask me something, but by then it was already too late. I was no longer seeing anything except a fiery red vista that enveloped everything. Hot air rushed out of my nose. My tongue felt parched. My throat constricted.

And my ring began to glow.

Every second it grew brighter until it was too bright to look at directly. All the other lights in the place flickered and went out. The music wound down into silence. Then, with a flash that was like a white-hot sun, it was over.

The music whirred back to life and the lights came back on. Everyone was walking around in a daze, blinking. It had all happened so fast that I don’t think anyone even knew I’d had anything to do with it.

Well, one person knew. Verity was standing exactly where she’d been when I’d . . . I guess “given in” would best describe what I’d done. Yes, I’d given in to some force that was a lot bigger than me. And to tell the truth, I didn’t care. I felt good now, the way I’d felt when I’d first put on the ring—buoyant, powerful, happy. All of the coldness and loneliness of that cold, lonely winter seemed to fall away like confetti. All of the rejection, indifference, betrayal, abandonment, and self-pity that I’d been wallowing in for months was suddenly gone. This was my time, my moment.

Verity was staring at me, looking accusing, as usual.

“What?” I mouthed.

She cut her eyes toward Peter, who was stumbling toward me. “Katy?” he shouted, squinting in the electric light that seemed strangely dim after the blinding brightness of my ring. “Are you all right?”

“Wonderful,” I whispered, although I knew he couldn’t hear me. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what I was feeling anymore. It was all so confusing. I didn’t know if I even wanted Peter near me. I didn’t need him. I knew that. I didn’t need anyone. I was complete just the way I was. Complete. Strong. Perfect.

“Bryce!” Becca shrieked, bumping into me as she sprinted past. Bryce was staggering and ashen. As soon as Becca reached him, he fainted in her arms.

•  •  •

He was the first to go down, his face sheened with sweat. Becca was struggling to hold him up. Peter grabbed him before he fell.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter said, dragging Bryce to a chair.

“He must have gotten hold of some of Summer’s tea,” Cheswick said, chortling. It wasn’t very funny, but I think it was sort of a hysterical comment, since within a few seconds Cheswick’s legs buckled too.

Then I saw Miss P sink right through Mr. Dominic’s arms onto the dance floor. The Dominator was right behind her. The two of them lay in a heap in front of the bandstand while Fabienne threw up all over our table. That was truly horrible. I looked to Becca, because she always knew what to do in an emergency, but she was panting and turning green next to Bryce’s unconscious body. A knot of people was stampeding through the fire doors to get outside, while another bunch raced toward the bathrooms.

The strange thing was, about half the people at the dance seemed totally unaffected, blinking in bewilderment at the scene unfolding before them. I overheard two teachers hysterically going over the cafeteria dinner menu. The band gamely played on, but there was so much barf on the floor that nobody wanted to dance.